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Subscribe to this list via RSS Blog posts tagged in stabbing

Posted by on in Bloody Death

This is an old story of mine, but comments and criticism are still welcome. A male assassin takes on a squad of female ninja and their leader. This story is meant to read like a scene out of a yakuza novel.

From a Hypothetical Yakuza Novel, Scene 1

The moonlight streaming in through the skylights gave the ordinary warehouse an eerie gray appearance. The young man's footsteps were oddly silent as he moved through the hallways formed by stacks of crates, gun drawn. He looked like he was dressed for a job interview rather than combat, in a gray business suit, but his upcoming interview had but one motive: revenge.

He paused, his senses taking in his surroundings, and knew that this was the moment of truth. He knew approximately where she was and how many were with her. All that was left was to take one step forward. He stepped. Then, flicking his wrist, he slapped aside the throwing knife that was flying at him with the barrel of his gun.

They all attacked at the same time. There were six of them, two leaping down at him from above, four breaking cover and charging. They were six female ninja, all looking in their late teens. Each was dressed in a short, tight wrap going down to just below her buttocks, and white panties. The wrap was open in front but belted at the waist by a narrow belt, and the panties showed between the flaps of the wrap. White bands of cloth were wrapped around their forearms and lower calves. All were barefoot. Their hair styles, too, were identical, each girl's hair going down to the small of her back, and held back by a headband. Each wielded a tanto: a single-edged knife with a foot-long blade. That meant that his was the only gun in the vicinity. He would have to budget his ammo.

He jumped forward, pushing off at a slight angle to spin in the air. The one leaping from above and to the right slashed and missed. She landed in a crouch. He twisted in the air, to point his gun at the other ninja, who had jumped from her perch behind him. He fired one shot. It hit her low in her right breast, blood splattering over her top. He continued to rotate, rapidly firing once at each of the two ninja that were originally to his left. The first one was shot through the heart. She gasped as the wound between her breasts spurted blood. She managed two more steps, but her life was over. The second one tried to roll to avoid the shot, and was hit in her left shoulder.

He rolled as he landed, passing under a slash from the ninja on his right, firing twice at the ninja in front of him as he rose. The first shot hit her to the left and below her navel, snapping her belt. The second shot hit her in the upper abdomen, just under her left ribs. She was momentarily stunned, as her no-longer-restrained bloodied top flew open, revealing what little it had been concealing of her athletic figure.

The ninja on his right lashed out again with her tanto. He blocked the slash with the barrel of his handgun. He aimed a punch at her right temple as he rose, gun still locked against tanto. She tilted her head to avoid it and lashed out with her left hand to strike at his right flank. His swing was merely a distraction, however, and her fatal mistake was forgetting that the barrel of the gun was not as dangerous as its end: he pivoted the gun, with the tanto as the fulcrum, until it pointed at her face, and pulled the trigger. Her attack was aborted, droplets of blood and brain spattering on his gun hand.

The dead ninja pitched back, messily shot between the eyes. He continued his motion, narrowly evading a thrust from behind, from the ninja he had hit in the shoulder earlier. It opened a long gash in his suit, though not his flesh. He turned again and fired at her as she was recovering from her thrust, having overextended herself in trying to reach him faster. She was half-turned, so the bullet struck her in her lower-left ribs, lodging in the upper abdomen. He retreated, as the remaining ninja tried once again to encircle him, but then, he spotted his real target.

He had only seen blurry photographs of her before, and now she was standing on a container, watching the fight below. The woman looked slightly older than those he was fighting, and was about his height, with a narrow face, and commanding bearing. Her skimpy clothes were of the same cut as those of her minions, but her wrap shimmered slightly, being of fine silk. In the moonlight, he could not see the colors, but he knew that it was jade green, with dragons embroidered in gold thread. He guessed that the pedicured toenails of her bare feet were painted the same color.

He had a momentary clear shot, but when he shifted his gun just slightly, to begin to aim for her form, she read the motion and ducked behind another crate. In the next moment, he paid for this distraction, as a jump-kick from the left and behind caught him completely unprepared. It was his only unharmed attacker: the ninja that had tried to ambush him from the right. He rolled with the kick instinctively as her foot made contact with his ribs, knocking him forward. As he hit the ground, he could feel that at least one rib was cracked.

He used the momentum of his roll to get back up. Two of his foes were on him as the as he regained his footing. On his right was the girl who had jumped at him from behind, bloodstain growing over her right breast. On his left, the girl whose top was open. A stream of blood flowed down her abdomen, not obstructed by cloth, and another lower, soaking her panties. He dodged the slash from the one on the right and pistol-whipped her. Her head rocked back, a few drops of blood flying from the split lip. This gave him a chance to block the slash from the one on the left with the barrel of his gun. She surprised him, letting go of her weapon and grasping his wrist, pushing off with her feet to tackle him. Her left arm snaked around his right shoulder, in almost an embrace, her bared breasts pushing against his chest and their faces inches apart, as he staggered back, trying to stay on his feet.

