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Old 07-Sep-18, 17:27
dirksneath dirksneath is offline
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Default The Little Bully Destroys Her Victim's Father

This is my latest story. It is a monster, clocking in at 81 pages, pending any changes I make. There are five fights, all involving the young bully. Two are with an older teen boy with whom she picks a fight, and three very long fights involve the boy's hapless father who, with good intentions, goes to her home to get her father to stop his dgt from beating up his son. However, he runs head on into the little bully, who...Enough of the synopsis. The title pretty much gives it away.

At this point, I plan to post it in 10 segments of 8 pages each, about one per day. I assume most have about as much time and attention span as I do, and 8 to 10 pages on a screen is the most I care to read at one sitting. Like my other stories, it is quite violent, but even though I don't want to give too much away - not that there are usually a lot of surprises in my stories, they're pretty predictable - I will say that if the endings to the two Little Serial Killer stories bothered you, this one ends differently - for now at least. All bets are off on the ending of any sequel, if there is one.

Meanwhile, I'm working on a sequel to my first story, The Old Man and Jaycee. I started it several weeks ago, but Brianna and Yelena, the girls from The Little Serial Killers, threatened to tear me apart if I didn't write another story for them, and being the coward that I am, I deferred to them. I had good intentions of writing the Jaycee sequel next, but this idea popped into my head and I followed it instead, but a plot twist for the Jaycee story occurred to me yesterday, and I now feel more inspired to finally finish that one up in the next couple of weeks.

So without further ado, here is The Little Bully Destroys Her Victim's Father. As always, if you don't like violence, it won't hurt my feelings if you pass on this one.



The Little Bully Destroys Her Victim's Father

Part 1

Bobby tried to throw the bully off of him but couldn't. The bully was too strong. Being beat up by a bully, any bully, was bad enough. What made it worse for Bobby was the fact that this one was a girl. Not only that, but she was younger. Bobby was 14 years old and small for his age, and the bully was about the same height and probably five pounds heavier. Once she was sure he couldn't throw her off, she started punching his face. A crowd had gathered, and by then poor Bobby was crying.

The fight started outside the skating rink on a Friday night, when Bobby and his friend Eric went outside to smoke cigarettes from a half pack Eric had taken from home. His dad had left them on the kitchen table and was ranting because he couldn't find them. He was always forgetting where he put stuff, and so Eric picked them up when no one was looking, knowing his dad would give up trying to find them and open another pack from the unopened carton he had just bought.

Jennifer Sheffield saw them out back smoking while she was hanging out with some other girls closer to the front of the skating rink. She strutted over to the boys to find out what they were smoking, and had scoffed at them when she found out they were only cigarettes and not weed. Still, she told Eric to give her one and he refused.

“In that case, I'll just take all of them,” she said, trying to snatch the half pack out of Eric's pocket. He grabbed her wrist to stop her, and she said, “I don't think you want to touch me.” Eric, who was two years younger than Bobby, was also a little smaller than Jennifer, and he was obviously afraid of her, as most boys who were considered the wimps and wusses were. She was a well known bully, and did not need much of an excuse to beat up a boy. She usually picked fights for little or no reason.

She was referred to by some of the boys as the Amazon princess, because she was a mean and tough little bitch, and because her dad was rich, she seemed to think of herself as a princess. Her daddy had built a large room onto his already large house and made a gym out of it with gymnastics equipment and weights. She was a level six gymnast, and though she loved the sport, she loved weight lifting even more. Both her parents had been very athletic, so she had inherited her athletic tendencies and had always been very strong. Now that she worked out in her gym regularly, she was a holy terror. To make things worse, her parents thought she could do no wrong, which was another reason they called her princess.

Jennifer often dressed like the rich bitch she was, but not always. Tonight she blended in with the other girls, wearing a white tank top with a swirly black design on the front, very short blue denim cutoffs and low top retro black sneakers. Her long brown hair was pulled up in a messy bun.

She snatched her wrist back from his grasp and punched him in the face, knocking him down, then told Eric again to give her the cigarettes. When he refused, she sat on him, straddling him and drawing her fist back to hit him again, when he said, “Okay,” and took the cigarettes from his pocket.

Bobby then spoke up, saying, “Hell no, Eric, don't give 'em to her.” He then reached down and snatched them from his hand before Jennifer could take them. By then, the girls she was hanging out with had followed her and were starting to pull for her to “beat him up. Beat 'em both up,” meaning both Eric and Bobby.

Jennifer looked at him and said, “You little worm. You just made the biggest mistake of your life,” as she slowly stood up and faced the boy, who was starting to get scared. He had never tangled with Jennifer, but he had heard stories and witnessed one of her beatings. A couple of months ago, she got into a fight with a new kid in school. He was two years older and a couple of inches taller and a few pounds heavier. Bobby had seen her punching him in the face and knocking him down, then picking him up and decking him again. When he asked how the fight started, someone told him she had just walked up to him and said, “Welcome to our school,” then knocked the shit out of him. She was one mean girl.

She punched his face, knocking him to the ground, then fell on him and wrestled him, rolling over and over until she came out on top in a schoolgirl pin. He tried to throw her off, but couldn't. That's when she started punching his face, over and over.

By then, other kids had gathered around the fight, some pulling for Bobby, encouraging him to “fight her. Don't take anything off that rich bitch.” That was mostly the boys, some of whom had tangled with Jennifer before and would have loved nothing more than to see someone beat the hell out of her.

But Bobby Strickland was not that boy. He would probably not have been able to beat Eric's little sister Erica (yes, their parents had named them Eric and Erica), who was only nine. Bobby kept trying to throw her off, but couldn't. She was much too strong. He tried hitting back, but his punches were weak, and he was not in a good position for getting into a fist fight with her, since he was on the ground and she was on top of him, and his face was an easier target for her than her face was for him. He'd never been much of a fighter, and that, plus the fact that he was small for his age, made him an easy target for bullies.

Jennifer finally got tired of what for her was like shooting fish in a barrel. She got up and took off a sneaker and rubbed his face with her foot. She wasn't wearing socks, so the foot she used to rub his face was completely bare. The girls got a kick out of that and started laughing, and when she returned to her adoring friends, they high fived her, whereas the boys, who were pulling for Bobby, just looked at him with pity or disgust and walked off.

