Perhaps there are two kinds of criminal: the ones who do what they do to get rich without the dull routine of going to work every week; and the ones who enjoy what they do. Nick fell very much in the second category. He seemed to have a vendetta against people he had never known. He enjoyed stealing from them, both for the gain and for the act itself.

He "specialised" in burglary. Breaking and entering excited him. You disrupted those boring people’s settled lives by invading their home. Yes, well they shouldn’t be boring people, should they? 

This one, whose house he was in right now, seemed to be especially boring. Jeanette Armstrong appeared to be a spinster in her late 30s. There were trophies she had won displayed on desks – yeah, trophies for something a spinster in her late 30s would have won, like playing the violin or something equally goody goody.

Unluckily for him, that goody goody was now awake and alert upstairs. Jeanette hadn’t heard Nick – he was too experienced a burglar for that – but she had sensed him. Hour upon hour of disciplined training in the Army had instilled that sense of danger in her, even when asleep. 

She moved downstairs as silently as Nick had broken into her house. There was the scumbag, helping himself to her possessions. With disgust and contempt, she noted that he was dressed in black, literally from head to toe, since he had on a balaclava, like the cowardly villain he was.

"Got you, you bastard – oh, shit!" One of the few things Jeanette respected was a gun being pointed at her.

"Well, isn’t this nice?" Nick said unpleasantly, but softly. "Did you wear that just for me? That tight blue leotard, with a lovely deep view of cleavage? I’m touched. That’s right, hands above your head. Point those lovely tits at me! Now, turn around. Why don’t you take me to your nice, quiet basement where we can get to know each other?"

Once there, he touched her chin with the silencer on the end of the gun, then withdrew it a couple of inches, still pointing it at her face.

"Now, why don’t you take off the wrapping paper you’re wearing, so I can see the present you have for me inside?"

"Okay," Jeanette sighed resignedly. 

Nick’s eyes bulged in anticipation as she moved to peel off her leotard. He chuckled, wondering if she could still appear like the prim violinist with no clothes on.

"Did you win those trophies for your skills at fellatio?" he jeered. "Or perhaps they’re for – what the fuck?!"

A strong hand gripped his wrist, swinging the gun away from Jeanette and causing it to fire; while another, even stronger hand, struck him on the chin. Her palm strike thrust his head back, while her iron grip on his wrist weakened his hold on the gun. 

Shit, where did she get such strength from? Nick thought, as she swung him 180 degrees and locked, then twisted, the arm he held the gun in behind his back. He yelled in pain as she wrenched the arm further and further from its natural connection to his shoulder, linking her arms around his to give her greater purchase. 

Jeanette brought him down on his side, using his locked arm. Her free hand disputed possession of the gun, while both her arms continued their agonising pressure on his right arm. The pain grew intense, and his fingers clutching the gun started to shake, all the time her hand fought for the gun. With a sigh of despair, it clattered to the floor and she seized it.

"Well, you didn’t get to know me very well, did you?" she asked, matching his soft, nasty tone of earlier on. She stood with a foot on his shoulder and the gun pointing down at his head. "Those trophies you asked about were for mixed martial arts during my 10 years in the Army (although, as it happens, I am an expert at fellatio as well).

"Did I say you could get up?" she shouted, standing heavily on his hand while holding the gun at his head with both hands. "Okay, now you can get up – slowly. Good, now turn around and keep your hands up, that’s right. Now, why don’t you take off that wrapping paper you’re wearing, so I can see the present you have for me inside? Revenge is indeed sweet!" 

Once he was naked, she made him turn back to face her.

"Is that it?" she asked derisively, "I’ve never been more disappointed with a present! I could be generous and assume it’s fear that is making your cock so dismally small. Because you’re shaking with fear. Of course you are! Men who like to brandish guns are usually cowards. I saw that in the Army."

Holding the gun at his neck, she made him walk out of the basement, then out of the house and into a weird courtyard with its own MMA cage. It was illuminated by lighting from the house. A prod with steel against his neck told him to go through an open door of the cage. Then a voice, as steely as the gun, told him to walk to the far end of the cage and put his hands against the mesh, while she closed the door and retrieved something from the cage’s frame. There was a small clatter on the ground behind him.

"Go on, pick it up," Jeanette instructed.

"What is it?" Nick stammered, holding a strange cone made of metal prongs.

"It’s a male chastity belt," she explained. "You see, you and I are going to have a fight, and a lot of the men I’ve fought have got a bit sexually excited. The belt assures that if you do, it’ll hurt so much that it cures it. Put it on, it fastens around your cock. But don’t worry, I’ve got the key for it here." She held the key up for him to see, before secreting it in the gap of material in her leotard that Nick had admired earlier.

"Ah, don’t look so glum," she urged sarcastically, "I thought you liked me pointing my tits at you! Okay, I won’t be needing this," she stated, throwing the gun out of the cage. "It’s just you and me in here. Come on," she beckoned him to attack. 