He pulled the trigger, the bullet ripping into her stomach at a steep angle. She held on, her pretty face set in a mask of determination. He managed to heave her to the side, interposing her between himself and the other attacker to buy himself a few moments, wincing as his ribs reacted to the exertion. In the meantime, she managed to bring her arm into a stronger embrace, pressing herself against him harder. He could feel the girl's labored breath on his face, a drop of blood appearing on her lip. He fired again, and the girl's legs jerked once and went limp: the bullet damaged her spine. She maintained her hold, but her strength was waning rapidly.

Not rapidly enough, as the ninja who had jump-kicked him rejoined the fray. He was attacked from two sides, but his back was to a container. Desperately he jumped away from the new threat and her slash passed inches away from the back of his neck. His luck held as he barreled into the other girl, pushing her dying teammate into her and onto her blade. She fell back. He shifted his weight, passing her on the side. His arm stretched, firing into her temple as she fell. She was killed instantly, with the almost point-blank shot, her brain splattered on the side of the container.

Only two minions remained alive, one wounded in the shoulder and lower ribs, the other unharmed. His gun's magazine was almost empty, however, and they would hardly give him a chance to reload. At the same time, he noticed that their leader was once again observing the battle, standing atop another crate. Yet, he knew that she would hide at the first sign that he was targeting her. He had a better idea.

The unharmed ninja pursued him. Over a few seconds, he parried her attacks with the barrel of his gun. She was careful to keep it from pointing at her, and the fact that her weapon was bladed and his was not gave her some control over this, though she was suspicious that he was holding back for some reason. Through parrying and dodging, they had switched positions, so that the other surviving minion was running at him from behind, and he had retreated to where his previous two kills lay. This suited her fine. The twice-wounded ninja reached the fray, thrusting at his back.

...
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0

Today was a good battle, thought Little Panther as she scavenged across the sight of the great battle that had occurred three hours ago.

The young Dark Skin warrior walked amongst the bodies of her fallen sisters and the dead red skinned amazons that littered the ground outside the walls of the abandoned fortress her sisters had occupied after the women from the Kingdom across the ocean had been all killed off.

Her sisters were once three hundred strong, but they had lost twenty good sisters today as they defended the fortress walls from their neighboring rivals from a red skin clans who wanted the fortress as well. But the red skin amazons lost four hundred of their sisters, just trying to scale the wall and break the wooden door.

Little Panther was one of three of her sisters scavenging the fields in front of the wall. The two sisters were much older than Little Panther, who was still young and foolish. The teenager's breasts were still small, but she was old enough to be a warrior. Her hair was tied into several smaller braids that went passed her shoulders. She wore a loincloth that barely covered her front side, making her a easy target for lustful amazons, her petite frame left her even more exposed.

The young dark skin walked aways a way from the wall, approaching a cluster of dead red skins who had been carrying a ladder, but none of them made it far. Little Panther saw one dead Red skin, her age, who was neither thin not heavy but still beautiful, laying on her side, clutching her stomach where an arrow struck her.

Little Panther pushed the arm of a red skin off of the younger red skin's shoulder and flipped the dead girl on her back, removing the arrow, allowing the young dark skin to examine the body that was adorned in red war paint.

Grinning at her find, the dark skin pulled her flint knife out, and cut the dead girl's loincloth off and proceeded to fling the girl over her shoulder, and walked quickly back to the fortress with her prize.

That night: Little Panther was on the wall, looking out at the night covered plains with her older sisters, who she laughed with. All the while she say on her prize, enjoying the feeling of the red skin's skin touching her butt. When it was time for bed: she lay on top of the body, feeling the girl's hair and imagining her when she was alive.

...

The next morning: Little Panther was awoken with one of her sister's shaking her shoulder urgently. Little Panther shook off her fatigue, grabbed her spear and stood up, looking over the wall that now had the bodies of some of the red skins and her sisters who died yesterday, acting as additional cover.

Standing beside her sister, who was heavy set and a year older than Little Panther: She saw a sight that made her, and all her sisters, blood run cold. Assembled before the fortress yards away were thousands of red skins. Little Panther swallowed as she flung her prize from the other day over the wall, stacking her on top of a red skin who had a mohawk.

When the chiefs of the thousand warriors signaled the warriors to attack: the sound of a large echoing war cry filled the air as the warriors, on foot and horse back, charged.

