Duster Versus the Motormaster

a semi-original superheroine story by Dangerguy

WARNING: This story is strictly fictional and is not intended to portray any real persons, living or dead, nor is it at all intended to encourage the type of activity portrayed here. It is not to be resold for profit. It is strictly a fantasy, intended for the personal enjoyment of those who appreciate the superheroine in bondage/peril/sexual situations genre. The story depicts graphic sexual situations, including bondage, violence, and non-consensual sex, among a number of other nasty things. It is NOT intended, nor is it at all suitable, for minors. If you are under the age of 18, or if this type of thing offends you, you shouldn’t be reading it. Otherwise, carry on, and enjoy.

Contents

Chapter One: The Warehouse
Chapter Two: Descent
Chapter Three: The Cell
Chapter Four: The Henchman
Chapter Five: Vengeance
Chapter Six: Aftermath

Chapter One: The Warehouse

In an old, abandoned part of High Plains City's industrial district, a lovely pair of brown eyes regarded one particular warehouse with a mixture of suspicion and confidence. The eyes belonged to the young superheroine known as Duster to the citizens of High Plains City. Her suspicion arose because this warehouse was supposedly the center of operations for a gang of car thieves--the place where they stripped the cars for parts or repainted them for selling on the black market. Her confidence came from her unbroken string of successes in her short career as a superheroine.

Duster had been investigating a string of car thefts in High Plains City that had been going on for months. She had managed to single-handedly, on separate occasions, apprehend four of the gang of thieves responsible for the thefts. The fourth, whom she had apprehended only an hour ago, had spilled his guts when she interrogated him before turning him over to the police, telling her about this warehouse. Eager to add to her growing reputation, the heroine had decided to keep the information to herself rather than sharing the glory with the High Plains City Police Department.

So Duster crouched her shapely body beside an unused, rusting trash bin across the street from the old warehouse. It seemed unremarkable--three stories high, occupying half a city block, constructed from corrugated metal sheeting; it looked like a big, decaying metal barn. There didn't seem to be any activity in or around the building at the moment, but that didn't mean anything. The thieves tended to work late at night, she'd been told, and it was only two hours past sunset. All the better, Duster thought. She decided to reconnoiter the building before the thieves showed up, removing any "home field advantage" they might have.

Duster moved swiftly and silently across the quiet street, taking caution to stick to the shadows. Her spandex singlet, green with gold trim, clung to her curvaceous frame like a second skin. The bright colors made her conspicuous, even in the twilight gloom. An older and wiser superheroine would have chosen drabber fare, but green and gold were the team colors of High Plains University, where Duster's secret identity, honor student Candy Roberts, took classes in both science and engineering. When she had acquired her powers, using her beloved alma mater's color scheme for her costume had seemed obvious to her. As for 'Duster', her superheroine name had been inspired by the wild, powerful dust storms that swept across the dry plains and through High Plains City every couple of years, laden with tiny particles of sand and soil stripped from the land--dusters, they were called. The name inspired fear and respect in the residents of the high plains, so it had seemed an obvious choice as well.

As she crept towards the door, inching along the wall of the warehouse, Duster briefly mused upon the strange twist of fate that had brought an upper-class honor roll student from High Plains Heights, the wealthiest part of town, to be taking on car thieves in the seedy warehouse district. That twist of fate had occurred late last semester, five months earlier. Candy had nearly been electrocuted during a freak accident in the Engineering Department's wind tunnel during a severe lighting storm. When she came out of the hospital a few days later, she discovered she could summon, command, and control powerful gusts of wind. Emboldened by the Tae Kwan Do classes she had taken in her teenage years at her mother's urging, and inspired by the superheroines she'd admired as a girl, Candy had decided to follow in their footsteps and fight evil.

So far, the "evil" Duster fought had mostly consisted of petty thieves and muggers. Each success, though modest, built the young, inexperienced superheroine's confidence. She had finally made a name for herself in her home town recently; just a month before, she had caught a rapist who had been plaguing the University campus. Though proud of that achievement--especially when Candy saw the looks of relief on the faces of other female students--Duster realized that wasn't exactly the sort of world-threatening foe that earned an invitation to join the Justice League. Duster knew she'd have to work her way up the superheroine ranks. Tonight, she planned to bring down a gang rather than just a single perp; she was sure she was ready for the challenge, and knew it would be yet another feather in her cap.

