That’s Enough of That

Wendy strode into the upscale hotel bar on New Year's Eve 2024, her stiletto heels clicking against the polished marble floor. The sounds of laughter and clinking glasses filled the air, mingling with the smooth jazz playing softly in the background. She scanned the room, her emerald eyes twinkling with mischief.

There he was - Steve, the wealthy tech mogul whose misdeeds had not gone unnoticed by Wendy. She had been tracking the 35-year-old playboy for weeks, compiling a dossier of his numerous transgressions. Multiple women had accused the egomaniac of harassment, ****, and even ****. But Steve was untouchable, using his money and influence to silence his victims and avoid justice.

Well, not tonight. Wendy had a plan to put the smug prick in his place, to make him understand the true meaning of powerlessness and humiliation. A wry smile played on her crimson lips as she approached the bar. Steve was already three sheets to the wind, sloppy drunk and crude, making suggestive remarks to the pretty bartender. Perfect.

"Buy a lady a drink?" Wendy purred, sidling up to Steve. He leered at her black cocktail dress hugging dangerous curves, his gaze roving lecherously over her figure.

"Love to, gorgeous," Steve slurred. "The name's Steve. What's yours, sexy?"

"Wendy," she replied, batting her long lashes. "And I'll have a vodka martini. Dirty."

While Steve signaled the bartender, Wendy covertly sprinkled an enchanted powder into his drink - a potion to make him pliable and suggestible. When he handed her the martini, she took a sip, smiling encouragingly.

The **** and magic did their work swiftly. Soon Steve was putty in Wendy's hands, hanging on her every word, eager to please. She led him out of the bar into the lavish hotel lobby, pausing where a crowd had gathered for the countdown.

In a flash faster than human eyes could follow, Wendy shoved Steve against a pillar and ripped open his designer trousers. His eyes widened as cool air hit his manhood. Then he screamed as an intense ache lanced through his groin.

Wendy's hand was a blur of motion as she worked her malevolent magic, shrinking Steve's member to half its size. A puff of pink smoke and it was done - the once proud penis looked small and pathetic. She tucked it back into his briefs.

"What did you do?!" Steve gasped. "What's happening?!"

"You just had a taste of karma, you misogynistic worm," Wendy hissed in his ear. "All those women you assaulted will have their **** tonight."

She produced a vial of glowing blue fluid. "Drink this. When the clock strikes midnight, every woman you've ever mistreated will appear and get to have their say. You won't be able to hide from their righteous fury."

Trembling, Steve swallowed the draught. The lobby lights dimmed and a hush fell as the final countdown began. Everyone shouted along with the televised broadcast, but Steve could only stare in horror.

"Three, two, one! Happy New Year!" The crowd erupted in cheers and applause.

Wendy stepped back as a dozen women materialized out of thin air - beauties of all ages and races, all with one thing in common - they had been victimized by the craven playboy at one time. They surrounded the cowering Steve.

"Remember me?" one woman demanded. "You **** my drink and **** yourself on me at that club last year!"

"I thought I was the only one," wept another. "You're a monster!"

The women berated Steve, pointing fingers and screaming insults. Many had tears streaming down their faces, finally able to confront their abuser. Some shook with rage, others with liberating catharsis. Soon tears of despair rolled down Steve's face too as the crowd watched in grim satisfaction.

Wendy just smiled coldly. "Squeal all you want, you bastard. No one will believe you now."

She vanished in a crackle of energy, leaving Steve broken and exposed, the tool of his sins reduced to a shrunken shadow. The women's accusations would tarnish his reputation and fortune beyond repair.

Wendy allowed herself a small, triumphant laugh. There were so many more wicked men who needed her interscession. But one down was a start. She had a feeling 2025 would be a very bad year indeed for sexual predators everywhere.