Little Panther and her heavy sister and their sisters on their wall stayed on their position on the walls, shooting arrows at the warriors that threatened to get close, knocking over ladders and women to the ground.

Eventually however Little Panther's heavy sister ran out of arrows, forcing the fat woman to drop her bow and go over to a near by spear rack and pickup a spear. Only for a red skin woman to manage to climb up the wall while Little Panther and the rest of her sisters on the wall were busy and run up behind her, and smash a hatchet into the back of the fat woman' shoulders. The fat woman screamed, alerting Little Panther, who sent an arrow into the red skin's throat. Both the fat woman and the red skin fell to the floor, the red skin laying on top of her victim.

With the death of their fat, but beautiful, sister: more dark skinned sisters began to die as they became overwhelmed. Even with the arrival of the chief to their wall was not enough. With only six sisters left on the wall, Little Panther became frightened, hiding behind the red skin's body she had collected yesterday, she felt a strong hand grab her, she looked to see it was her chief, a young and brash chief that had gotten all of her sisters into this mess. She was bald but wore a feather headdress.

...
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Posted by on in Bloody Death

So. I wrote this one not too long ago.

Unlike my other stories, I decided not to edit this one to make everyone human. If people strongly want it that way, I can, but I've noticed that new furry artists have been getting some attention so I don't feel like I need to hide the furry-nature of my writing anymore.

I want people to enjoy these stories though, so if there's requests for a human-version, I'll gladly oblige. :)

A young punk-rocker enters a local battle of the bands contest, only to find herself bumped out of contention at the end of a knife!

_______________________________________________________________________________

The Noisy Fucks were twenty feet away.

Their hair was greying, and their clean-shaven faces showed a mid-life geared towards proper morning routines rather than angry, objectiveless, rebellion. They still moved like they cared though, and for Kaira that was more than enough; the heavy-set Fenders squealing in their hands didn’t hurt either.

The dancefloor of the cramped London club didn’t seem to mind that the rockers on stage had more in common these days with their parents than The Sex Pistols. Still the dancers moved, heavy boots thumping against a wooden floor which had been shabbily adorned with a thick layer of black paint; the whole place reeked of the matching, stale, black paint which covered the walls as well, mingling with the scent of cheap beer and old cigarettes. Kaira’s black fur blended well with her surroundings, and only the slash of blue provided by her painstakingly straightened hair and exposed chest stood out at all.

Her body wasn’t immune to the screeching demands of the band on stage, and she danced in the small bubble of space she’d secured for herself in the crowd. Their music throbbed in the air like an angry tumor, stretching out as it sought to spread and infect those dancing, and Kaira was right there with them.

“Fuck you fucks, we’re gonna’ kick it down’!”, the podgy looking tiger warned from his position on-stage, the microphone distorting his voice to make it sound younger than it was. Their frontman couldn’t sing very well, but talent was so over-rated in this scene. The Noisy Fucks had been her idols for most of Kaira’s life, and now she was here listening to them live! Not only was she here listening to them, but she was here to compete in a Battle of the Bands hosted by them! Body pressing against an obsidian coloured pillar, the trim feline watched them move, soaking in the experience as she caught her breath.

“Lost, kitten?” A voice behind Kaira fought against the oppressive totality of the band’s frantic drumming. Coming from only a few inches away, Kaira still almost missed it. Only the whispering passage of something lightly brushing over the back of her neck secured Kaira’s attention. Turning, the girl grinned as a matter of nature; there was no surprise or concern in her smoky purple eyes.

“Only in this riff” Kaira answered snappily. The black and white English Setter who loomed over the feline chortled out before trailing off into a half-drunken slur. Despite the rough face, pinched eyes and inebriated leer, Kaira knew right away she was speaking to another woman. A black leather jacket hung on the canine’s shoulders, concealing most of a ratty white t-shirt beneath it. Skinny jeans which matched the jacket’s colour, though not its material, left a swath of bellyfur--slightly bulging from the paunch of the Setter’s gut--exposed. The dog looked hard and experienced, as though she were deep in her element in the Bromley dive bar.

“Just askin’, luv. You look a little outta place; pretty little thing like you oughta be at home, not rubbin’ shoulders with our lot.” The condescension those words should have carried was replaced, instead, with an almost playful quality. One of the Setter’s arms came up, pressing against the pillar Kaira’s back now leaned against. The feline fought the blush which wanted to creep into her cheeks. The tartan-patterned pleated skirt the catgirl wore wavered gently as she pushed off from the pillar to stand her full height; she still had to tilt her head back to look the other female in the eye.