Bobby got up, brushed himself off, and wiped the blood from his nose and his upper lip. Jennifer, who was putting her shoe on, said, “Hey worm! I'll see you at school next week. This ain't over, you know.” Funny thing was, the cigarettes ended up on the ground, forgotten by everyone.

He had to walk by her and the other girls to go back inside the skating rink, where he knew he would have to face everyone, including the ones who had not witnessed the fight, but would soon know about it. Jennifer's friends called out to him, saying things like, “Hey wimp. I wanna fight you next. Come back. Where are you going?” and “You wuss. My little sister could whip your ass, and she's only eight. Tell me where you live, I'll send her over.” And one girl, who lived in his neighborhood, said, “My sister's only seven, and she could beat you up AND your dad.” Those who knew his dad often made fun of him as well as Bobby. It was the worst night of his life, and he had had far more bad nights than good ones, so that was saying a lot.

Bobby's father, Robert Strickland, Sr, kept telling him he'd hit his growth spurt, but so far, he was smaller than even the smallest girl in his class. As a result, he was often the victim of bullies. His father had told him repeatedly to stand up to them, don't let them push you around, but all that did was cause him to get beat up even worse. Mr Strickland was a small man, too, a man who had always been pushed around by bullies himself. He had hoped his son would be better able to defend himself, as he knew what it was like to be pushed around and didn't want the same thing to happen to Bobby. Unfortunately, it did. All the time.

Bobby came home from the skating rink and went straight to his room. The next day was Saturday, and he was thankful he didn't have to go to school, but that meant he had the rest of the weekend to dread it. He had a black eye when he finally got out of bed, and after his father questioned him, he said a bully beat him up. His father, tired of his son being pushed around, insisted that his son tell him who the bully was. Bobby finally told him it was a girl named Jennifer Sheffield. He quickly explained Jennifer was known for beating up other kids, especially boys, for no reason. She just liked to pick on people who weren't as strong, which was just about everybody her age and a lot of boys older and bigger.

After getting a few more details about the girl, Mr Strickland realized the girl's father was Jim Sheffield, a local real estate developer who was quite wealthy. He was known for making shady deals, paying off bureaucrats to turn their backs on his many violations of various regulations related to land development. He had a lot of influence in town and was used to pushing people around, and now his daughter was pushing Mr Stickland's son around, and by God, he wasn't going to stand for it. He was going to pay Mr Sheffield a visit.

Bobby begged him not to“Dad, please don't. You'll just make things worse.”

Despite his son's pleading, he was determined to go to the man's house and let him know that his daughter was not going to get away with bullying his son. If necessary, he would go to the police and file charges, but first, he wanted to talk to Mr. Sheffield.

Mr Strickland was five feet six inches tall and a little underweight like his son. He worked for a local accounting firm and looked like a stereotypical middle aged nerd. He was 45 years old with medium length brown hair that was thin and getting thinner, and wore eyeglasses with round lenses, giving him the appearance of a middle aged geek who would have trouble defending himself against most of the kids in his son's class.

Bobby's mother pleaded with her husband not to go. She shared her son's opinion that it would just make things worse. But he insisted. He was tired of people in this town pushing him around, and he was not going to let some rich man's kid beat his son up and get away with it. Enough was enough, as this was not the first time Bobby had been beaten up by a bully. He said he was gonna “nip it in the bud,” as Barney Fife would say, failing to see the irony. It never occurred to him to think that he himself was a lot like Barney, a little man who tried to compensate for his own inadequacies by trying to act tough.

For his visit to the Sheffield home, he wanted to present himself as someone deserving of respect, so he wore a three piece suit purchased from a local discount men's wear store, along with a pair of dress socks and wingtip shoes. His wife was still begging him not to go as he left the home, determined to do what he felt he had to do.

When he arrived at the house, he noted the Sheffields had a nice swimming pool in the back. He saw one car, a Lexus, but didn't see the Land Rover Range Rover that Mr. Sheffield usually drove. He was probably at the country club, but he decided to get out and ring the doorbell anyway, figuring maybe his wife would be home. Even though he tried to convince himself that he would rather talk to Mr Sheffield, he figured his wife would be a little less intimidating, and was hoping he could talk to her instead. If neither one was home, he would come back the next day.

He rang the doorbell, and after a few seconds a child opened the door. She was a cute little girl with long brown hair tied hair tied in two ponytails. The girl was wearing a white tank top with a Minnie Mouse face on it and a pair of very short, tight black Lycra workout shorts. She had a beautiful tan, probably from hanging out at their pool. Also, she had the makings of a little hard body, although not really muscle bound like a bodybuilder; more like a gymnast, which of course, she was. He didn't know she got some of her muscle tone from weight lifting.

He immediately identified himself and asked if Mr Sheffield was her father, and she said yes. He then told her he wanted to speak to Mr Sheffield. She looked at him a few seconds, trying to remember where she had heard the name Strickland. She took a few more seconds to look him up and down, then slowly smiled and said, “Come on in.” She then escorted him through the foyer and into the living room, which was nicely furnished with a living room suite that probably cost more than every stick of furniture in the Strickland home.

He took a seat on the sofa and the girl sat in a chair across from him and just stared at him, head tilted to the side, her legs draped over the arm of the chair as she swung her bare feet up and down. At one point she struck a pose with one leg straight up in the air, her toes pointed at the ceiling, with the other leg and foot hanging over the side of the chair, toes pointed at the floor. She then reversed it so that the leg that had been up was now down, toes pointed at the floor, and vice versa. At the same time, she tilted her head the other way. She was obviously a very precocious little girl, probably very photogenic, and if she'd been a little older, Mr Strickland probably would have considered her coquettish. He couldn't help but think she could be a child model.

After a few seconds he said, “Perhaps you need to let your father know I'm here.”

She just glared at him, then finally said, “He's not home.”

“Oh,” he said, starting to feel uncomfortable. “I thought you said...”

“All I said was come in. I didn't say he was home,” the girl responded.

“Well...What about your mom? Is she...”

“Nope. They're both gone.”

“I see,” he said. “When do you expect them to be home?”

“Probably around midnight,” she responded.

