The Avenger

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When the sensei told her all this, the young woman stood up, ready to rush after her tormentor. The master stopped her with a karate strike. The disciple, on whom the blow had little effect, understood the gravity of the situation.

"I've told you a thousand times: it's not like that! You can't act on impulse! First, study your opponent. Never underestimate them!"

The black belt therapist then devised a strategy to approach the abusive lawyer. Well-known to her father—who had heard vague murmurs about the degrading practices of this colleague—it was easy for her to schedule a dinner at an elegant restaurant in São Paulo. At the exuberant age of nineteen, the beautiful young woman, just out of adolescence, was the type of woman that men in their forties liked to flaunt. Dressed discreetly, however, she did not reveal her even more exuberant musculature.

"I'm glad you arranged this dinner. I always thought you were a very beautiful girl, you know?"

"Thank you," she smiled, falsely grateful.

"How about we finish this conversation at my condo?"

She didn't expect the harassment to come so quickly and so directly. The petulance, combined with what she knew he was capable of, made hatred churn in her gut. To avoid the worst, the karateka went straight to the message she needed to deliver.

"I'm only here to ask you one thing: stop hitting women. Don't lay a finger on any woman without her consent."

The burly lawyer immediately changed his demeanor.

"What are you saying, you brat? Just because you're the daughter of a friend, you think I can't ruin you? Do you know who you're talking to? I'm going to tell your father that you're coming on to me like a little slut, which is exactly what you are. And get out of my face, you little slut, before I beat you to a pulp. That's all I needed!"

She remained cold, indifferent to the embarrassment the scene caused in that refined environment, so concerned with appearances.

"Well, the message has been delivered," she said, standing up as he shouted insults and curses.

When she then tied the black belt around her waist, she prepared to face the boastful lawyer. After the meeting at the restaurant, he even called the young woman, apologizing for his outburst and promising to prove that those accusations were false, typical of people who envied his wealth, beauty, and success. The sensei instructed her to accept the apologies and maintain some proximity, as he would certainly not delay in victimizing another defenseless woman.

In fact, it didn't take long for them to learn of a new attack, this time against a model in her twenties, whose face had been disfigured by punches and kicks. The young karateka decided to be more aggressive in getting closer, and began to call the violent lawyer frequently. Certain that the "little chicken" – as he referred to girls who had just left their teens – had regretted what she had said on their first date, and was uncontrollably attracted to him, the man tried to bring forward the day he would take her to bed.
A new dinner was arranged between the two, and she allowed herself to use all the feminine stratagems of seduction. Her beautiful curly hair was impeccably groomed. And the makeup, discreet but very well done, highlighted the beauty of her face, whose dark, smooth and hydrated skin exuded health. The daring, short, sleeveless dress revealed her athletic body, which excited the wealthy lawyer even more – "I love a fit woman," he said, between bites, swallowing the young woman with his eyes, without paying much attention to her pronounced biceps. "The fitter she is, the hotter," he said, already imagining the acrobatics, copied from porn videos, that the man would demand the athletic woman do in bed to give him maximum pleasure. "You must be able to carry a lot of weight on your legs, huh?" he commented, when the topic of bodybuilding came up in their small talk.
The meeting ended with the promise of a weekend together, in the luxury condominium where he kept one of his ostentatious residences. The young woman's parents, who had already not looked favorably on their first meeting, now radically opposed it and tried to dissuade her – even though they knew that, in the end, their daughter always did what she wanted. Sitting on the bed, watching the martial artist pack a small suitcase, the mother said, in a tone that was almost whining:
- My daughter, we know the rumors...
- That's a legend, Mommy – lied the girl. – He's a really nice guy! A gentleman. He's treating me like I'm a princess. And isn't he a friend of Daddy's?
- A colleague, not a friend.
- But you know him. Don't worry, Mommy...
- Daughter, give up on this date. Who knows if those rumors are really true... You're so pretty. Why waste time with this forty-something guy who's always chasing girls your own age?
- Mommy, nothing will happen that I don't want. And I know how to defend myself very well.
The girl said this while folding her karate kimono and black belt. The two looked at each other and smiled discreetly. And they didn't say anything else.