“I’m competing tonight, so shit on you.” Like the Setter’s words, Kaira’s were devoid of the emotion one would expect of them. There was a confidence behind them that demanded respect, not submission or humiliation. The Setter heard it, and allowed herself a grin.

"A spine! Wonder what else you’ve got hidin’ under all those clothes.” The stink of a half dozen beers washed over Kaira as the Setter’s lopsided grin dropped to within an inch of her upturned nose. Despite herself, Kaira felt her nipples harden--caused, perhaps, by the draft the old bar let wander through it--as the larger female bore down on her. The thin white crop top Kaira wore rustled softly against her small breasts as thick leather rubbed against it. “Whats say we find out, eh?” The smell of that beer wrinkled Kaira’s nose, but she wasn’t entirely sober herself and the stress of her upcoming set goaded her towards poor decisions.

“Only if you can find your way under them” Kaira replied before pressing her lips roughly against the Setter’s. Calloused hands closed around the catgirl’s sides, her blue hair spilling back as the size difference forced her head to tilt back even further in order to reach the taller canine’s mouth.

There was little challenge in Kaira’s demand. The girl’s crop top laid her trim belly bare, the sleeveless shirt only covering her undersized breasts and thin strips along her shoulders. The jagged patch of blue fur which ran down her chest, before ending several inches above the waist of her skirt, practically invited one of the Setter’s hands to slide along its smooth expanse; the canine did not disappoint it. The illusion of height was granted by a pair of thick-soled heeled Chucks, the dirt-scuffed sneakers adding a few inches to Kaira’s unimpressive natural height. The illusion was aided by the black and white striped stockings she wore, her thin legs grasped tightly by the smooth silky socks right up to mid-thigh.

Pressing her shoulders back against the pillar, Kaira used it as a brace to support herself against the heavy canine muzzle locking against her smaller, blunt feline snout. The short girl’s body arched against the strong hands caressing the sensitive contours of her hips. The tartan skirt did little to protect her modesty--despite the gold safety pin holding it in one piece--as it rode up while Kaira rubbed against the black pillar. The delicate fabric of her pink and white striped panties seemed to glisten in the dim lighting of the bar, the sweat on her thighs enhancing the glimmering effect.

“Backstage” panted the Setter, finally breaking the kiss. Her brown eyes remained locked on Kaira’s purple ones. The feline balked only long enough to ask a single question.

“How? You can’t get in with my pass.”

“I know the bouncer. Don’t worry.” The Setter’s casual answer was enough for the lust-stricken feline. Hand in hand, they slid through the crowd, a few stray hands finding the back of one of Kaira’s thighs or the round swell of a hip as the pair moved past. The sound of the band grew louder until the earsplitting cacophony of the electric guitars seemed to fill Kaira’s head, like a syringe of water being forced into a balloon; she was sure her head would pop any second!

The bouncer nodded lazily as the pair approached. A small rickety stairway led several feet up before opening up into the backstage area. Certain she’d have to argue for the Setter to be let in, the catgirl fumbled for her pass, only to find herself being whisked past the grinning English Mastiff without a word.

Questions died on Kaira’s lips as they were smothered by the heavy, pointed muzzle of the Setter. Encased in the dim shadows which filled the backstage area, the two women bundled themselves together in an out of the way corner. The sounds of stagehands replaced the grating rock of the band’s set as it came to an end. The competition would be starting up next, but Kaira was far more concerned with the beer-tinged breath tickling at her whiskers. Lusty little pants of appreciation punctuated each tongue-locked kiss from both of the horny girls, their tails curling and twisting as though playing out the overpowering emotions racing through their trembling bodies.

A firm bite of Kaira’s neck drew a nervous little groan of pleasure from the catgirl. A stagehand--a lanky Scottish Fold--twitched his distinctive feline ears as he glanced towards the sight of the two women entangled in each other’s embrace. A grin crossing his lips, the boy slowed just long enough to appreciate the view--and to consider trying to worm his way in on the fun--before remembering his duties and hurrying away.

The first band on the docket took the stage as the Setter’s surprisingly well-manicured fingers slid down to the waist of Kaira’s skirt. The feline’s hips pushed forward as best they could, as if inviting what they both knew would come next. Head twisting slightly despite the firm grip the Setter’s teeth still held on her throat, Kaira had to fight off a cry of pleasure which bubbled in her throat when those fingers slid beneath her skirt. The catgirl’s legs spread obediently, trembling within the confines of her thigh-high stockings. The Setter’s two longest fingers remained tightly squeezed together as they stroked along the crotch of Kaira’s panties. The sensitive flesh beneath the soft fabric was already hot with the girl’s desire, and the simple touch sent a spasm of pleasure racing through her clenched belly.