“Well, in that case, I'll just come back tomorrow. But before I leave, may I ask...do you have an older sister named Jennifer?” he asked.

“I don't have any sisters or brothers,” she said.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I thought you had a sister named Jennifer.”

“I'M Jennifer,” she said, with a definite edge to her voice.

“You...You're Jennifer?” he asked, incredulous that this girl was apparently the bully who beat up his son. She had to be at least three years younger, although she was about the same size as Bobby.

“Yep,” she replied.

“Well...Maybe I'll come back tomorrow,” he repeated, as he got up to leave. At this point, he was so embarrassed, he doubted very seriously that he would return.

As he started walking to the door, Jennifer got up and blocked him, standing between him and the entrance to the foyer. “I assume you wanted to talk to my father about me?” she asked.

“W-w-well,” he stammered, licking his lips, “I think there's been a mistake. I must have you confused with another girl named Jennifer, one who would be a little older.”

“No, I think you have the right one. Is your son that wimp Bobby Strickland?” she asked.

“My son is Bobby Strickland, yes, but...but I would appreciate it if you would not refer to him as a wimp,” he said, trying to sound confident, but failing miserably.

“Well what would you prefer that I call him? Wuss? Worm? Pussy?”

“I would prefer that you not call him anything, and for your sake, you might want to stay away from him. He is a very...a very sensitive child, and also sickly...”

There was nothing sickly about Bobby, and he wished he had not said anything. He wished he had just stayed home. Coming here was a mistake, a big mistake, and he knew it. However, he had no idea how big a mistake it was, but he was about to find out.

“What I'm saying,” he continued, “is that if you have issues with my son, please try to resolve them in a w-w-way that does not involve...or perhaps if you let me know what caused your little...dispute with Bobby, maybe then...”

The girl stood with her feet spread, her hands on hips, and stared at him, waiting for him to continue. The man couldn't help but think that with her muscle definition she was probably stronger than one might expect a girl her size to be. He didn't know that she was a gymnast, and that gymnasts these days are often not only flexible, but strong. She was at a level at which weight training was a requirement at her gym. He didn't know that her father had even built a gym onto the house for her that included equipment for strength training.

“Maybe you can tell me and I can have a little talk with him so that...” He could not remember a time in his adult like when he felt so foolish, so intimidated, and so weak.

“So what you're saying is that if I have any issues with your wimpy, wussy worm of a son, I should take them up with you. Is that it?” she asked.

“Well, yes...I mean, no, just...If you'll excuse me, I really need to go. No need to let your parents know that I came here...Just excuse me, I have to go,” he said, moving to the right in an attempt to go around the child.

She moved to block him so that now there was only about an inch between her and the nervous little man, and said, “I think taking up my issues with you instead of your pussy little boy is an excellent idea.”

He then moved to the left, still trying to go around her, but once again she blocked him, her hands still on her hips. Now her body was actually brushing against him.


To be continued...

Last edited by dirksneath; 09-Sep-18 at 03:19.
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  #2  
Old 07-Sep-18, 18:58
scarletspider scarletspider is offline
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Default Re: The Little Bully Destroys Her Victim's Father

more please!!!!
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Old 07-Sep-18, 20:11
andy857 andy857 is offline
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Default Re: The Little Bully Destroys Her Victim's Father

Will there be any wrestling holds like scissor or hammerlock in the story?or just punching?
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Old 07-Sep-18, 20:14
dirksneath dirksneath is offline
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Default Re: The Little Bully Destroys Her Victim's Father

Oh, there will be lots of wrestling holds, including and especially scissors. I may go back and throw in a hammerlock or two, as I have a tendency to overlook those, but yeah, there will be a lot of wrestling, much more of that than punching, although a little of that as well.
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Old 07-Sep-18, 20:17
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mixfightor mixfightor is offline
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Default Re: The Little Bully Destroys Her Victim's Father

Oh, he is in for it now. More wrestling than punching sounds great.

Thanks for writing this for us, mate.
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Old 08-Sep-18, 01:59
dirksneath dirksneath is offline
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Default Re: The Little Bully Destroys Her Victim's Father

Part 2

“Yes,"she continued. "I think the first positive step in the resolution of my conflict with your wussy, pussy son is to take those issues up with you, his loving daddy, who cares so much about him that he came here to ask my father to keep me from beating the holy SHIT out of him. So instead, you and I are gonna engage in some conflict resolution, just you and me, but before there's any resolution, there's gonna be a helluva lot of conflict, so I hope you came prepared.”

“If you'll please excuse me, young lady...” he said, backing up a few inches while trying desperately to keep from sounding as weak and intimidated as he was.

“Nope,” she said. “I will not excuse you. You came here to talk to my dad, but he's not here, so I'm gonna settle my issues with YOU instead of your son,” she said, as she began to circle him in a wrestler's crouch, knees slightly bent, hands and arms extended in an invitation to fight. The man tried to think of the girl as simply cute, but she was really kind of pretty with a look of pseudo-mature look about her.
There was something about her, the poses she struck, the look on her face that was sometimes almost intimidating, and the way she sometimes tilted her head one way and then the other, that made him think of Lolita, the famous nymphet in the Nabokov novel, although a little younger. Not that it really made any difference, as he was a middle aged married man and she was just a little girl. At least, he tried to convince himself that it didn't matter.

“How...How old are you?” he asked.

“Why? Does it matter?” she answered.

“Well...I just...” he stammered.

She punched him in the stomach so hard it knocked the breath from him and caused him to double over in pain. He would never have believed a young girl, one who was obviously not even in her teens, could hit so hard. She then grabbed him by the collar of his 29.99 dress white shirt and pulled him forward as she fell backwards, placing her feet in his sore stomach as she monkey flipped him over her body. He landed on the floor behind her as she got up.

“I'm eleven. How old are you?” she asked.

“Well...Let's just say I'm too old to be playing with eleven-year-old girls,” he responded, struggling to his feet.

“We're not playing, you asshole,” she said. “We're fighting. And you'd better be a hell of a lot better at it than your wimpy ass son, or you're gonna be in some serious shit.”

“I'm not fighting an eleven-year-old girl,” he said.

“You don't have any choice, unless you want to just stand there and let ME fight YOU,” she said.