The trip to the condominium – a kind of exclusive city for millionaires, artificially paradisiacal and surrounded by an exuberant security apparatus – was even fun. He knew how to seduce. Or at least he thought he did. The expensive sports car had every comfort and the playlist played what she liked the most. It was as if he had investigated her tastes. The first twelve hours in the mansion were equally pleasurable, starting with a very refined dinner on Friday night. She counted at least five servants in the monumental residence, decorated with an ostentatious and upstart eclecticism that bordered on bad taste: the cook, the waitress, the chambermaid, the cleaning lady and a mix of bodyguards and handymen – whom the karateka knew were the main cover-ups for the atrocities committed by her boss. The presence of four other women in the house, however, raised a question for her: did they do nothing in the face of the suffering of other women who passed through that house? Or did she simply not know anything? During dinner, however, while she was still rambling, the lawyer made numerous advances, trying to get the girl to go to bed before the meal was finished. She resisted, but not without exciting him, insinuating that it would be worth the wait because she had a series of "surprises" in store for the next day.

When they finally went to bed, after a surprisingly pleasant conversation after dinner, accompanied by port wine, she took care to lock the door to the large suite that had been prepared for her. She was sure that her irate and arrogant host would try something in the middle of the night. And he did. The athlete woke up to the sound of someone forcing the lock and jumped to the floor, ready to fight. But he soon gave up. He certainly preferred to avoid a scandal, waking the servants, or just to wait until the morning that was soon to dawn.

The day's schedule included hours of relaxation in the heated pool and open-air hot tub with a view of the mountain that bordered the condominium. At the lavish breakfast table he was wearing an elegant and comfortable robe. She noticed that, at least apparently, there was no one else in the mansion: no sign, not even of the bodyguard.
- Ready for our bath, princess?
She was wearing a long and comfortable robe provided by the maid.
- Are you wearing a bikini? - He gave the girl a predatory look, certain that in a little while he would be enjoying the "toned" body of a post-teenager. She tried to change the subject.
- I think this hot tub will be good. I need it...
- I asked you if you're wearing a bikini!
The girl looked at him haughtily, but said nothing. He stood up, furious, and grabbed the lapel of the young woman's robe.
- When I ask, I want an answer - and forced open her robe, under which the martial artist was wearing short silk pajamas. His disappointment at seeing her clothes so modest in the face of her sexual voracity was unmistakable. The lawyer grabbed her by the neck and lifted her up, knocking over the chair. "This time you won't escape me." And he stuck his tongue in the karateka's mouth, while ripping off her robe. Strategically, the young woman awaited that attack. Amidst the wild kisses, the black belt spoke brokenly.
"Wait, wait... Please, wait... I'm going to put on a bikini... A thong bikini... To look really hot... for you..." The ploy worked. He let go of her and smiled vulgarly.

