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Cement Boots

Written by conceptfan :: [Thursday, 28 April 2011 08:51] Last updated by :: [Thursday, 27 December 2012 09:53]

Cement Boots

by Conceptfan


“Last chance, Peterson. Where’s the money?” The huge man filled the doorframe.

“Right, yeah. About that …” Peterson started to explain. The big man punched him in the stomach.

“Ooof!” Peterson doubled over. The goon shoved him roughly aside and entered the apartment. Two more big men followed him in, one grabbing Peterson by his arms in a painful full nelson.

“Who’s this?” the first big man demanded, staring at the girl who walked in from another room. The two other unwelcome guests also locked their eyes on her.

She took their breath away. She looked no older than eighteen. Her height - about five foot eight - was the only unremarkable thing about her appearance. She wore trainers on her feet, above which delicate ankles gave way to long, shapely and smooth legs. The three goons followed the silky legs upwards until they came to a glimpse of silky firm thighs beneath the girl’s tiny shorts.

The shorts were tight, clinging to her pert, bubble-rear. A black leather belt accentuated the narrowness of her waist. Tucked into the top of the shorts, a tank-top that clung to her dramatic torso as if it had been created from a mould of her startling curves. The neck-line was low cut, revealing the upper portion of her big, upstanding breasts, the top of each magnificent curve clearly on display along with a significant amount of deep, narrow, erotic cleavage.

The skin of her neck was flawless. Above, her face was a work of art, her complexion perfect, lips generous, pouty and red, eyes bright and clear, nose just the right shape and size.

“Hey, Peterson, is that your daughter?”

“Err … she’s-” Peterson began.

“-Yes, I am.” The girl interrupted.

“Your dad’s in a lot of trouble, beautiful,” the first goon said. “And so are you now. Such a pretty girl too. What a shame. But business is business.”

The man holding Peterson turned him around and pushed him out of the apartment. The leader grabbed the girl around the waist. “Let’s go.” he said.

Neither Peterson nor the girl resisted as they were bundled into the backseat of a car. Twenty minutes later, they pulled up in front of dockside warehouse. The lead thug pulled out a pistol and waved it at Peterson and the girl. “Get out,” he ordered.

The kidnappers marched their victims inside the building where two metal containers, each three foot in diameter, two foot deep and filled with fresh quick-drying cement, were waiting. A goon grabbed Peterson and placed his feet inside one container. Another took hold of the girl, blatantly feeling up her stunning body as he planted her trainer-clad feet and bare ankles in the other oversized bucket.

Peterson glanced nervously at the girl. “Aren’t you going to-” he started to ask.

“Sssh!” said the girl, planting a finger on her sexy lips.

Five more minutes passed. The cement set. The thugs had to use trolleys to transport them to the edge of the dock.

“Now would be a good time …” Peterson said, sounding truly frightened.

“Alright then,” said the girl.

A scratching sound emanated from the block around her feet for a moment and then a crack appeared on the surface. A second later, the entire solid chunk appeared to dissolve into a thousand fragments as the girl calmly stepped out, spraying chunks of cement in all directions.

She stood, now barefoot – her trainers in pieces, lost amongst the other fragments – on the dockside, her hands on her hips, her hypnotic breasts thrust out.

“What kinda shit cement are we using here?” asked the lead goon, whipping out his pistol.

“Don’t bother,” the girl said calmly. “We’re playing a new game now.” She took a step towards the leader. He responded by shooting her. There was a “Clang!” as his bullet hit the centre of her lovely face and rebounded, without leaving a trace.

“What the fuck?” said the shooter, staring at his weapon for a moment. Then he fired again, aiming for her heart. This time the ricochet was much softer-sounding as the shot hit the front of her big left breast before bouncing off as far as the shooter, striking him in the belly and knocking him down.

That was the cue for the others to unload their clips at the girl. But she merely smiled in the face of the barrage, leaving her hands on her hips and waiting patiently for the men to run out of ammunition. “How…?” the leader, still on the ground, was mumbling as the girl approached him. She leant over him, stunning breasts pendant as he looked up at her.

She reached down, grabbing him by his neck. Then in one movement, she stood up straight and flung the big man over her shoulder as if he were no harder to manoeuvre than a handful of salt.

His yell diminished as he soared out over the ocean. Several seconds passed before the distant sound of a splash. The girl had already begun to walk towards the two other goons. Both of them decided not to wait for her. As one, they turned to run.

Peterson, still stuck in cement, had to twist his neck to watch her become a blur for a moment. She re-solidified directly in front of the two runners. Half-a-second later, they were following their leader, screaming as they soared, side by side, far out over the sea. Ages seemed to pass before the sound of their splash-landing reached Peterson.

The girl walked back to Peterson, bent down, and used her fingers to break the concrete around his feet as if it was the easiest thing in the world to do.

“They didn’t lie about you!” said the freed man. “But why did you wait so long?”

“I thought it would be more fun,” she said with a shrug. “Now, about my fee …”

“It’s the fridge back at my apartment.”

“It’d better be. Or you’ll wish I’d let them drown you …”

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