The bite was soon released, but those fingers continued to stroke at Kaira’s increasingly damp folds with reckless abandon. The force and friction of the touch drew heated gasps from the catgirl, her eyes closing as she surrendered to the rough treatment.

“Just warming you up, kitten.” The canine’s somewhat guttural assurance drew a nod from Kaira, unable to speak as she bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out again. Nipples pressing against her thin shirt like little pebbles, Kaira allowed herself to be turned to face the wall. The Setter’s body pressed against her back, the larger female’s belt buckle easily felt as she ground her hips against the feline’s perky ass. When her skirt was lifted Kaira blushed but made no move to stop it. The feline’s pink and white clad ass was free for anyone to see, despite the body pressing against it. The delicate panties did little to defend Kaira from the unexpected pleasure of a hard spank against it by one of the Setter’s hands. Choking down a cry, another hard swat of her quivering behind had Kaira’s chest pressing forcefully against the wall she was facing!

The spanking continued, building in intensity until Kaira’s ass was both hot and numb at the same time. Blood pounded in her ears and despite her vulnerable position Kaira could only writhe on her feet, legs spread and hips pushed back expectantly for another smack; she was remotely aware of how wet her panties had grown over the last few minutes, the fabric dark with the flow of her juices. Finally, the spanking stopped, and only a pins-and-needles sense of discomfort lingered. Gasping for breath, the catgirl was surprised to feel sweat trickling down her forehead, her tongue running listlessly over her too-dry lips.

The first band had finished its song to a lukewarm response from the crowd, and as they trudged off stage a few smirked at the scene unfolding in the corner. The Setter’s hand gave the stinging flesh of Kaira’s behind a reassuring stroke before pushing the catgirl’s panties down to her knees. Cool air replaced the warm moisture which had been pressed against her pussy, and Kaira shivered uncontrollably at the feeling. The Setter’s hand slid between the girl’s spread thighs, feeling along them as though searching for something they both knew she would find. When the first finger entered her, Kaira’s upper-body thrust forward once again, her body locked in an arch that made easy prey of her captured vagina.

Mouth open, eyes closed, and lips pulled back to reveal her sharp feline teeth, Kaira cried out silently into the musty air as the Setter’s fingers explored inside her. The folds of her womanhood opened easily for the canine’s questing digits, the walls of her cervix contracting involuntarily around the intruding fingers. When they pushed roughly upwards, there was no way Kaira could keep herself from moaning loudly; the sound was met with a few chuckles from several stagehands who had stopped to watch. Only the bellowing of the stage director tore them from the scene, and once more the Setter and Kaira were left alone.

“F-Fuck!” Kaira’s simple pronouncement preceded a sudden gush of juices cascading around the Setter’s fingers. An orgasm ripped its way through Kaira like a typhoon leveling an island village, her nerves seeking shelter only to be swept away by the rising tides and ferocious winds of ecstasy. Her ass quivered, and the panties looped around her spread knees grew taut. Her body tensed up, moving without regard for her actual situation and instead playing out the delightful throes of a thunderous climax. The fingers didn’t stop, continuing to pump the climaxing feline until a second delirious explosion went off in Kaira’s mind. She was practically screaming now, dignity lost and not missed in the least as the catgirl rocked her way through another orgasm.

The Setter’s hand finally pulled free of Kaira, the musk of the cat’s juices filling her nose as the two fingers were lifted to the feline’s muzzle.

 “Want a taste, kitten?” The Setter’s face had grown hard, though Kaira was still facing the wall and couldn’t see it. Sweating, panting and disheveled, Kaira took the canine’s intent and ran her tongue over the fingers, tasting her own feminine cum on those musky fingertips. “Good girl.”

 Kaira turned, purple eyes half-lidded, and her skirt caught in a rumpled mess that left her bare pussy exposed. “I d-didn’t get your name…” she managed at last, the first vestiges of sense returning to her dazed expression.

“Chelsea”

“Chelsea. That’s a nice name” Kaira purred out.

“Chelsea Dagger” the Setter added as a sudden pain lanced through the tight muscles of Kaira’s belly. Eyes locked on the Setter’s, Kaira had failed to notice the six inch switchblade the Setter had pulled from her pocket; the spring-loaded blade popped out only a second before it disappeared into the girl’s gut. A shocked gasp, not entirely unlike her earlier gasps of pleasure, gurgled from Kaira’s throat. Bodies still pressed together, no-one else could see the sudden turn of events. Kaira’s eyes were wide and staring as they searched the canine’s face, looking for some indication of why this had just happened! Instead, all she got was another lance of pain as the blade was twisted and removed before being plunged back in only inches from her bellybutton.