– Really?... I want this thong tucked deep into that tight little ass of yours... I'm going to fuck you in a way you'll never forget. – He squeezed his erect penis under his robe.
She replied with a sexy smile.
– Go ahead! And don't delay, or I'll come and get you – he threatened, opening his robe and revealing his abs sculpted by intense weight training. He was wearing only a pair of swimming trunks.
The girl ran to the bedroom and took the cell phone she had used to record the entire conversation out of her robe pocket. She tried to send the file to her teacher. There was no internet signal. So she hid the device in the suite's closet, from where she took out her kimono and black belt, which she now tied around her waist. But the karateka made a decision that was as unusual as it was bold and radical: she would wear only the shitabaki and the obi. So, when she finished tying the belt tightly around her waist, she admired her broad shoulders with rounded muscles, her strong biceps that supported her deadly blows, her proportional and firm breasts on her defined chest and her toned abdomen, ready to withstand punches and kicks. She smiled proudly at the athlete reflected in the mirror, remembering her teacher:
- Avenge the suffering of women!
She took a deep breath, already preparing for combat, while she heard, in the distance, lost in the immensity of the house, the man's screams:
- Either you come down now or I'll come get you there, with a beating!
The scream made her blind with hatred, driving her to the door, ready to take off in a run that would end with her feet on the chest of the millionaire rapist. But martial discipline held her back. And calmly she walked to the edge of the pool, where he was waiting for her wearing only his swimming trunks. When she appeared, with her torso completely naked, the lawyer experienced a few seconds of confusion: was that really what he was seeing? He took off his sunglasses and stared at that beautiful, dark-haired girl, barefoot, with curly hair tied in a ponytail, with her breasts exposed and an athletic torso that he had never seen in a woman – at least not among the women he had known or raped.
"What the hell is this?!" he shouted. "All I need is for you to have a dick between those legs! If you think I'm interested in butch women, you're wrong, girl. I'm disgusted by transvestites. Start packing your bags and get the hell out of my house. Now! And if you're a woman, you're too fit for my taste." She remained motionless. "What are you waiting for, little slut? Come on! Get the hell out of my house! I'll talk to your father later. Poor guy, I don't think he knows that he's the father of a transvestite who isn't the least bit ashamed to show his breasts to a stranger...

He continued talking, but the karate fighter no longer listened to his insults and threats. She breathed disciplinedly, assuming a fighting stance while studying her opponent. In fact, he was a strong, muscular man, at least six inches taller than her and famous as an amateur jiu-jitsu fighter. And he was handsome, without a doubt. She had never faced a man like that, and for a few moments insecurity threatened to take over her. But there was no turning back. Either she carried out the "mission" to the end or she would be terribly massacred. Not physically, because the young woman knew how excellent she was at karate. Unless he used a firearm, she was in a position to defeat him with relative ease. The massacre would be of a different nature: if he remained unpunished, other women would be victims of his violence. Furthermore, he would do everything he could to destroy the fighter's reputation, even with the release of the recording of their conversation at the coffee table. Then came the image of her parents shocked by the whole story, the feeling of guilt, shame and, finally, the desire to run away, abandoning this absurd idea of ​​becoming a... vigilante. "Avenge the suffering of women," her teacher's voice now counterattacked. "Look what he did to this girl," the young black belt recalled to her former therapist, showing her photos of her face, savagely disfigured by the beating the model suffered, a beating perpetrated precisely by this man who, always shouting, approached the naked girl above the waist threateningly.
"You whore! Can't you hear me?! I told you to get out of here right now! Now!"
At that moment, she seemed to have left her own body, contemplating the scene. The fighter had completely lost all sovereignty over that war machine that fired, with the precision of the most excellent master of this martial art, an endless but very well-calculated series of seiken jodan zuki, uraken shita uti, hiji otoshi uti, mae gueri, tiudan mawashi gueri... It was as if she had trained the entire repertoire of karate moves there – and with an ease that would astonish even the most experienced fighter. The ease with which she was beating the violent lawyer was no less surprising. All that muscle mass was useless in the face of the furious black belt's lightning technique, who was also very aware of her own physical strength – no less trained.
Her blows made that remarkable masculine body, refined by bodybuilding, tremble in such a way that it made that unequal fight resemble a dance. His torso, his head, his steps went back and forth to the rhythm of the powerful blows that the young woman's hands and feet were delivering. It was as if she were playing with a ball, preventing it from falling to the ground. With the speed of a puma, she circled the man, delivering blows that left him as confused as they were painful. Until he fell to his knees, with bruises sprouting everywhere, his eyes swollen and blood running from his nose and mouth.