Duster moved silently though the alley; the door was only a few feet away now. Her feet, clad in knee-high green boots with gold trim, nimbly stepped around the rusting industrial debris on the pavement. Her golden-gloved hand brushed a stray strand of tousled, shoulder-length auburn hair away from her lovely face. Except for her naked, creamy-white thighs, the only break to Duster's green and gold color scheme came in the form of a red D with a stylized wing on its left one side and a red lighting bolt within it, emblazoned on her chest just above her large, firm breasts. The D stood for Duster, of course, but her roommate, confidante, and best friend since childhood, Tori Walker, had teased her that it also stood for her bra size.

Bra sizes and smart-assed roommates were far from Duster's mind as she reached the side door of the warehouse and warily eased it open. The door opened silently, and Duster exhaled the breath she'd been holding. She peered inside, her eyes adjusting quickly to the dim interior of the old warehouse, aided by the special light-enhancing chemical in her green visor.

The visor seemed a strange choice for a superheroine. Most wore a mask to conceal their true identity, while bolder superheroines wore no facial cover whatsoever. But for budding scientist Candy Roberts, the visor she'd developed secretly in the University's labs offered three advantages. First, it concealed her identity, since the outer surface was mostly opaque. Second, its advanced (and virtually unbreakable and unscratchable) composition aided her vision, shielding her eyes from glare in sunlight, but enhancing her night vision in darkness. Third, it also shielded her eyes from one unfortunate side effect of her power: swirling particulate matter that blinded her opponents, and would have blinded her if not for the visor.

The visor aided her first, quick scan of the warehouse's interior, aided only by ambient light from streetlights outside that filtered in through high, dust-stained windows. The large building appeared dark, silent, and empty, devoid of activity or life. Again, Duster breathed a sigh of relief. Though she was confident she could take down this gang of thieves, she felt a little nervous. She had never faced more than a single opponent before. Scoping the expected site of battle, she told herself, would help ensure the success of her mission. She began to walk into the warehouse confidently, her rubber-soled boots making a light scuffing noise as she walked.

The young heroine's dark brown eyes continued to scrutinize the inside of the large building. She could make out huge ceiling beams of metal that soared three stories above her; dark catwalks loomed a storey below the ceiling, crisscrossing the space above the warehouse floor. An old, rusting, and decrepit assembly line ran along the wall on her right and into the distance, towards a loading dock at the far end of the building; the abandoned machinery towered over her and cast much of that side of the warehouse into dark shadow. On her left, against the far wall, were some rotting remnants of wooden crates and cardboard boxes. A few yards ahead of her, on the floor, she saw a small, glowing object. She moved towards it. Some sort of clue...?

Duster had now reached the center of the warehouse, where she stood above the tiny glowing item. She stared down at it: it was a cheap cell phone, still turned on. One of the thieves had probably left it behind. She kneeled down for a closer look; it seemed to have some sort of text message displayed on it.

WELCOME DUSTER

The young superheroine stood up abruptly. Her stomach tightened as a wave of fear swept over her. She glanced anxiously around the warehouse, realizing for the first time that there were no cars here. No cars, no auto parts, no engines, no mechanical equipment or tools, not even a lousy spare tire.

A trap! her mind screamed.

Suddenly, from the catwalk, a bright spotlight illuminated the center of the warehouse where Duster stood, blinding her temporarily. She lifted one arm to shield her eyes. Before she could do anything else, a large, heavy net, weighted at the ends, dropped from the ceiling and landed on her, knocking her to the ground.

"UUUNNNGGFFF!!" Duster exhaled as her stomach and chest hit the ground and the impact knocked the wind out of her. As she began to struggle in the tangled rope netting, Duster heard footfalls slowly walking towards her from the dark gloom on her left.

"Well, well, well," a male voice, dripping with arrogance and sarcasm, spoke as its source sauntered towards her. "You must be Duster, High Plains City's own, brand-spanking new superheroine. I guess I should feel honored that you've decided to take an interest in my modest little operation. But you know something? I don't feel honored. I just feel...pissed off," the man concluded with a snarl in his voice.

Duster ground her teeth angrily. "You're going to be even more pissed off, mister, when you're in prison, getting raped by some big, sweaty biker in the showers," she shot back at her unseen opponent. The man had not stepped into the pool of light created by the spotlight, and the spots swirling in her eyes kept her from seeing anything more than a shadow, despite the presence of the visor.

"Oooooo," the male voice intoned mockingly, "now that's quite a vivid and unappealing prospect. But tell me...how exactly do you plan to capture me, since, as it may be needless to point out, I have just captured you? And rather easily, I might add."

Duster smiled confidently through the netting. "You think you've got me? Just wait..." Her eyes narrowed as she concentrated, summoning the violent winds of the high plains to her aid.

