The Adventures of
Silverclaw
Chapter 4 silverclaw’s Revenge
Lupe had long ago lost track of the number of times she had been used. She existed in a drug-fogged world of rape, humiliation, and torture. Her life was an almost endless round of sexual violence. Unlike the other whores in the camp she was not given any special accommodation to set her apart from the camp. Instead, Marcos had thrown her into the main barracks occupied by the guards and drug factory workers. There she had been subjected to every indignity that the drug lord’s men had been able to contrive. Running out of ways to use her sexually they had resorted to amusing themselves by first binding her and then subjecting her to the most brutal sexual activity.
She was lying on a table top in
the centre of the men’s barracks, the back of her neck resting on an eight-foot
wooden beam. Coarse rope lashed about
her neck tied her to the beam. Her arms were
bent at the elbow and tied to the beam on either side of her. Her legs were cruelly bound, her ankles tied
to her thighs. Ropes running behind her
knees and tied to the beam next to her wrists were pulled tight forcing her
legs apart and fully exposing her vagina and anus to whatever pleasure the men
surrounding her chose. And they had chosen
to do a lot to her, alternating between rape and performing various other
sexual acts. There was hardly an inch of
her body that did not bear some evidence of the abuse she had suffered. She was so beaten and battered that she no
longer reacted when she was raped or even tortured, but simply lay
semiconscious; only the slight rise an fall of her breasts attesting to the
fact that she was still alive.
And so her captors had withheld the drug she so frantically craved. Desperate for food and water, and exhausted from hours of being serviced by man after man, Lupe’s body quivered as her hunger for the drug increased.
Pedro da Silva curled his lip as he regarded the tormented figure of the bound heroine. “How long has she been like that?” he asked. He had been one of the first to fuck her. But that had been several days ago, before she had been reduced to a wretched animal through continuous ill-treatment and neglect.
“Five hours,” answered one of the men disinterestedly. No one was paying much attention to her. Heroines weren’t much fun when they were so beaten the they could no longer respond.
“Then let’s get her out of here.” She stinks. When was the last time she was given a bath?”
The man shrugged. “If you want her out, you get rid of her.” He grinned. “I’ve got my money’s worth out of her. If you want her she’s all yours.”
Da Silva looked around the room. Not a man objected. Taking out his knife he cut the heroine loose from the beam. Other than a low moan, she made no sound. He cut the other ropes as well, and then dragging her by one arm hauled her to the doorway and outside.
“What to do with her?” da Silva wondered. She had been beautiful once. He recalled how that splendid body had heaved beneath him when he had fucked her. As a foreman he had been one of the first to enjoy her charms. She had been healthy and strong then, not this beaten wreck that lay at his feet. Still, there were no broken bones that he could detect. Just a lot of cuts and bruises and, of course, she was a drug addict. It would be quite enjoyable if he could have her one more time the way she once had been. He had an idea. He would take her to his quarters. A few days of rest and good food would probably restore her. He would just have to keep her quiet.
Lupe thrashed wildly against her restraints, but da Silva had tied her well. She was stretched wide, her arms and legs secured to the four corners of the bed. Her wrists and ankles were padded to keep her violent struggles from tearing away her skin. She screamed in frustration and anger, but her cries were muffled by a very effective gag. Da Silva had shoved a rubber ball into her mouth and tied it there with several strips of cloth. She could only grunt helplessly.
She had been like this for almost a week now. During that time her agony had been almost inscribable as her body cried out for the insidious drug that enslaved her, but da Silva would not give her more that a few tiny injections, enough to keep her from going into cardiac arrest.
The door to the room opened. Da Silva entered. He was carrying a tray on which was a cup and a steaming bowl of something, probably soup. “Brought you something to eat, whore. I’m going to take off the gag. Any screaming and you know what happens.”
Lupe knew indeed. Her face still bore the marks of the last beating da Silva had administered. But he had not said anything about begging.
“Please,” she said, her voice quavering. “The amount of the drug you give me is not enough. The pain is tearing me apart.”
“Eat what I have brought you and I will consider it,” da Silva answered. He untied her right arm so that she could use a spoon.
“But that is what you said last time, and the time before that. But you gave me nothing.”