The little bully quickly moved in front of him so that when he tried to run to the door, he got no further than one step before she leaped and drop kicked him, her feet slamming into his chest and knocking him back to the floor. She quickly got to her feet and moved in front of him again and straddled him with one foot on either side of his body, her hands once again on her hips. The man tried to get up, but she placed a bare foot on his face and pushed him back down. She then grasped his eyeglasses between her toes and tossed them aside, then placed her foot back on his face, pressing down on him as he started to rise.

“I'm so glad you decided to take up your wormy son's issues with me. I just hope you can deal with those issues better than he could, 'cause if you can't, you're up shit creek without a paddle,” she said.

Still on the floor, he grabbed her ankle and attempted to move her shapely little foot from his face, but the girl simply bore down harder. Finally he pulled as hard as he could, jerking her leg so that she fell backwards, but was able to recover before he could get up. Once again he tried to get to his feet, but the little girl said “Here, let me help you, old man,” as she grabbed his hair and pulled him up. She then kicked him in the crotch, once again doubling him over.

Moving forward, the young bully stepped forward and clenched his his head with her thighs, then looped her hands under his arms and placed her hands on his back, locking his arms in place as she jumped up, still holding his head firmly between her legs, and took him down with a perfectly executed pedigree, so that his face smashed into the carpeted floor with her small but powerful body crashing down on the back of his head to add the right amount of force for the maximum amount of pain.

The girl got up and grabbed him by the hair, pulling him up to his feet. She then punched him in the nose so that he once again fell to the floor. By now he was very familiar with the carpet, which like everything else in the house was very expensive. He wondered if they had a good carpet cleaning service to remove the blood and if they would be sending him a bill. However, he had more pressing matters to attend to, like how the hell could he get out of the house and away from this crazy little brat! After those issues were resolved, he would wonder what kind of explanation he would give his wife and son for the injuries to his face than he knew would be clearly visible, probably for several days.

She stood over him, nudging his face with her bare toes as she said, “Get up. Get up and fight me, you wimp. Even your pussy son put up a better fight than you.”

As he slowly got up, he wondered what the hell could he do to protect himself, other than try to get away. He couldn't fight back. If he did, he'd leave bruises on her, and she or her dad would call the cops, and what would he say? “I had no choice but to hit her, she was beating the shit out of me.”

No, that was no good. That would never do, and since he couldn't just stay there and be her punching bag, he had no choice but to escape. So he pushed her aside and ran for the door, only she quickly caught up with him and pushed him into the door. Before he could recover and open the door, she punched him in the lower back. He had already heard how devastating a kidney punch could be, and now he was experiencing it first hand. He slowly slid down the door to the floor.

His little nemesis continued her assault with her bare feet, stomping him repeatedly in the back. The little man cried out in agony as he rolled over so that he was facing her, although all she did then was kick his face and crotch. He tried to cover up with his hands, but she just aimed for whatever part of his body he was not protecting.

He was desperate. He had to do something. Finally, he caught her foot and pushed, causing her to topple to the floor. He quickly got up, opened he door and took one step outside before she jumped to her feet and grabbed him by the hair, pulled him back and slammed the door with her bare foot.

She then jumped on his back, piggyback style, and wrapped her arm around his throat while snaking her legs around his midsection, then squeezed him so hard he would have screamed in pain, except he couldn't breathe. He turned around, then moved backward as fast as he could, slamming her body into the door, hoping to break her hold on him, but to no avail. He tried it again, but once again she didn't budge. Finally, he moved forward a few steps and tried it again, hitting the door so hard it jarred him and knocked the breath out of him, but finally he succeeded, as the little girl fell to the floor.

However, she quickly recovered, grabbing his ankles and jerking his legs out from under him, causing him to fall to the floor, face down. She pounced onto his back and once again wrapped an arm around his throat while trapping his legs in a grapevine. The young bully then began spreading her legs further and further apart, taking his legs with hers and causing him excruciating pain while proving that a girl, especially a gymnast, can spread her legs a lot further than a man. He screamed and begged her to stop.

“Please...please STOP. That hurts so BAD. PLEASE STOP!”

But she didn't. She just kept extending her legs further and further out as the man screamed even louder. He reached behind him, grabbed her long hair and pulled as hard as he could, but the girl just tightened her choke hold on him, so that once again he could not breathe. After a few moments of the worst pain he had experienced in as long as he could remember, not to mention oxygen deprivation, he passed out.

When he came to, she was once again diddling his face with her toes. “Get up,” she demanded. He was still lying face down as she continued to poke his face with her toes. He slowly rolled over on his back and tried to grab her foot like he did before, only she withdrew it and once more started kicking and stomping him. The man curled up into a fetal position and covered his head with his hands, but the little girl continued her assault.

Finally she stopped, falling on him and wrestling him. They rolled around for a few seconds, the girl coming out on top and trapping him with a schoolgirl pin. Since she was not very heavy, he was able to topple her and roll over on top of the girl, but that was a mistake. She easily slipped her legs up and around his neck, locking her ankles behind him and crushing his neck as hard as she could.

Once again he found himself unable to breathe, and her legs inflicted tremendous pain on him. On top of that, he was embarrassed that his face was in such close proximity to her crotch, and to make things even worse, she laced her fingers behind his neck and pulled him in even closer, so that his face was now pressed against it as she continued to squeeze for all she was worth. He tapped her legs with his hand, trying to signal a submission, like in some of the few wrestling matches he had seen. Still, his torture continued. He pounded her legs with his fists, then tried to pry her legs apart with his hands, but nothing worked. She was too strong. The little girl's legs were far too strong for the man.

She grabbed his hair and pulled as hard as she could, then started shaking him with her legs. She started rolling, dragging the man with her. He never knew which way she was going to roll, and was deathly afraid she was going to break his pencil neck. The man didn't think the child was trying to kill him, but he feared she could do so whether she intended to or not. She couldn't possibly understand how dangerous what she doing to him was, and since he couldn't breathe, he couldn't tell her, and was afraid it wouldn't matter to her anyway. She wanted to inflict pain and fear, and was doing a damn good job of both. Health and safety issues were not her primary concern.