From outside the warehouse, the haunting sound of powerful winds howled and began to slam against the decrepit metal walls of the old warehouse. The building moaned and creaked under the onslaught, and the docking bay doors pressed inwards as the wind pushed against them.

"I SEE," the amused male voice shouted over the din. "You'll huff, and you'll puff, and you'll BL-O-O-O-W my house down!" The man still seemed strangely unconcerned.

Angrily, Duster concentrated and commanded the winds picked up their pace. The docking bay doors blew open with a loud BANG! and a gale-force wind swept through the warehouse. Old papers and dust blew in with it. Duster smiled, knowing the wind would soon lift the net off of her and slam her would-be captors against the walls of the warehouse.

But in that seeming moment of her triumph, Duster felt a sudden, sharp pain in her right buttock.

"OWWW!!!" she cried out and reached towards her behind. She felt something small, cylindrical, and metallic sticking into her spandex-covered cheek. An instant later, she began to feel light-headed. Around her, as she lost her concentration, the wind began to fade and die. A tranquilizer dart! She desperately pulled the tiny missile out of her skin, but it was too late; the damage was done. Duster's eyelids flickered over her dark brown eyes. Her tawny-maned head felt heavy, so very heavy, beneath the weight of the nylon netting.

"Uhhhhh..." Duster moaned as she felt herself fading; the wind had completely died down now. "Bastard..."

"Yeah, I am," the man said with a laugh as he stood above the nearly-unconscious heroine. "Here's a little bed-time story for you, Duster," he continued in a condescending voice, as if speaking to a small child. "When you wake up, we'll turn this little game around. You're gonna be Little Green-and-Gold Riding Hood, and I'm gonna be the Big Bad Wolf. Won't that be fun?"

"Mmmrrrrrmmm..." Duster whimpered as her head fell against the floor. Her brown eyes closed, and unconsciousness took her.

Her captor kneeled down beside his prize. He reached through the netting and fondled Duster's shapely, spandex-clad behind.

"Oh, yeah," he murmured, his voice low and heavy with lust. "Very big, and very bad. Very bad indeed..."

Chapter Two: Descent

Later--not, in fact, very much later, but she really couldn't tell--Duster came to, but found herself still dazed and unable to summon the winds she relied on. She was lying on her side on a metal floor. Her eyelids flickered and her brown eyes nearly rolled back into her head as she struggled to look around and stay conscious. She was in a metal room. She saw two metal doors when she looked towards her feet; she looked forward and saw two chairs. She heard an engine. Oh, I'm in a van, she thought, and in her dazed state felt quite proud of herself for deducing that. The metal floor felt very uncomfortable. She tried to stand up, or even sit up, but she couldn't move very easily. She glanced at her body and realized that she was bound securely.

Leather straps, like thick belts, surrounded her chest just below her breasts, her neck just above the gold trim of her uniform--she felt a dizzy sense of relief that she still wore her uniform and visor--and also surrounded her biceps, wrists, and thighs just above the knee. Thick metal cables connected the leather belts. One ran from the collar, down between her breasts, to the belt around her chest, separating her large, luscious mounds. Another cable ran around her trim waist, just above the curve of her hips. More cables connected the bicep bands to both the chest band and neck band, as well as connecting her wrists--which were held behind her back--to the thigh bands. The cables had a small amount of slack, but not much, making it difficult for the young superheroine to move, and impossible for her to fight.

Not that she could have put up much of a fight even if she'd been free. The tranquilizing drug lingered in her body, keeping her subdued and dazed. She barely even noticed when the van came to a stop.

Two figures exited the van, walked around to the back, and opened the rear doors. Duster was dimly aware of two sets of male hands, reaching for her and pulling her out of the van and into the cool night air.

"Uhhhhhhh..." Duster moaned as she was pulled, wobbly, to her feet. Once upright, her head hung over her chest, and she moaned again. Each man had hold of one of her bound arms.

"Shit, man, she's wakin' up!" one male voice said beside her. Duster rolled her head to her right and glanced at the source of the voice. A tall, young, African-American man, his head shaved, was staring at her a little nervously.

"Relax, Hawkeye," she heard a voice she recognized on her left say. "She'll be out of it for at least a couple of hours. She's no threat."

Duster rolled her head to her left side and gazed at the speaker. Caucasian, this one, and...one hot tamale, she thought groggily, a lopsided, dreamy grin playing across her lips. Tall, at least six feet, he towered over her five-foot, five-inch frame. He had dark brown hair, cropped short, and a chiseled face: long, straight brows; dark, deep-set eyes; a long, aquiline nose; thin lips, cruel but sensual; and a strong chin. His hands felt strong where they held her bound, useless left arm. He appeared to be in his early 30's. Yummy, Duster thought in a daze; now where have I heard that voice before? I think it was a warehouse...