– For the love of God... Stop...
She grabbed the man's hair and made him look at her.
– I'm avenging all the women who...
Her proximity and the cessation of the beating gave him the opportunity he wanted: before the black belt could finish his sentence, he grabbed her waist and knocked her down, then rolled her into a rear naked choke with her back on his chest. The lawyer's strong arm desperately squeezed the girl's neck, certain that it was his only chance to defeat her. In fact, she knew she had little time, and soon her vision would start to darken. The difficulty in breathing only increased. But her survival instinct made her launch countless and powerful blows with both elbows, which ended up fracturing two of her opponent's ribs. He screamed in pain and released his grip on the karateka's neck. Already on the verge of fainting, she rolled to the side, passing over the millionaire's broken ribs, who screamed even louder - which only increased the pain.
Taking a deep breath to recover and resuming her cold martial balance, she stood up, groaning and coughing, and grabbed the waistband of her opponent's swimming trunks, pulling them up to squeeze his testicles. Too busy with the pain of his fractured ribs, the man was completely defenseless, even though he tried, with feeble movements, to grab her again in a jiu-jitsu move.
"You want to play, don't you?" Then she put a foot on his back, grabbed the armholes of the man's swimming trunks and threw herself backwards, pulling the garment with all the violence and strength she could, until it tore off. The screams of pain made ropes sprout from the lawyer's neck. She showed him the torn swimming trunks.
"My trophy." Grabbing his hand, she dragged him with all her strength into the house. Now completely naked, the man howled in pain, trying to stand up.
- Help! Help! Gil, help! Gil!
He cried out for his bodyguard, who had certainly been dismissed because the rich lawyer was sure he could do whatever he wanted with that girl.
- If that gorilla shows up here, I'll finish them both off!
And she threw him onto a couch. He kept screaming for help, but the vastness of the house only echoed his scream, without any response. The innocuous screams gradually diminished, until they turned into a plaintive moan.
She bent over him, speaking calmly and softly.
- Listen carefully to what I'm going to tell you, you rapist son of a bitch. That was just a message. If you touch another woman again, I'll tear you apart, I don't care where. I'll find you. And you will experience everything I have learned, until you become a black belt. – The karateka stood up and looked at him with contempt. – I want to kill you now. But I promised not to do that. You are lucky, because I keep my promises.