 “Errrragh…” Kaira moaned out, the feeling of blood pouring down her lower belly and soaking into her red tartan skirt giving her the impression that she was wetting herself.

You shoulda asked how I knew the bouncer, kitten”, growled the dog. “I’m competing tonight too, just like I do every year. I always win, too; of course, sometimes that’s just ‘cause I know how to alter the field to my liking…. like, say, removing a few competitors before they can challenge me.” The Setter’s predatory grin filled Kaira’s eyes, reflected in her pupils so vividly the Setter could see it herself.

“Urrrk…” Kaira choked out, shock taking away her speech as surely as the injuries would take her life if left untreated. Her panties still around her knees, the girl nearly tripped because of them as she tried to push away from her assailant. One final stab of that knife ensured Kaira’s fate. She wanted to scream, but all that came out was a bubbling sigh of despair. Blood trickling from a corner of her mouth, the catgirl was released from the Setter’s grip.

“Enjoy the show, bitch” the Setter called back as she disappeared down the stairs without a look back. Kaira was left alone backstage, her guts on fire and blood pumping from her ruined belly. In the dim light nobody seemed to notice her, and the bleeding wounds were simply glistening patches of slightly darker fur. Kaira stumbled for the stairs first, but her body seemed to have lost the ability to follow commands. Instead, she found herself stumbling onto the stage itself. The current band had already begun their song, and as the dying girl broke in on them they didn’t falter.

Glances from the guitarist and drummer took in the sight of the heavily bleeding feline with a surprising lack of interest. The crowd, which had been languishing through the generic song being performed on stage, suddenly burst into life. Thinking, perhaps, that this was part of the set, they roared their approval of the woefully exposed feline, taking in the sight of her bunched panties and uncovered pussy with an interest the band imagined was for their playing. Their song built in intensity as they fed off of the sudden enthusiasm of the crowd. Through all of it, Kaira struggled to breathe. Her body was shutting down its various systems, like a computer trying to conserve energy, as the shock built and thrashed her.

Lifting her bloodstained hands to her face, the catgirl’s eyes rolled up and she toppled forward. Landing facedown over a bank of waist-high amplifiers, the catgirl’s skirt did nothing to protect her pussy and buttcheeks from the hungry eyes of the audience. She was dimly aware of a coldness in her chest as she stared at the floor, her arms dangling to either side of her head, and her hair hanging down to cover her face. Before she passed out, the girl was horrified to feel her tongue fall free from her muzzle, muscles unable to keep it in place as it jutted from between her dying lips; still the crowd cheered. She died to the sound of the audience’s approval, only a few questioning whether the girl on stage were really part of the show or not.

It wasn’t until after the show that the question was answered. That a girl had died on stage wasn’t as much a tragedy as it was a sign that the show would be a memorable one! The band who had been playing when she’d died were declared the winners, based solely on the thrill of Kaira’s short-lived time in the spotlight; the Setter left disgusted at her plan being undone by the unexpected turn of events.

Kaira, however, earned something of her own that night. As her cooling corpse was removed from the stage, hoisted by her shoulders and her spread knees by two hulking stagehands, the feline--not through any particular talent of her own--had become a punk rock legend; nobody would ever know her name, but for years they’d be talking about that fine piece of ass on stage at the Noisy Fucks’ Battle of the Bands.

 

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Posted by on in Amazon Combat

This is one I wrote awhile ago! It was originally all-male, and admittedly not human males, but I edited it for content and came up with this. If there's any gender-confusion (him/his/he's showing up), that's why!

I hope you guys like it! And you can thank Zoey for inspiring me to post at least this story, if not more in the future. :)

If people want it, I'll post the original, but will only do it on request since it's off-topic from the site!

Story (c) me <3

__________________________________________________________________

The sun beat down on the bare stone arena, as unfeeling and harsh as the girls that stood amidst the blowing sands of the arena floor. They stood resolute, unafraid, and hungry for battle.

“We who are about to die, salute you!” came the shout; each warrior lifted their weapon and spoke in unison. The crowd, a motley assembly of paupers, nobles and merchants, shouted back.

There were twenty fighters in all, their shapes and sizes as varied as the clothing and armor they had selected for ther bout. Some stood nude, their nipples erect and as hard as the weapons they held in their hands. Others wore simple loincloths, barely concealing their own aching flesh. The fight was to the death and as the assembled warriors turned to face each other, each knew that only one of them would leave the arena alive. Around the circular battlefield hung the heads of defeated gladiators, their tongues lolling and eyes closed in eternal repose; soon, nineteen more would grace the walls of the arena, a fitting end for a disgraced combatant.