Whatever Nick may have been, he wasn’t stupid. He knew (a) that it would be very dangerous to attack someone of Jeanette’s skill in unarmed combat; and (b) that he had no choice. If he waited for her to attack, he was done for. So he launched himself at her. She leant back out of the way, clearly enjoying herself, and grabbed his right arm in both hands as he went past her side.

Feeling her right leg against the back of his right leg, he had a fairly shrewd idea of what she was going to do - but there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.  She had his near arm locked; if he tried anything with his near leg, it would have him over and do her job for her.  She tripped him with her right leg and steered him with one hand now on his right arm, and the other on his ribs. For a moment, he seemed to sail in mid-air, before crashing down painfully on the mat. 

"Tosser gets hip tossed!" Jeanette laughed, head locking him. Lying across him, she linked her arms to add strength to the headlock while she locked his left arm in her thighs, forcing it to an unnatural angle from the elbow. In vain, he tried to prize her off him with his free right arm, but the position she had him in him meant it had no purchase.

When he cried out in pain, she opted for a change. Propping herself on her left hand and her right foot, she half-scissored his neck in the crook of her left leg.

"Ah, what’s the matter?" she goaded him. "I thought you wanted to get to know me! Yet here you are, your face inches from the ‘best arse in the battalion’ (so all the squaddies said), and all you can do is moan!"

But it was wasted, because he had passed out. Pleased that she had lost none of the old magic, Jeanette celebrated by posing with her foot on his face. When he began to stir, groaning, she stood back to let him sit up. Then she placed her neat right boot on his back. Moving it down his back as he started to get to his feet, she suddenly banged it up into his balls, making him shriek. 

"Fucking bitch!" he wailed, as he just about managed to stand, feeling sick with the pain.

"I know," she replied, "and you’re a bastard. We’re the perfect match. Come on, hit me!"

Nick launched a respectable left cross. The trouble was, respectable just wasn’t good enough against someone like Jeanette, and it shot past her back in a rush of air, close enough for her to feel it. He tried again with his right, and she laughed as it whisked over her face.

Frustrated, he put huge effort into another left, which she warded off with her right arm. It’s doubtful whether he saw the ominous sign of her clenching her right fist as he made yet another futile attempt to hit her, but he felt it soon enough as it powered into his jaw. In his time, he had taken his share of punches, but never one from a woman. Yet there was nothing wrong with it - far from it, in fact, as his jaw started to throb.

She saw the acknowledgement in his face, then his desperation as he made a last doomed attempt to score with a fist. He missed again, and she celebrated by crashing her left fist into his opposite jaw, smiling as if she was shooting coconuts at a fair. 

Expecting to get another one like that, Nick was surprised by Jeanette’s sudden change of tactics. She hook-kicked with her left foot into the weak spot behind his right knee, making his leg go weak. If he put any weight on it he’d go over, and while he was concentrating on staying upright, she got him with a brute of a super kick. Pivoting on her right leg, Jeanette thrust her left boot back devastatingly into his mouth. Cold droplets of blood splashed his face.

Then she jump-kicked. Flying at him, she got him to the side of the knee that she had so recently struck with her left boot, and made him defend his head against her other foot. Twirling on the way down, she put him briefly into a flying head scissor before coming to rest on both hands. This way, she was able to maintain the scissor.

Lowering herself at her leisure, they ended up in the classic reverse head scissor, or "69 position". She squeezed his face, gripped his wrists in case he got any ideas, and gazed down at his encased cock. 

"I’m sorry I made you put that belt on now," she told him with mock disappointment. "I love teasing a man’s cock, playing with it, and making it go hard! Whatever’s the matter?" she finished, as if she didn’t know. She stood up, the better to observe his discomfort.

Nick was in acute pain. Her words had sent the blood rushing to his cock, as she knew they would, but the cage bit into his flesh as he started to get an erection. And she was laughing, relishing his agony, like the out-and-out bitch he knew her to be. 

With an effort, he mastered himself, stood up shakily – and got a high kick to the face. This was dirty fighting at its most savage. He fell back down, blood flowing freely, and got a kick across his eyes. Jeanette had gone beyond the bitch and become the sadist.

There was no other description for her and her smile as she gave him one last kick to his manhood, the cage worsening the effect of her kick.

At last she stopped, and walked out of the cage, leaving him clutching his genitals and whimpering in the foetal position. 

But she was back in a few moments. She had retrieved the gun and was now pointing it at him. She ordered him to get up and walk out of the cage, while she followed, still threatening him with the gun. 

*****

"Well, what have we here?" asked the policewoman, surveying the pitiful sight of the man lying prostrate, while Jeanette trained the gun on him.

"Just some low life, who thinks it’s fine to break into a woman’s house, steal her things, and threaten her with a gun." Jeanette explained.

"Do you require victim support?" asked the policewoman.

"No, I’m the one who needs that!" protested a voice from the floor.