Finally she rolled him over onto his back, releasing her leggy grip as she hopped on top of him, straddling his face. She lifted herself up a few inches, then slammed her crotch into his face, then did it again and again, five times in all. He knew he could roll her off like he did before, but that would probably take him from the frying pan into the fire, as she'd wrap those legs around his neck again. What she was doing was painful, but it was also humiliating, but so was everything else she did to him.

She finally stopped and stood, straddling his body as she once again started poking his face with her toes. After a few seconds, the little girl said, “Get up,” but instead of waiting, she grabbed his hair and pulled him up just high enough for his face to be a few inches from hers. She clenched her fist and drew it back, taking her time to make sure he saw her and knew what was coming. He grabbed the wrist of the hand that still held his hair and tried to pry her fingers loose, desperate to free himself before her fist crashed into his face, but like everything else he tried, it failed. The punch, when it finally came, landed on his cheek, and though he was glad she didn't strike his nose this time, it still hurt like hell.

Instead of letting go of his hair, she held onto it so that he didn't fall to the floor. Then she punched him three more times, finally letting him go as the last punch smashed into his face so hard it knocked him around so that he crashed to the floor face down. As he raised himself up slightly, she walked around in front of him so that he could clearly see her pink painted toenails. Just as he got to his knees, she kicked his face, knocking him over backwards so that he once again landed on the floor, this time on his back.

He had to do something. He couldn't fight her, as he couldn't take the chance on injuring her. Besides, he had never been much of a fighter, so it probably wouldn't do any good, so once again the only thing he could think of to do was escape. Otherwise, this little girl was going to kill him, or at least put him in the hospital.

The man slowly got to his feet and was relieved his antagonist didn't immediately attack him. Instead, she started circling him in a wrestler's crouch, knees slightly bent with her hands extended toward him in an invitation to wrestle her. “Come on,” she said. “Come on. Wrestle me, you fucking wimp.” She lunged forward, engaging him by locking up with him. They pushed each other until the girl backed him up against the wall, then stepped back a few inches and charged, slamming her body into his.

The little girl then pushed her body into his as hard as she could, crushing him. She continued putting pressure on his body, turning it up a notch every few seconds. It wasn't as painful as her scissor or grapevine, and he could still breathe, but it was still uncomfortable, and also humiliating, as he couldn't push her away. She just crushed him that much harder when he tried. He grabbed her by the hair and tried to pull her to one side, then straight back, but she didn't budge. Finally, she backed off, then punched his stomach as hard as she could. As he stooped over, she brought her knee up fast and hard, sending bolts of pain through his nose. She grabbed two handfuls of his hair and slammed his head into the wall, then did it again and again, three times altogether, then stepped back to admire her handiwork.

“You're pathetic,” she said, as he slid down the wall onto the floor. The girl waited, giving him a chance to recover before grabbing his shirt and pulling him back up. However, the man was able to pull himself free while at the same time lifting his leg and, using his foot, pushed on her stomach hard enough so that she fell on her butt while he once again ran for the front door.

The little girl was quickly up and after him, yelling, “Come back here. I'm not finished with you.”

Just as he reached the door, she crashed into him, knocking him into the door before he could open it. She pressed her body against his as she wrapped one arm around his neck and across his throat, dragging him back into the living room, holding him so that he was facing up at the ceiling with the heels of his shoes sliding on the carpet as he tried in vain to put on the brakes.

“Please,” he begged. “Please, I'm sorry about all this, just...just please, let me go,” he begged.

“Nope,” she responded, then dropped him on the floor and immediately sat on his chest and circled his throat with her fingers, choking him. He grabbed her wrists and tried to pull her hands away, but he may as well have been pulling two steel pipes encased in cement. He started bucking like a bronco, but she rode him like a cowgirl, refusing to be dislodged as she held on, strangling him. He punched her arms, but she continued to throttle him. In desperation, he rolled, knowing she would probably wrap him up like a Christmas present with those powerful legs, but she was already choking him, so he figured he didn't have anything to lose. Sure enough, her legs coiled around him like two anacondas, crushing his midsection while she continued to choke the shit out of him with her hands. After a few seconds, he passed out again.

He came to a few minutes later with the child standing over him, one bare foot on his face, pressing hard against what he knew was probably a broken nose. He screamed in pain, but the girl just pushed harder, hurting him as much as possible. He grabbed her ankle with one hand and her toes with the other and pushed as he struggled to his feet, causing the girl to fall to her butt. She quickly got up with a look of anger so intense the man knew he was in more trouble than ever, so he forgot about the consequences of fighting back and threw a punch at her, swinging wildly over her head, as she easily ducked and pivoted, then landed a back kick into his crotch, doubling him over in more pain than ever.

She stepped forward and slammed an elbow into his upper back, then grabbed him by the hair and stepped forward, clenching is head between her thighs as she looped her arms under his arms, placing her hands on his back as she took him down with another pedigree, his injured nose once again hitting the floor with the girl's weight crashing down on him. The pain was so bad he almost passed out again.

He just lay there, afraid to get up for fear of what she would do next. He was badly in need of a break, but the little girl wasn't having it. She straddled the man, who was still face down on the floor, then sat on his back and wound both arms around his throat and rolled so that he was on top with the girl on her back, both facing up. Once again, she circled his body with her legs, locking her ankles as she squeezed, crushing him with a strength he still had difficulty believing. She also put pressure on his throat with her arms, once again stealing his breath and causing incredible pain with all four limbs.

The man saw her bare feet, the heels of which were resting on his stomach as she continued putting him under incredible pressure, crushing him harder than ever. He grabbed her toes and pulled them as hard as he could, big toe one way, the other four toes the other way, hoping to inflict enough pain to cause her to release him, but all she did was tell him, “Leave my toes alone, loser.” He continued to pull her toes, desperately trying to get her to release him, but she just continued to apply pressure to his badly beaten body.

He finally released her toes and elbowed her ribs as hard as he could, but he may as well have been tickling her, as she just laughed. He tried again and again, and the girl just said ignored it. She didn't seem to feel pain. The man had heard of people like that. They had something called congenital analgesia, which caused them to be completely oblivious to pain. The down side was that they could be severely injured and not know it. The up side, obviously, was that in a fight, their opponents could not hurt them. No matter how hard they hit them, such people could just keep fighting no matter what happened, short of an injury like a broken arm. Whether that was the case here or not, she certainly did not seem affected by his attempts to hurt her. She just kept choking and squeezing him with her arms and legs.

