Here’s an old story from at least 10 years ago that has not been posted here before. It’s by an old friend, EJ, who seems to have dropped out of sight about 8 years ago.
I modified and adapted the story slightly with changed names, changing the gang from two to three, the location to Chicago, and adding little bits of spice in one or two places, but didn’t change the descriptions of the characters much.
This non-fatal fight story sort of ‘loosely’ ties in with my fatal nun story posted at: http://www.hostboard.com/forums/pro-...-bad-jess.html
Thanks to Gemma, Jonica & Jenn for agreeing for me to use their names in this naughty, fictional story: hope you ENJOY it, girls! Winks! LOL!
Meaow
Jessie
***
(Note: this is a work of complete fiction, intended for adult, erotic enjoyment.)
THE NUN AND THE STREETGANG
By EJ (modified & adapted here by Jessika)
“The fact,” Jessika would often tell herself, “is that you haven’t lived a peaceful and saintly life.” Then she’d answer herself, smiling a little ruefully. “True, and the Lord’s world is probably better because of that.”
She’d spent most of her young and adult life in the military in the Royal Marines, eventually joining the elite Special Air Service (SAS), culminating in an horrific episode that left most of her unit dead. She’d been tortured and raped by terrorists, but managed to escape, killing all her captors. After that traumatic experience, she simply decided to cash in her chips and retire.
Of course, she’d often think to herself, you’re a certain way and can’t run away from that. She never had backed out of a fight or felt scared in one. She always remembered that throughout her time in the military, she’d been a martial arts instructor and, often against regulations, accompanied her team in their missions.
Until one day suddenly, after her daughter had grown up and moved out on her own, her life-long lover Emma was diagnosed with malignant breast cancer and given only a few months to live. After Emma passed away, Jessika, who had lived ‘doing good by violence’ in one life, and had been a loving partner and mother in another, decided to get married again. But to Our Lord, according to the beliefs of her faith. The woman called by her troops Aunt Jess, and just Jess by friends, joined a religious order.
It is customary for professing nuns to take a new name. So she took “Jessika Tina of the Angels of Mercy” as her name. She did not renounce her military pension as part of her vow of poverty, because she considered wealth as a tool, maybe a weapon, and anyhow, she lived more ascetically than any religious order could imagine. Even her hair, since the age of eighteen, had been cut shorter than her order required. Someone in the Church authorities must have found some value and virtue in her, because she was allowed to profess.
In the port city of Chicago, the Church had a shelter for wayward women. Actually for reformed prostitutes or those trying to escape from that life. Someone thought Jessika, given her life history, would not find the setting unbearably rough. She was sent from the United Kingdom to manage the shelter. Which she did fine at, although her personal belief had always been that if a woman wanted to do that for a living, it was on her conscience. The men with her in the military had certainly appreciated the chance for sex without commitment.
But the problem was that a lot of the women, even just girls, involved in that “trade” had not elected to do it, but had been either sold into it, kidnapped into it, seduced by drugs into it, or forced into it by hunger. And that’s where the shelter came in, giving the girls a choice in case they wanted out. Of course that didn’t endear the shelter to the people running the girlfriend-for-rent business, and they always tried to have their enforcers get the girls back.
And that’s where the trouble came from. Two girls, about eighteen and one slightly older than the other, had run away from one of the “stables” in the port area. They’d found refuge in the shelter run by the nun that everyone by now was calling just “Jess.” The owner of the stable in question did not bother with enforcement issues. He left those to Jenn Peccavi, a hulking woman of over six feet and two hundred pounds. Jenn had two sidekicks, a brunette Gemma and a blonde Jonica, both shorter and lighter, but equally vicious women who had, like her, been in the business and knew the ropes. Of course, their duties for their boss involved mainly keeping the girls in line in the port district, where the police rarely bothered to venture. But now those two young girls had seen fit to run away to the shelter. Obviously, an example had to be made of the two bitches.
Jenn, Gemma and Jonica had their chance one day when the two girls had ventured from the shelter to bring back groceries. It was just a matter of pulling them into a waiting car at knifepoint, with the help of a couple of hired goons. They stopped on an abandoned lot and made the girls get off. There they were slapped around by the goons, Jenn, Gemma and Jonica, and made to strip naked.
The two girls were then locked in the car’s trunk for the rest of the trip. They took them into a warehouse in the port district. There, both girls were pulled out from the trunk by their hair and sprawled on the floor. They tied their hands behind their backs. “You,” said Jenn to the older girl, “will serve as a good example for those fucking shelter people.” She grabbed the girl by the hair and brought her face against her own knee. Jenn said, “What beautiful hair”, with a wicked smile as she flattened the girl’s nose.
Bookmarks