Da Silva gazed as the helpless woman through half-opened eyes. A week of rest and freedom from the drug had restored her beauty. He would not have thought it possible, but her powers of recovery were remarkable. She was naked, of course. It was easier to attend to her needs that way, and he rather liked looking at her. Just staring at that lithe brown body was enough to give him an erection that was almost painful. She was pretty much capable of looking after herself now, but was still quite dependent on the drug, and so he kept her gagged and tied to the bed. In a day or so, however…
He licked his lips as he pictured himself lying between those satin thighs and feeling that supple powerful body heaving beneath him. It would be a fuck to remember for the rest of his life. He waited until she had finished eating and then tied her up again. Just before he replaced the gag in her mouth she pleaded with him once more to give her the drug. Ignoring her protests he replaced the gag, and then with once last look at the struggling form of his captive he left the room.
Lupe waited anxiously for da Silva to arrive. He had promised her a proper fix tonight. It was a special occasion he told her. For the first time in nine days he had allowed her to bathe herself and had not tied her to the bed before he left. But the power of the drug was still strong within her. It was only his promise that he would satisfy her cravings that had kept her waiting albeit somewhat impatiently.
The door to the room opened. “The fix,” she said. “The fix. You promised.”
Da Silva smiled. She hated that self satisfied look. He had her in his power and he knew it. “You will have it,” he said. “But first lie down on the bed.”
“Why?” she asked. “I don’t need to lie on the bed to be injected.”
“Do you want it or not?” da Silva said.
“Yes,” Lupe said. Droplets of sweat beaded her forehead. She lay down on the bed.
She lay quietly while he bound her. She understood now what he wanted. Da Silva used padded leather cuffs to secure her wrists and ankles, and he didn’t pull them quite so tight. He wanted the silver-haired girl to be able to move while he took her. Nor did he replace the gag. He doubted that she would scream, except in passion and there were so many whores in camp the screams of just one more would not be noticed.
Her anxiety increased, however, as he undressed. She had been raped so many times that it should not have mattered, but her memories of that time were filled with horror. The thought of being taken again against her will had her heart pounding like that of a rabbit.
Perhaps it might have been different if da Silva had shown any respect or compassion toward her. True, he had taken care of her and allowed her to heal, but he had never let her forget what she had become. He always referred to her as “whore,” and his contempt for her was obvious. Whenever he looked at her his undisguised lust left no doubt that she was nothing more than a sexual plaything to him. He wanted her, not just because she was an attractive woman, but because she was a sexual trophy. He would be able to brag to his fellow drug dealers that he had a superheroine as his sexual plaything.
Da Silva was sporting a huge
erection. It brought back memories of
her first sexual humiliation at the hands of
“Now whore, you are mine.” Da Silva positioned himself between her legs and crawling on top of her supported himself on his elbows while he suckled her breasts.
Lupe did not respond, but she grunted slightly as he bit down on her nipple. Then shifting his body, he position himself so that he could stimulate her orally. The touch of da Silva’s tongue on her clitoris was not a new sensation. It had been done to her many times when she was gang-raped. It had rarely resulted in her becoming aroused, and it did not this time, but da Silva persisted in the exercise for a good half hour.
“Frigid bitch,” he said finally. “Let’s see how you handle my cock.” Positioning himself to take her he first bit her breasts again, this time biting hard enough to draw blood.
To da Silva’s gratification, Lupe grunted with pain as his teeth pierced her skin. Then without any more preliminaries, he entered her.
“Nnnggh!” Da Silva’s thrust was hard and deep, penetrating almost to her cervix. Her body arched and her limbs tightened as he pounded into her. But it was not the response da Silva wanted.
There was no passion in Lupe’s response, only pain and rigid fortitude. There was not even the pretended passion displayed by the lowliest whore; only stoic endurance as he forced himself upon her. Angrily, da Silva used his phallus as a weapon, ramming hard into her with the intention of causing maximum pain. Seizing her quivering breasts he pinched her nipples and mauled the tender flesh until the heroine writhed in pain, convulsing her exquisite body in an effort to escape the brutal torture.
“Fucking bitch,” swore da Silva. “I’ll teach you to show some respect. After all I’ve done for you…”
Beneath the barbarous assault Lupe fought back the urge to scream. She would not give the monster who raped her the satisfaction of hearing her cry out or beg for mercy. And then something else happened. Deep within her she felt a familiar stirring. Powers she thought lost were rediscovered. They rose within her like lava rising up through a weakness in the earth’s crust. And Like a volcano they exploded from her with unbridled fury.
“My god!” da Silva exclaimed as the woman beneath him changed from a struggling helpless girl to a raging beast. The silver tint that marked the extremities of her hair began to spread over her body almost as if mercury had been substituted for her blood. And then she began to transform.