Not knowing what else to do, he thrashed around like a fish out of water, an appropriate metaphor since he couldn't breathe. He rolled over so she was on top, both now facing the floor, then back again so that she was once more underneath him, but in complete control. When she finally relaxed her grip to catch her own breath, he started desperately gulping air to replenish his lungs, and after about thirty seconds began to beg his little tormentor to please let him go.

“I...I can't take any more. Please...Please let me go,” he pleaded.

“Nope,” she said.

“I'll...I'll do anything...anything, if you'll just let me go,” he said. “Please... Please... Please... ”


To be continued...
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Old 08-Sep-18, 05:06
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Default Re: The Little Bully Destroys Her Victim's Father

Wow that was a great start to the story. The buildup to the actual meeting and fight between these two was done really well. Getting all the backround of Jennifer and all the bullying she does shows the kind of girl she was. And when Mr Strickland saw his sons bully was this 11 year old girl that was great. The way she spoke so confident to him. I love story can’t wait till the next part. Thanks for breaking it up.
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Old 08-Sep-18, 09:13
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Default Re: The Little Bully Destroys Her Victim's Father

Thanks for the positive response. I've really enjoyed writing this one and am still making additions to it, including an extra couple of paragraphs at the end that I think will blow people away.
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Old 08-Sep-18, 12:31
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Default Re: The Little Bully Destroys Her Victim's Father

Part 3


After a few moments she released him, pushing him away with her bare feet before slowly getting up and looking down at his battered and beaten body. As he started the painful effort of getting to his feet, she reached out and grabbed him, putting one hand under and around his crotch and placing it on his butt, while slipping the other hand over his shoulder, finally putting it on his shoulder blade. She squatted and lifted, letting her powerful legs to the work of supporting the mans weight as she turned him upside down, held him for a few seconds, just to let what she was about to do sink in, then body slammed him to the floor on his back.

Not satisfied, she pulled him up by the hair and lifted him again, this time with one hand on his butt and the other between his shoulder blades, holding him so that he was basically resting on her shoulders horizontally, like a set of barbells for someone doing squats, which was exactly what she was about to do. As if she hadn't already displayed an incredible amount of strength while brutalizing and destroying him, she bent her knees, arched her back and lifted him up, then down, up then down, five times altogether before literally shrugging him off her shoulders and onto the floor.

Before he could recover, the girl fell on him and wrestled him. She pinned his shoulders with her knees and punched his face over and over. The man screamed in pain, especially since she had already badly injured his nose. She finally stopped, but grabbed his hair and pulled his head up, then slammed it on the floor several times. Fortunately for him, the floor was carpeted, but it still hurt like hell. When she got bored with that, she choked him again, lacing her fingers around his throat. He bucked and rolled, trying to dislodge her, but her toes splayed out and grasped the carpet like claws as she lifted her midsection up, then slammed it down on him over and over, all while continuing to choke the shit out of him.

Finally she stopped and rolled over, carrying him with her so that he was on top. Before he could think of a way to stop her, she captured his midsection with her legs again, and before she even locked her ankles behind him, he anticipated the pain and the suffocation and cried out. “Please, don't...” Once again his breath was taken away, and the pain was such that he thought she was cutting him in half.

She crushed him for about thirty seconds before easing up on him, but not for long. She flexed her leg muscles again, then relaxed, crushing him intermittently so that he never knew how long his respites would last. She would squeeze and relax, then wait a few seconds, then squeeze and relax, then really go all out to crush him, holding him in the vice like grip of her legs for nearly a minute.

After another few minutes of torture, the girl suddenly released him, rolling slightly to one side and pushing him away from her with her bare feet, so that he ended up on his back as she sat up and looked at him. All he did was lie there with his eyes closed, still whimpering. The girl knew the man could no longer put up a fight no matter what she did, which took the fun out of it. After a few more seconds, she stood up.

“You worthless piece of shit,” she said, patting his face lightly with her bare foot. “Get out of here.”

The man opened his eyes and looked up at her, but didn't move. Finally, he said, “Don't mess with my son again. Please. That's all I ask. Do anything you like to me, but leave my son alone.”

She couldn't believe it. She had beaten him more severely than anyone she had ever fought. There was no one around to stop her, no one around to tell on her, no witnesses, so it was easy. Still, he had the audacity to tell her to leave his wimpy ass son alone. She just stared at him.

“Get up, you little worm,” she told him. He slowly got to his feet, although every movement caused him pain.

“I'll beat the shit out of your pussy wussy son anytime I like,” she said. “I'll beat him up at school as soon as he gets off the bus Monday morning, and nobody will stop me or do a damn thing about it, because my daddy owns this fucking town.”

Although the girl was three years younger than Bobby, he had repeated a grade, as he was not much better at school work than he was at fighting. On the other hand, Jennifer was a gifted child who had advanced a grade. She was therefore only a grade behind him, and they both attended the same middle school.

“NO!” He was in no position to be calling the shots, and he knew it, but he couldn't leave without at least trying to save his son from this evil little bitch. “Do whatever you want to me, but leave my son alone, damn you!”

She continued staring at him, still amazed that he had the balls to talk to her that way after the beating she had just given him. She came close to attacking him again, but felt things had gone far enough. Even with her dad's influence, if he showed up at the emergency room with serious injuries, her daddy might put her on restriction. Not that he'd ever followed through on such threats, but there was a first time for everything, and she didn't want to take any chances, especially since she knew she might accidentally kill this worm if she continued brutalizing him.

Suddenly an idea occurred to her, and she smiled. It was an evil smile that the man would remember for the rest of his life, a smile that haunted his nightmares as much as the beating that preceded it.

“I'll make a deal with you,” she said. She let a few seconds pass before continuing.

“I'm listening,” he said.

“My parents go out every Saturday night and leave me here alone. All by myself. No one to talk to, nobody to play with.”

“What they hell are you suggesting?” he asked.

“I've enjoyed your visit so much, I'm inviting you to come back again next Saturday night. Same time.”

