Becky the Avenger (Part II)

Her moans covered the swishing sound of her legs as they thrashed upon the sheets. The darkness of the room was broken only by a pale beam of streetlight coming in through the gap beneath the closed blinds. It shone on the headboard, reflecting just enough to catch her strawberry blonde curls.

“MMmm!” her moan was somewhere between protest and pleasure as her hands clenched the sides of the bed, unseen in the darkness.

Becky let out a loud gasp and sat upright, catching the lone beam of light right on her sweaty face as she sat there panting.

She let out a long sigh; “Shit.” There was no way she would get back to sleep tonight. She made her way into the kitchen and pulled some green peppers out of the refrigerator to cut up for her midnight salad.

The dreams were getting worse again. Much worse. In her subconscious world, reality gave way to senseless carnage and lust that was at once frightening and provocative. Six months earlier, her inner turmoil had driven her to mutilate a man she chose off the street. Since then, she had tried to make peace with herself, tried to forgive them for what they had done to her.

But she couldn’t let go. She had dropped out her senior year in high school, taking the GED instead, and at 18 she still could remember every thrust, every penetration, every slimy squirt of the gang rape she had endured two years earlier at that frat party.

Becky looked down to see she was making deep grooves in the cutting board. She examined the knife, thinking about how easily she had used it to penetrate a man’s fleshy organs. She penetrated him like they had penetrated her. Over and over again.

She closed her eyes and let out a long breath, finally putting the knife down. Becky needed some air. The chopped peppers were refrigerated, and she dressed into her usual “outside” clothes that hid her figure so she wouldn’t get so many looks. In her leather jacket was the stun gun she carried for protection, along with several other “backup” defense tools. It was her city too, and she went out whenever she damn well felt like it. Of course deep inside, she hoped someone would try to rape her.

The streets were empty around her block, and she enjoyed the cool night breeze. The city didn’t have as many scents at night after the restaurants closed, but the aromas were still there in a muted way. Tonight she made a right turn at Kingston Boulevard instead of a left. This would take her by the park, a place most people avoided at night.

Becky could see people ahead standing beneath one of the streetlamps. It was five Puerto-Rican guys drinking beer and smoking. In her pocket, she unscrewed the cap on her ammonia squirt bottle. She couldn’t take five guys down with a stun gun, but she could blind the fuck out of them if they tried anything.

The five guys stopped talking when they noticed her coming, and she kept her course straight for them, her eyes meeting theirs boldly. As she passed within three feet of them, there were no cat calls, no whistles, no moves to intercept her.

“Hi,” said one of them.

She nodded and continued down the street, her back to them. She could hear them talking to each other quietly. Only a block later did her hands start shaking. Feeling the rush of adrenaline, she turned up the path that led into the park itself. It was dimly lit and narrow, surrounded by trees and bushes. Over the years, several women had been raped here, and one cop had gotten shot. Becky’s blood was pumping now, and she felt more alive than she had in months.

“Come on out and play, you bastards,” she muttered under her breath. In her coat pocket, she kept the open ammonia squirt bottle in her hand.

A few minutes later, she saw three guys way off in a clearing. One was kneeling, the other two were standing. They stopped whatever it was they were doing and stared at Becky as she walked by on the path.

“Nobody here but us queers,” she muttered inaudibly to herself with a smile. Ahead was the staircase – 120 stone steps that lead up the hill and onto Birch Street. Yes, she had counted them; doesn’t everybody?

She climbed the stairs slowly so as not to get out of breath, then crossed Birch Street and made her way through the old folks retirement community. There were absolutely no signs of life here, not even cars going by. Her adrenaline high was fading, and she was getting sleepy. Time to head back and salvage what was left of the night.

Rather than double back, she chose the train tracks. It was a more direct route, and she liked the smell of creosote oil. It was halfway home that she heard something behind her and looked back. To her surprise, it was the three queers from the park. They were following her!

The adrenaline returned right away. What did they want from her? Instead of continuing to walk, she turned around and headed back towards them. The three of them stopped in their tracks and looked at each other, surprised at her reaction. When she was within 15 feet, she stopped as well and they faced each other.

“What the FUCK do you want?” she said.

“You don’t own the train tracks, little hooker; but I bet you’ve had a lot of trains!” All three started laughing.

“I ain’t no hooker, you butt-fucking queers!”

“Well, we ain’t no queers, but we do fuck little girlie’s butts!”

Becky had the stun gun in her right hand, and the ammonia squirt bottle in her left hand, both hidden in her jacket pockets. She was both scared and exited.

“I’m going to tell you just once; leave me alone,” she said calmly.

“Well then get the fuck out of our way, and stop trying to proposition us, little whore!”

Becky climbed off the tracks and walked down  the side of the hill about 10 feet. The three men started walking again, while still hurling insults at her. She watched them closely, waiting for them to make a fast move in her direction, but they walked by and kept walking down the tracks.

“Jesus,” she muttered to herself. When the three guy’s voices faded into the distance, she climbed back onto the tracks and continued her trip homewards. Two miles later, she turned off the tracks and onto 33rd Drive, then back to her own street. She was yawning readily now, and might even be able to sleep without any bad dreams.