One stood taller than most, her short black fur only highlighting the lean curves of her muscles in the noon-day sun. Each muscle had been earned with blood and sweat, the girl a statue carved by the arena and each nick and scar in her hide was worn with honour. She had forgotten her own name long ago, however, the years slaying her memories like a sharpened blade.

“Vindicem! Vindicem! Vindicem!”

The crowd chanted their name for her as she readied herself, bending to mutter a soft prayer to the gods before standing tall once more. The others had spread out, forming a ring with their backs to their walls and their eyes on each other. Bodies swayed in anticipation and breaths were held as they all waited for the word that would start the match.

“Macto”

The single word threw the whole building into a frenzy. The gladiators began to move immediately. The stink of fear was rich in the raven haired barbarian’s nostrils as she eyed her opponents, most of them avoiding her gaze in fear that she would choose them as her first target. It was a young looking brunette who threw the first swing, however. The girl, perhaps nineteen years of age, wore only a short silken loincloth which hung delicately between her legs. her gladius was short, not unlike the girl’s legs, but as she lunged towards a nude blonde, the barbarian was surprised to see the brunette wielded it with skill. Others began their fights in short order; the crash of steel on steel was dwarfed only by the roar of the crowd. The barbarian had learned to use the audience to her advantage; they had a clearer view than she did, and their reactions were all she needed to know the flow of the battle, when blood was spilled, and when a fighter fell.

It wasn’t long before the bloodlust of the crowd drew a deafening roar as the first gladiator fell. A stalwart nubian, nude save for the pair of hatchets she wielded, feinted around the guard of an inexperienced pict. The dark-skinned nubian’s hatchet struck true, landing with a meaty thud into the gut of the horrified warrior. The pict’s cream filled the air, barely a whisper to the ears of any but the closest fighters as the crowd thrilled at the sight. The nubian grinned at the sound, basking in both the scream and the crowd’s response, though she didn’t pause to appreciate her kill. A strike with the second hatchet silenced the pict as it landed in her neck, throwing her down into the dust of the arena with wide eyes and a raspy hacking cough which soon trailed off into silence. The arena sands had tasted their first blood of the match, and it wanted more.

The barbarian had already found her first target. A feline-like redhead had decided to stay off to the side, and now drew the barbarian’s gaze.

...
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Posted by on in Bloody Death

Keiko shooting up the barefooted schoolgirl gangsters

This story is inspired this picture by MikeA that he recently reposted. I thought it was unfortunate that none of the girls even got a chance to fight back, so I wrote up a "context" explaining how this happened and providing a less one-sided aftermath, when MikeA's assassin Keiko faces Junko, the leader of these barefooted schoolgirl gangsters...

Keiko versus Junko

Junko's short skirt and long, black hair flared as she leaped yet another fence. She did not pause, continuing her sprint toward the ambush site. The girl was dressed in the short-sleeved white sailor blouse, presently soaked in sweat and clinging to her firm, braless breasts, and a dark blue skirt: the uniform of the Madam Fukisuki Memorial High School, where she was a Senior. It had been modified into her gang uniform: the blouse cut to only slightly below her ribs, showing off her washboard abs, the skirt shortened to defy even the Fukisuki High's already permissive dress code by an inch or two, and the socks and the shoes removed, the toughened soles of her bare feet propelling her down the street and into the city block's interior.

Her eyes widened as the rattle of gunfire reached her, echoing through the city block. She was too late. She rounded a corner in time to see the last of her gang's Senior class, known as the "Berserker Bitches of Fukisuki High," collapse in a hail of gunfire emanating from the twin machine pistols wielded by their leather-clad owner, their supposed target.

She stood there in her high-heeled leather boots, blasting away, her expression clinical, neither worried nor relieved, her aim steady and deadly despite the recoil. Junko's gang's machine pistols -- the ones that the yakuza had given them the day before as an advance payment for eliminating this assassin, Keiko -- lay scattered on the concrete sidewalk, dropped by their new owners, who were very much surprised when their new guns failed to shoot, moments before they were methodically riddled by the much more functional weapons of their target. In retrospect, the deal had been too good to be true: a dozen hard to smuggle, expensive guns, with no strings attached, just for killing one solitary woman, with all the details of how to do it handed to them. Junko did not know exactly how they had rigged the guns to work one day and fail the next; nor did she care. All she knew was that the yakuza must have known that the gang had no place to test-fire the guns the morning of the attack, and that this Keiko was not the real target: Junko and her gang were. Alas, she had figured the ploy out too late, and despite her mad dash, she was not able to warn them in time.