“Why?” he said, incredulous at her suggestion.

“For round two. The second fall. Although you may want to take some lessons in self defense between now and then. You can't fight for shit.”

“WHAT THE HELL?” he yelled. “I'm not coming back over here to fight you again unless hell freezes over.”

“OK. In that case, tell Bobby I look forward to seeing him Monday morning,” she said, as she padded over to the sofa and stretched out on her stomach, striking a provocative pose, with her chin resting on one fist, her lower legs extended upward with her ankles crossed, bare feet swinging back and forth.

“You're crazy,” he said. “You need psychiatric help.”

“Daddy tried that already,” she said. “Last I heard, the doctor was making a pretty good recovery.”

“You just stay the hell away from my son. I know your daddy owns the town, but I've got some connections too, you know.” He knew no one, absolutely no one, but the girl didn't know that.

“If you don't come back, I might come looking for you. I can find out where you live. Easy. Then I could beat you up in front of your wife and son. How would you like that?” she asked.

“Don't even think about it, little girl. Just stay away from me and my son,” he said.

“Just think it over. I still expect to see you next week,” she said, then blew him a kiss. “Don't make me come looking for you, AND your pussy wussy son.”

“You are crazy as hell,” he said, trying to storm out the door, which was hard to do since he could barely walk.

On his way out, he noticed what was obviously a security camera above the archway to the entrance from the foyer to the living room. He didn't think anything about it until a few days later.

He had never been so relieved as he was when he walked out the door of the Sheffield home, but it was short lived. Suddenly, everything hit him at once. First, the pain. He was badly hurt and in need of medical attention, but there was no way he was going to the emergency room, especially on a Saturday night. Half the people there would be a bunch of drunks and the other half would be the victims of drunk people. Also, what would he tell them? That he fell down the stairs? They'd know he'd suffered a severe beating, and the police would be called, and what the hell would he tell them? A little girl beat up my son, then when I went over to talk to her father, she beat the hell out of me, too? No, that wouldn't do. That would never do.

He tried to assess the situation as far as whether he really required medical attention. He didn't think he had any broken bones, and was pretty sure there were no internal injuries. She struck him in the face several times, and maybe his nose was broken, but he was certain he didn't have a skull fracture or anything like a subdural hematoma. So no, he didn't really need immediate medical attention.

But what would he tell his wife? He couldn't just go in and say, “Hi honey, I'm home.” The bruising wouldn't be visible right away, but he had a lip that was cut and swollen, his nose was also swollen and continued to bleed intermittently. He looked in the car mirror and ran his tongue over his teeth. Fortunately, no teeth were missing. Still, it was painfully – so to speak – obvious he had been injured.

He would have to say that Mr Sheffield had been home and was the one who beat him up. He could claim he had already reported it to the police and that would be the end of that, he didn't want to talk about it anymore. That would be it. Or so he thought.

Except for Bobby. He would have to tell Bobby to stay as far away from that psychotic little bitch as possible, and he would have to tell him he was sorry that he hadn't been able to protect him any better than he had. He was sorry that he could not protect his son, that he may have, in fact, made things worse, just as Bobby and Molly feared he would. He was sorry that he was such a failure, and that an eleven-year-old girl had beaten the holy shit out of him, even worse than she had beaten up Bobby. No, he wouldn't tell Bobby that, but his worst fear, other than his fear for his son's physical well being, was that somehow the entire town would find out. That's when it all came crashing down on him, an avalanche of emotional pain and anxiety to accompany the physical pain that just seemed to be getting worse now that the adrenaline was no longer coursing through his body.

When he pulled into the driveway and under the carport of his small middle class home in his declining middle class neighborhood (the people across the street almost never mowed their lawn, and there was an old junk car up on concrete blocks), he was more nervous than he had been pulling up to the Sheffield home. He sat in his car a few moments, rehearsing what he would say. It would not be easy, and the longer he waited, the worse it would be, so he finally got out and entered through the side door leading into the kitchen, where his wife, Molly, was washing dishes. Their dishwasher was broken, and they couldn't afford to replace it, so they decided they could do without it.

When Molly saw his face with the crusted blood on his upper lip, and the swollen nose and bottom lip, she screamed, and of course, Bobby came running in to see what was wrong. “It's not that bad,” he said, knowing it was bad but not wanting them to know how bad it was, or how bad the evening at the Sheffield home had been. “You should see the other guy,” he said, making a joke that went over about like a pregnant woman doing a pole vault.

He said he and Mr Sheffield got into a fight. He had seen the man enough to know he looked like someone who'd be tough to handle in a fight (but probably not as much as his preteen daughter), so it shouldn't be that hard for them to believe. He also said he had gone by the police station to file a report, but that with the Sheffield's influence, he doubted much would come of it, especially since it was he who had gone to their home and Sheffield and his wife and daughter would undoubtedly tell a different story. As far as he was concerned, that was the end of it. He said all he wanted was to take a bath and go to bed, and that's what he did.

Nothing happened on Sunday. He had halfway expected Mr Sheffield to call, but he didn't. More than likely the little bitch didn't even tell him about the visit, much less the fight, which was a good thing. Neither Molly nor Bobby said much, which was also a good thing, but he could tell Bobby was disappointed in him, and a little bit scared to go to school Monday. It would have been bad enough with everyone knowing he had been beaten up by eleven-year-old Jennifer Sheffield. Now, however, he was afraid Jennifer would go after him again after his dad's visit, and Mr Strickland knew even better than Bobby that he was more at risk of another attack by Jennifer than ever. Bobby had told his dad that his going to the Sheffield's home would make things worse, and Mr Strickland was afraid he was right. He had not only let his son down, he had probably made things worse, so he avoided Bobby as much as Bobby avoided him.

Monday morning he called in sick, saying he had the flu. It was the first time he had ever called in sick in the ten years he had worked for the company. He was caught up on his work, as always, so it was no problem. He hoped he'd be able to return by the end of the week, but doubted that the injuries would fade sufficiently, so he'd probably not be able to return until the following week.

He then called Tommy Jordan, a friend who was a captain with the city police department, giving him a vague account of what happened (or rather, what he wanted him to think happened, which was that he and Mr Sheffield had gotten into a fight). He told him an alternate version of what happened, much the same as he had told Molly and Bobby.