As she pulled out her keys to open the stairway door, she heard a sound behind her. Too late, she turned, and the three men from the train tracks were upon her. It happened quickly, and she was so startled, she didn’t begin kicking up her defenses until two of them had her firmly restrained while the third fumbled with her keys trying to open the stairway door.

“Come on, Jimmy, hurry up,” said the one who had his hand clasped over her mouth. “This bitch is flopping around like a fucking fish!”

“Got it!” said Jimmy, pulling the door open. They dragged her into the dark landing and closed the door to the street. “Come on, get her clothes off!”

Becky was wild with fear, trying to think clearly amidst being pulled down to the dirty floor by three large guys. She’d only get one chance at pulling out the ammonia and stun gun, and if she screwed it up, she was toast.

“You fucking hooker, this one’s gonna be on the house – YOUR house!” said the one who had done most of the corresponding on the tracks earlier. He had rusty brown hair and a square jaw line.

Their hands were all over her; one guy held her down and kept his hand over her mouth while the other two yanked her shirt open and then her bra, exposing her breasts.

“They’re kinda small, but nice,” said Jimmy, groping her tits while the guy with rusty brown hair began unbuttoning her jeans. Becky went limp, waiting for her moment. She let them pull her pants down, then her panties. She clenched her teeth when Jimmy spit on his finger and then penetrated her with it.

While he wiggled his finger inside her pussy, the guy with rusty brown hair was unbuckling his jeans.

Dick. When she saw dick, she would unleash hell like they had never seen.

Jimmy’s finger was probing deeper into her abdomen, and he bent forward to suck on her nipple. Then, the guy with rusty brown hair was shoving Jimmy aside.

There he was, his jeans down to his knees, and his big pink erection sticking straight up above his balls. He spit into his hand and wetted his shaft, kneeling down in front of Becky eager to enter her.

Becky reached back with her stun gun, pressing it into the groin of the guy who was holding her. She pressed the button, and simultaneously brought out the ammonia squirt bottle and squirted Jimmy across the face.

Everything seemed to slow for Becky as confusion and agony swept through the men around her. Suddenly, she was free, Jimmy was on the floor screaming and clawing at his face, and the rusty haired guy was kneeling there with his wet dick in his hand looking very confused.

Becky brought her foot up hard, smashing his hanging balls up into his pelvic bone. Before he could double over, she pounced, knocking him onto his back. As she straddled his chest, she drew out her six inch knife and flashed it before his eyes.

“You want to fuck?” she asked him. “You want to penetrate me?” He was shaking his head and babbling something, but Becky was seeing red. Her predatory instincts had been triggered, and she had come too close to reliving her rape from two years ago.

In the morning, she would hardly believe what she had done, but she would remember smiling as she spun around to face the rusty haired guy’s groin. He had lost his erection, so she had to lift his wilted penis out of the way to get at his testicles. She remembered the jarring shock of the knife point slamming against concrete each time she stabbed it down through his balls. She leaned forward and brought the knife point upwards between his legs with all her might. When she felt his bloody balls squish against her fist, she let go of it, leaving the handle sticking down between his legs like a misplaced boner.

Becky pulled out the next knife, and turned her attention to the other two. The guy who had held her was not completely immobilized, but several hard kicks to his face slowed him down enough for her to kick his legs apart and kneel down between them.

This knife was a very sharp skinning knife, and she thrusted the tip of her knife well to the side of his bulge just to break the fabric. She ripped downwards along the contour of his thigh, then across, creating a flap that she could pull open exposing his organs.

His balls were massive, and shaved; apparently he was quite proud of them. She placed the skinning knife underneath one side and pressed upwards against their weight, pulling sideways. It was the same cut a kosher butcher uses to cut the throat of cows; the blade bit in, cleaving right through both testicles and opening them like clamshells. Their contents spilled out onto her hands, blood and tiny coiled tubules. The man shuddered when his fat nuts were split open, then went still again.

Last was Jimmy who was still holding his burning eyes and pleading for mercy. Becky unbuckled his jeans and pulled them down. This fucker had stuck his finger and his spit where it didn’t belong in her. She grabbed his warm soft balls in one hand and tugged on them, stretching the connecting skin between them and his body.

The skinning knife made a quick, easy pass through, and his balls were sitting loosely in her hand. Becky brought the knife point to is throat.

“Open,” she commanded.

When he did, she stuffed his bloody balls into his mouth and made him chew them.

“Harder, chew harder!” she shouted. Blood appeared at the point of her knife at his throat.

Jimmy’s jaw muscles clenched, until there was a soft wet pop.

“That’s one, bite down on the other one or I’ll cut your dick off and stick it up your ass.”

He was trying not to gag as he clenched his jaw down again. She didn’t hear it give, but she saw his teeth suddenly close and she knew he had gotten a second juicy mouthful of his ruined manhood.

Becky stood up and looked at the gore on the ground and on her hands. This was just like in her dreams, only she could smell the sweet metallic odor of blood, the musky sweat of male krotch, and the gamey aroma of opened testicles.