The Swift Hands of Justice

The young man dashes out into the street, five young women chasing him in hot pursuit. He dodges between cars in traffic, bent on but one goal: outrun those women, and get away before they can catch him!

Now he is running across a broad expanse of concrete between two large buildings, flying past pedestrians. He's fast, but the patter of the women's feet behind him is drawing nearer. A hand grabs his wrist from behind, don't dare look down, must pull free... And he succeeds. But it breaks his stride, and before he can get back up to speed the rest of the women are upon him.

Hands clutching him from every side, wrist, bicep, other wrist, forearm, a handful of sweatshirt. The women have got him now, they've got him surrounded, they're holding him fast. Their pretty faces are like stormclouds.

Without a word, the women pull him down onto the concrete pavement, spreadeagled flat on his back. He's stronger than any one of them, but he's not stronger than all five of them together.

One woman sits on his left arm. One woman sits on his right arm. One woman sits on his left leg. One woman sits on his right leg. Squatting, sitting, full body weight. His limbs are pinioned, immobilized.

The fifth woman sits behind him, his head cradled in her lap. He cries, "No, wait, listen to me, I can -- mmmmmmmmmmmph!"

The fifth woman cuts off his plea, she presses both of her large, smooth, strong hands over his mouth. One hand over the other hand over his mouth. Her hands are ice cold. And she presses her hands down hard, leaning down into her lap with all her slender wiry strength.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmph, mmmmmh hmmmm mmmmmmmmmph! MMMMMMMMMMMMPH!!!" He can't speak. He tries to thrash around, but he can hardly even squirm beneath five female bodies. "Mmmmmmmmmmph! Mmmmm, mmmmmh mmmm hmmm mmmmmmmmph!" Her hands are pressing down on his mouth hard. Winded from running, he breathes raggedly in and out through his nostrils: it's the only way he can breathe now. "MMMMMMMMMMPHHH!"

People walking by do their best to ignore the tableau of five women holding a man down, five women physically restraining and silencing a man on the pavement. Here and there a wary glance, but that's risky, too: you don't want the women or their reinforcements coming after you next.

And they could, you know...