“Funny,” Captain Jordan said, “Jim Sheffied is a son of a bitch, and he's responsible for a lot of things for which he should probably be arrested, but physical assault isn't one of them. He's very athletic, played football in college, but he's not known for beating people up.

“Now his wife is kind of obnoxious, especially when she's been drinking, and I've known of her to get into it with other women at the country club, but no more than slapping and name calling,” Captain Jordan said.

Mr Strickland continued to be at a loss for words, so Captain Jordan continued. “Now his daughter, little Jennifer, that girl is a a piece of work. We've gotten several calls from upset parents because of her jumping on their children and beating the shit out of them. Nearly all the kids she's gone after are boys, many of them older and and bigger. She's the member of that family I wouldn't want to have pissed off at me if it was physical violence I was afraid of. She's not particularly big for her age, but she's strong as hell and even meaner than the devil himself. She likes to beat up boys 'just 'cause.'”

Finally, Mr Strickland told him the truth, on the condition that he not tell anyone. He downplayed it, making it sound like she only punched and kicked him a couple of times. He also informed him that no one else was home, wondering if he should have admitted that or not. To his relief, Captain Jordan didn't laugh.

“I'm a little surprised, but not much. I've never known that girl to assault a grown man before, but I guess it had to happen sooner or later,” he said. Mr Strickland remembered what she had said about the psychiatrist who was recovering, implying she had beat him up, too. He wondered if Captain Jordan knew about that, or if the girl was simply joking, although she didn't seem to have much wit about her.

Mr Strickland said he wasn't that concerned about what she did to him, as it wasn't too bad (it was, of course). At the same time, he hoped he didn't run into the captain any time soon, as his badly beaten face would easily belie what he told him. He just wanted her to stay away from his son, and wanted to know what his alternatives were.

Captain Jordan said he could try to obtain a restraining order, but that he would have to report the incident and someone would have to interview Bobby, and since it had been a few days since the assault, he didn't know if he would be successful, especially since it involved the most influential man in town who would probably have the order nullified, or else use it to humiliate Mr Strickland and Bobby, especially since the order would be to keep his eleven-year-old daughter away from his son. It might be different if it was an older male bully instead of a little girl.

Also, since no one else was home, he might try to make something out of the fact that a middle aged man was at his house alone with his eleven-year-old daughter, and if the girl decided to claim that he made sexual advances, well that would open up a whole new can of worms. That thought had not even occurred to Mr Strickland. More and more clouds started forming over his head, and he started feeling more anxiety than ever.

Mr Strickland thanked him and asked once again that he keep what he had told him confidential, and he said he would. But what if he told his wife? Nancy Jordan was a nosy busybody, a woman who loved to gossip, and if Captain Jordan told her any of this, everyone in town would know. Certainly he wouldn't tell her, but still, it was one more thing he found himself worrying about. Still more anxiety.

Meanwhile, Bobby was able to avoid confrontation with Jennifer at school. Since they were in different grades, he had no classes with her, but when he saw her in the hall between classes, she smiled and waved. Unfortunately, other kids, having heard about his fight with her at the skating rink, started picking on him. It wasn't as bad as he had feared, as she had beaten up several kids, especially boys, and many knew what he was going through, some first hand. Everyone knew she was a little rich bitch who was strong enough and mean enough to beat them up, too, so they were reluctant to say much for fear it might happen to them one day, if it hadn't already.

As he was leaving school to get off the bus at the end of the day, she came up and told him she was sorry they hadn't been able to get together, but she had a very busy schedule, and it might be a couple of days, but she definitely planned to spend some time with him around the middle of the week. “Count on it,” she said, then kissed him on the cheek. As she was walking away, she said loudly enough for others around him to hear, “Say hello to your daddy for me.” He blushed as the other kids looked at him, and then the teasing started again.

Mr Strickland anxiously awaited Bobby's return home from school, and when he finally got off the bus and came inside, Mr Strickland was relieved to see there were no signs of injury. He was reluctant to ask if he had seen Jennifer, and since Bobby didn't say, he assumed no news was good news. Bobby went straight to his room and said nothing. He reluctantly came out for dinner a couple of hours later, but didn't say anything and neither his mother or father asked him. It was a very quiet, awkward dinner.

Tuesday also went by without incident. He saw her twice that day between classes, but she didn't even look his way. He was a little nervous about what she had said, but hoped she was just messing with him, trying to scare him. Unfortunately, his assessment of the situation was overly optimistic. Mr Strickland once more anxiously awaited his son's arrival from school, and was once again relieved to see him without visible injuries. Bobby didn't say anything and dinner was once again a very quiet affair.

On Wednesday, as he was leaving school at the end of the day to get on the bus, Jennifer, wearing a pink tee shirt, jeans, and and a pair of expensive athletic shoes, came up behind him, grabbed him, and dragged him into the boys rest room, butt checking the door to open it as she pushed him inside. At this time of day, most kids were anxious to leave school and did not usually stop long enough to go to the rest room unless they really had to go, so there was only one boy inside, who quickly left when he realized what was about to happen.

Jennifer dropped her books and iPhone on the floor and went to work on poor Bobby, slamming him into the wall on one side of the rest room, then dragging him to the wall on the other side and flinging him into that wall, too. He yelped in pain as Jennifer stopped working him over long enough to kick her shoes off, then, as Bobby watched helplessly, she peeled off her ankle socks. The mean little girl preferred to fight barefoot when possible, especially if she wanted to humiliate her victim, and she definitely wanted to humiliate this one. Bobby had a friend who had witnessed one such humiliation and told him about it after she beat him up at the skating rink, so he cringed, knowing what was coming after she finished him off.


To be continued

Last edited by dirksneath; 08-Sep-18 at 13:00.
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Old 08-Sep-18, 15:50
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Default Re: The Little Bully Destroys Her Victim's Father

It was a good twist making her beatings on him a weekly event, mate. Wonder if he'll have the guts to show up and how it will feel to be driving up to the Sheffield house when he does. It might also be good to see Jennifer make good on her threat and go to his house to beat him up in front of his wife and son. A lot of possibilities. Thanks for this, mate.
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