In a breathless speech, interrupted by the sharp pain in his ribs, he grunted, with his mouth, trying to laugh: Then, with his legs still half-open, Gil began to whip his boss mercilessly, while the karate fighter eased her grip on his scrotum. He thought about reacting and overpowering the girl, but the pain in his body and the near blindness reminded him of what she was capable of. Besides, that situation was proving to be cathartic: always humiliated by his boss, including with racist jokes, Gil had a great alibi in his favor to punish the arrogant millionaire who bought his loyalty with a good salary and some power in that house. And who would soon discard him: "You're getting old," the lawyer told him recently. So, with his testicles free, the bodyguard gave vent to all his hatred – including that of class and race – for his white, millionaire and perverse boss, descendant of the Brazilian slave-owning aristocracy. With blurred vision, he could vaguely make out the body writhing and groaning under the whip that his belt had turned into. He had been inflicting more than two hundred blows when he realized that the karateka was no longer there.
- I'm going to end... your race... you little whore...
She smiled back, ironically. The girl was about to say something when she felt a tug on her ponytail that made her fall backwards, being violently dragged and already taking the first punches to the face. Everything was so unexpected and fast that it took her a few seconds to understand what was happening. It was the bodyguard, who was now applying a powerful rear naked choke, lifting her about twenty centimeters off the ground. This time, the elbows, as fulminating as they were, did not work. Taller, stronger, more cautious and, apparently, more trained than his boss, the bodyguard, a black man elegantly dressed in a black suit and tie, now twisted one of the karateka's arms while continuing to strangle her with a rear naked choke, from which she tried in vain to free herself at all costs.
"Kill the little whore, Gil..." the lawyer moaned, clenching his teeth.
Overcoming the uncontrolled movements in the fight for survival, she stopped uselessly forcing the arm of the man who was strangling her and used her free hand to stab him in the eyes with her fingers. It worked. If he didn't let go, she would certainly blind him. It all happened in a fraction of a second. With no time to recover, since her life depended on reacting immediately, the black belt sprang into action. With her vision severely impaired, Gil could not see the movements of her opponent who, emitting a terrible kiai, launched a series of blows at the bodyguard – whose attempts to defend herself were pathetic. The combat strategy seemed to have been meticulously planned. First, she struck with her feet at sensitive points, such as the height of the kidneys, ribs, thighs and knees, which almost made him falter. But the man was very well trained physically, and withstood the blows. She then moved on to hand blows, mercilessly striking the bodyguard's head, who this time felt dizzy. Before he fell, however, the black belt pulled him by the tie, while placing one of her feet on his abdomen. Throwing herself backwards, she fell on her back, using her own weight to bring Gil's body to her feet and throw him backwards. The perfect blow threw the man onto his back, with no time to get up on his own for the girl's next furious action: she grabbed him from behind, by his collar and belt, and slammed him head-on against the wall. With one hand she held the back of his neck, while the other stuck between the man's thighs, just below his buttocks, in search of his scrotum – which she found and squeezed mercilessly. His eyes were badly bruised and his body aching from the rain of blows he had just received, he howled in pain as he felt that small, strong hand crushing his testicles. He could barely speak, begging her to stop.
"If you try anything, I'll rip your balls off," she said in his ear. And she pulled him by his belt, without loosening her grip on his testicles, forcing him to walk, painfully and slowly, with his legs half-open.
With half a dozen steps, the girl placed him in front of the boss, who could not contain his astonishment. The sight was truly appalling: with swollen and red eyes, apparently cloudy or perhaps even blind, his monumental protector, a former police officer and former jiu-jitsu champion, had bruises and cuts on his face. His blood had splattered over his elegant black suit and his once immaculate white collar. The position he found himself in would be comical if it weren't tragic: with an expression of pain and fear, Gil was holding the hand of a girl almost a foot shorter than him who, from behind, was squeezing his scrotum after beating him mercilessly like a karate master. He was in so much pain that he was afraid of succumbing.
"Look at what I did to you two. I'm warning you: never touch another woman again. Not one! That goes for you too, troglodyte," she said to Gil, squeezing his scrotum tighter. Gil began to cry, while the lawyer, despite having difficulty breathing, insulted and threatened the girl while moaning.
"Take off your belt," she ordered the bodyguard, who remained still, instinctively holding the hand that was squeezing his testicles. "Take off your fucking belt, dammit!" the karate fighter yelled.
Now crying convulsively, foreseeing the worst, he obeyed and handed the leather piece to the fighter.
"I didn't tell you to give it to me. You're supposed to beat up your boss."
Gil responded with more tears, now desperate, with tears and blood streaming from his eyes.
"I'm dying to rip off your balls. So you chose: either you beat up that son of a bitch or I'll rip off your balls."
He struck the millionaire with the belt, who groaned and cursed, glaring hatefully at his employee.
"Harder!"
Another blow.
– I'm going to do this: the harder you hit, the more I'll ease your balls, understand?

Then, with his legs still half-open, Gil began to whip his boss mercilessly, while the karate fighter eased her grip on his scrotum. He thought about reacting and overpowering the girl, but the pain in his body and the near blindness reminded him of what she was capable of. Besides, that situation was proving to be cathartic: always humiliated by his boss, including with racist jokes, Gil had a great alibi in his favor to punish the arrogant millionaire who bought his loyalty with a good salary and some power in that house. And who would soon discard him: "You're getting old," the lawyer told him recently. So, with his testicles free, the bodyguard gave vent to all his hatred – including that of class and race – for his white, millionaire and perverse boss, descendant of the Brazilian slave-owning aristocracy. With blurred vision, he could vaguely make out the body writhing and groaning under the whip that his belt had turned into. He had been inflicting more than two hundred blows when he realized that the karateka was no longer there.