“Eeaaghhh!” With a cry of pure terror da Silva hurled himself away from the huge beast that lay on the bed in place of the woman he had been ravishing. Where she had been was a gigantic and ferocious ape at least double the body mass of the girl that had been there. It snapped the flimsy restraints about its wrists and ankles as if they were no more than string and leapt from the bed. He had time to scream only once more before his throat was torn out.
Silverclaw stood over the bloody form of the drug dealer whose throat she had just ripped out, her jaws dripping blood. Then leaping to the door she charged out into the night. It was almost pitch black outside. Illicit drug operations did not advertise their presence. But Silverclaw’s eyes penetrated the blackness as if it was daylight. Hardly pausing she launched herself through the camp.
She took out the guards first, moving in great bounds, and literally ripping them apart before they even knew she was there. Then she took out the men in the barracks.
She changed form first, slipping into the shadows of the barracks. She emerged as a huge jaguar; its pigment as black as the night. No spotted cat this, but an immense black beast symbolizing vengeance and death. It tore into the barracks with the force of a tornado.
Only a few men were awake, most of these playing cards or drinking. As the door exploded off its hinges they looked up in horror. Most of them ran; a few went for their weapons; and some sought to hide. Silverclaw killed them all. The first died as a single swipe of one huge paw decapitated him as he stood to run. The next she caught in her jaws, shaking him like a rat and then tossing aside his lifeless body. Then she swept after the others. In just minutes the floor of the barracks was littered with bloody bodies.
Silverclaw crouched in the centre of the floor. Everything in the barracks was quiet now. She licked the blood from her paws. Outside pandemonium reigned as the rest of the camp woke up. She bared her bloody fangs. It was time to finish the job.
A shattered window provided a convenient exit. The man who had thrown a chair through it in an effort to escape had never made it. Outside the camp was now brightly lit but she quickly remedied that. Keeping to the shadows she headed for the camp generator. It was guarded by only a single man; a single man who realized his danger only as her jaws clamped onto his skull. Then with a single swipe of her paw she toppled the generator from its mountings. In a shower of sparks the generator died, plunging the camp into darkness.
Cries of alarm and the sound of gunfire sounded throughout the camp as men shot at shadows and warned each other of imaginary dangers. Silent as death Silverclaw tracked them down, taking them one by one until the camp went silent. All but one. Marcos was nowhere to be found, but it didn’t take long for her to figure out where he was. The hum of engines at the airstrip told her immediately that one man lived and he was too far away for the jaguar to make it before the plane took off.
Marcos turned the plane into the wind and gunned the motor. Releasing the brakes he roared down the runway and pulled into the night sky. Shaking in fear, he fought to bring himself under control. He was safe now. Safe from the supernatural horror that had torn his camp apart. “Silverclaw,” he thought. “I could only be Silverclaw.” For a brief instant as he fled the camp he had caught sight of the giant black beast that rampaged through the camp. Its silver colouring was unmistakable. He cursed himself for not killing the bitch when he had the chance. She had been entirely within his power and he had not taken advantage of the opportunity.
But he was not beaten yet. His jungle factory might be destroyed, but he had millions in the bank. He would return. And this time when he did he would hire an army and exterminate the superheroine bitch once and for all.
His thoughts of vengeance were interrupted by a thud as something crashed against the windshield of the plane. He had time only for a startled “What the Hell…” and then the window exploded into a thousand shards of glass as the huge harpy eagle smashed through it.
Marcos struck at the huge bird with his fist, but the giant wings of the huge raptor swept down, shattering his forearm. With a scream of agony Marcos fell back under the attack. The eagle closed in for the kill, ripping and tearing with beak and claw.
The plane plummeted out of control spiraling downward in an uncontrolled spin. A hundred feet from the ground an object separated from it and rose into the air. It rose on great wings as the plane struck the ground with frightening force, exploding into flame.
Silverclaw climbed higher, gaining altitude. She swept over the rainforest. A few hours away was the dawn and one last person to find.
He screamed in surprise as 300 pounds of snake enveloped him in its coils. Its weight bore him to the ground knocking the breath from his body. Before he could react it had looped several coils about him, pinning his arms to his side. Fear gave him strength, but he was helpless in the reptile’s thick coils. Struggling desperately, he screamed in sheer terror as the coils tightened, completely immobilizing him.
Bathed in sweat, and eyes bulging
in fear,