Her girls -- no: her friends -- had been so cheerful and optimistic as they were heading out of the gang's improvised HQ to execute their first real hit, brandishing their new arms, their ticket to the big leagues they felt they had earned, having proven their mettle against other street gangs. And, to Junko, at least, the saddest cut of all was that they could have probably succeeded in taking out the leather-clad hitwoman, if they had eschewed the guns and gone in with the weapons they had trained to use: knives, chains, baseball bats, or even just their bare fists and bare feet. One or two (perhaps even Junko herself) might have had to sacrifice themselves to pull it off, but the gang had courage, loyalty, and camaraderie enough. Instead, lulled into overconfidence by their new guns and surprised and demoralized when they did not fire, they were massacred like a bunch of helpless schoolgirls.

Keiko fired her last burst at the ambushed gang girls, and looked down the alley, now strewn with the twitching sailor-suited barefooted bodies: the entire Senior class of the gang. She shifted her guns to aim at the newcomer. Junko was looking back at her, panting, involuntary tears flowing down her cheeks, her bangs matted to her forehead. The girl clenched her teeth, a growl rising in her throat. She grabbed the switchblade concealed in the waistband of her skirt and rushed at the hitwoman. Keiko frowned and pulled the trigger, her pistols obediently sending bursts of death at the charging schoolgirl. Three bloody holes exploded on her exposed abdomen as bullets impacted. Another splattered into her groin, staining her white panties crimson. Junko grunted and folded a little, pushed back by the sheer momentum of the bullets, but then straightened out, once again rushing at the hitwoman, the same growl rising in her throat. Keiko fired another burst and each of Junko's breasts bounced from a bullet impact, blood splattering over her white blouse, with the third bullet leaving a deep cut in her upper arm. The girl felt nothing amid the adrenaline and the heartache and her bare feet kept pumping, her eyes fixated on the hitwoman, lips parted in a grimace, her knife's blade and her lifeblood glistening in the bright noonday sun.

Keiko's machine pistols clanked, their slides locking open, their ammunition exhausted. The wounded girl reached striking range, and the hitwoman leaned back to avoid a high roundhouse kick, which nevertheless swept her empty guns out of her hands. Not skipping a beat, Junko followed it up with a horizontal swipe of her blade that cut into the hitwoman's bodice and left a thin line of crimson on her flesh. That swipe was followed by another and another, and Keiko's heels beat a staccato on the pavement as she backed off under the girl's furious and relentless assault. She twisted out of the way of yet another swipe of Junko's blade, and used the momentum to pivot and knee her shorter opponent in the side. Junko barely grunted as she staggered back a step, and thrust her blade at Keiko. But Keiko had drawn a combat knife from a sheath in her boot before returning her foot to the ground. Catching her enraged opponent's wrist, the leather-clad hitwoman pulled her in and thrust her own knife out, letting the barefooted girl impale herself, the serrated blade tearing into her gut, to the hilt. Junko let out a gurgling moan and once again pushed forward, trying to bring the point of her knife down toward Keiko, her impaled abs grinding against Keiko's knife hand and forcing Keiko to once again back up to avoid falling on her back.

Keiko's back hit a wall and, in her surprise, she let the blade drift closer to her throat. Junko put both hands her switchblade's hilt and pressed on, trying to force it down. With nowhere to retreat, Keiko let go of her own knife, grabbing the girl's other wrist as Junko put her whole weight down on the knife. Their faces less than a foot apart, Keiko may have even felt something like genuine fear as she watched her opponent's enraged stare and her grimace of pain and exertion: even as blood flowed abundantly between her lips and her shirt and skirt were likewise soaking in it as her many bullet wounds sapped her strength and even as Keiko's shifting knife tore up her belly, the crazed girl was somehow managing to make the blade drift toward Keiko.

But Keiko was not going to be killed by this amateur. The girl's exertions had caused her to almost lift herself off the ground, her feet losing traction. With a grunt of effort of her own, Keiko shoved at Junko's hands even as she let the blade come down, redirecting it into Junko's own chest. The girl could do nothing as switchblade swung around and jammed hard into her sternum. Her eyes widening more from surprise than pain, she staggered back two steps, her hands releasing the knife that was now sticking out between her breasts. Looking down with the same puzzled expression, she put one hand on it, and pulled on it gingerly, as if trying to remove it. Still pulling on it, she took a step toward Keiko, then tipped forward against the taller woman, vomiting blood over her chest before sliding down her body and collapsing on the ground in a heap.

Keiko looked down at herself, her own adrenaline subsiding and the shallow but painful cuts her dying opponent had managed to inflict making themselves known. "What a hellcat," she grumbled, suddenly appreciating just why the yakuza went to such great lengths to set up these Berserker Bitches of Fukisuki High rather than take them head-on, "She better not have rabies or some shit..."

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