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[Wookey]

Fantastic.  Loved the pictures to finish. K++++++

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The training at the dojo was much more than tough. It was cruel. For her, however, it was terrible. The karate therapist always pushed her disciple to go beyond her limits. Including the limits of pain. That's why, over the years, sometimes when the limits seemed to have been unbearably exceeded, the young woman threatened to give it all up. Not because she disliked karate. She couldn't stand the brutal training that the psychologist imposed on her, always without discussing at length pseudo-Eastern philosophies about discipline and overcoming or any other justification other than technique and physical preparation for fighting. The athletic and kinetic girl who liked to beat up boys would become an excellent fighter who would relentlessly punish abusive men. That was the goal of that combination of martial arts academy and sect. Nothing much beyond that needed to be said or explained. When, avoiding her parents' house, the girl arrived from her "mission" at the lawyer's mansion, exhausted, with her ponytail disheveled and with some bruises, the sensei said only one word to her:
- Warm-up.
The young woman, who was wearing a sweatshirt over her blood-spattered karate pants, put her suitcase on the floor and took off her shirt, under which she was completely naked. In that dojo, everyone trained topless. "If men can, why can't we?" said the sensei - who was now wearing a black bikini.
- Where is your black belt? - the psychologist asked, after briefly examining the body of her former patient, noting that there were no serious injuries.
Only then did the girl realize that she had lost it, during her clumsy escape from the mansion. Just by exchanging glances, the sensei deduced everything and looked for a new belt.
- You fought hard to get one. Literally.
Before the young woman could finish putting her on, however, the teacher grabbed her arm, thrust her shoulder into the student's chest, reared her pelvis against the young woman's and threw her in a blow that the disciple could not identify – much less prevent. Without having had time to warm up, and with her body still sore from the morning's fight, she was subdued by her teacher as if she were a beginner: her former therapist threw herself on the former patient, thrusting and twisting the girl's head between her thighs, while she rolled on the mat. All with impressive strength and speed for a 47-year-old woman. The young woman felt defenseless in the face of so much agility and power. And she feared being strangled by those muscles as rigid as steel. However, taking advantage of the momentary reverse scissor position, the girl placed her powerful arms on the ground, preventing the roll from continuing and, with great difficulty, began to stand up, while the teacher tightened her grip on her thighs and tried to destabilize her, pulling her legs. The disciple, however, grabbed her teacher's torso and began to fire relentless knees and kicks that forced her to give up - which she communicated to her opponent, with three quick and light slaps on the young karateka's calf and a start of bleeding on her face.
The two collapsed on the mat, exhausted and panting, drenched in sweat. And they remained in that position for a long time, recovering from the fight that did not last more than a few minutes - enough, however, to exhaust them. Little by little, their breathing calmed down. The teacher even snored for a few moments, but the threshold of sleep was interrupted by a question from her student. – What the hell are these moves?
The woman laughed.
– I don't know. The other day I saw one of those rehearsed wrestling matches that Americans love. And I decided to try it out.
They both laughed.
– Don't ever do that again – said the young woman, in a seemingly good-natured tone.
– Are you threatening me, my dear?
– I never know when you're serious.
– It's always serious. You know that.
– But does it always have to be like that?
– Of course it does!
– Damn! I almost died this morning and you attack me like that?
– Did someone make it easy for you today?
The girl didn't answer.
– I asked you a question.
– You know that you didn't.
– So why do I have to make it easy for you?
The teacher sat down, hugging her knees. Her blond hair, which was starting to turn white, was still soaked with sweat. Her black bikini, soaked, gave the impression that she had just taken a dip in the sea. On her face, there were small spots of coagulated blood.
"There's still time to give up. But if you want to stay, this is just the beginning." And she stood up. "Whatever you decide, go take a shower. You stink."
The girl remained lying down for about half an hour, thinking and, at the same time, feeling the pains in her body that reminded her of the hardships of that day. She heard the vague sound of a shower and, a little while later, the door slammed behind the sensei, who was leaving the dojo.

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