"So why bother with the fetish gear, boss?" the African-American asked.

"Just in case, my friend, just in case. Didn't you read any comics when you were a kid?" the other man responded in an amused voice.

"Couldn't afford that shit," the black man responded defensively.

"I'll have to loan you some of mine," his companion said nonchalantly. "People make fun of comic books, but I learned a lot from them. For example, the first rule of super-villaining: never underestimate the superhero's ability to escape."

The two men led the captive, groggy superheroine through the rear entrance of a non-descript low-rise building in one of High Plains City's many industrial parks. They went through a hallway to a service elevator, half-leading, half-carrying the stumbling young woman they held between them. The cables on Duster's bondage gear rattled a little as she struggled to stay on her feet. The bondage outfit restricted her ability to move her legs; that, combined with the drug-induced grogginess, made it almost impossible for Duster to stay upright as the trio moved. If her two captors hadn't held on to her bound arms, she would have fallen flat on her face.

"One thing I don't get," the black man asked the other. "Why didn't you just let me tranq her when she came in? What did we need the light and the net for?"

"Supervillain rule number two: never pass up an opportunity to gloat," the white man, apparently the leader, answered with a laugh.

Handsome Guy--as Duster had now named him--pressed the down button to call the elevator, then dragged Duster inside when the metal doors slid open. The two men and their captive rode in silence for what seemed a very long time. Duster's head kept falling forward as she came close to dropping off, then it sprang back up, her brown eyes wide open, as she fought off the urge to resume her drug-induced slumber. Her knees buckled and she slumped between her captors; they had to support her to keep the drugged heroine from dropping on to the floor.

"You see?" Handsome Guy said to Black Guy (Duster's drug-inspired name for the other man). "Weak as a kitten. And ready to be skinned..."

Duster frowned groggily at that comment. What does that mean? she wondered. Then the elevator chime rang as they reached their floor, the sound disrupting whatever thoughts she could keep in her drug-addled mind.

"Fourth floor, ladies' lingerie," Duster mumbled, then giggled at her joke.

The two men chuckled as they carried her down another hallway.

"Shit, man, she is totally out of it!" Black Guy said. "You could take her out of this thing and do whatever you want."

"Now where's the fun in that?" Handsome Guy responded.

The trio reached a heavy metal door; Handsome Guy reached out and opened it, then he and Black Guy carried the slumped superheroine inside.

"Duster," Handsome Guy said proudly, "welcome to your new home."

But his words went unheeded by his captive; the simple exertion Duster had gone through had gotten her blood pumping enough to send more of the drug in her body to her brain. Her head had fallen forward again over her large breasts, this time to stay, as she succumbed once again to unconsciousness.

Chapter Three: The Cell

Some time later, as the tranquilizer began to wear off in earnest, Duster began to stir once again. Her eyelids' long, black lashes flickered over her dark brown eyes. She lifted her head a little too quickly and groaned as something akin to a hangover made even that furtive movement painful. Duster then tried to move her limbs--gingerly--and found she could not. Then the events of the last few hours came flooding back: the lead on the car thieves, the warehouse, the light and net, the tranquilizer, getting carried down here, wherever here was...

Duster moaned, not just from the headache which slowly began to fade, but from the embarrassment of getting caught so easily. A cell phone. In a big, empty warehouse. Beneath a NET. Oughtta call myself "Deer-in-the-Headlights Girl". Or maybe just dye my hair blonde...

As her wits returned, Duster looked around her, assessing her predicament. A few moments later, she concluded that it was very definitely not good.

The superheroine was in the middle of a square room, about 20 feet by 20 feet, with dull, gray concrete walls; the ceiling and floor were also concrete. A heavy metal door, the only visible entrance or exit, was in the middle of the wall behind her. Cheap industrial track lighting had been installed in the ceiling in front of her, behind her, and on both sides; all the lights were pointed at her. The heat of the lights helped offset the dank coolness of the room, but Duster gave an involuntary shiver every now and then in spite of them. On either side of Duster, running from the ceiling to the floor, was a thick, cylindrical concrete column, more than a foot in diameter and a little over three feet apart.

The two concrete columns provided the main supports for the crude bondage frame into which Duster found herself fastened. A metal rod, about an inch thick, connected the two beams horizontally, making the structure look like a large grey H. The metal rod, which was inserted towards the front of the columns, ran behind Duster's back, just below her shoulder blades and armpits, where it was padded and supported some of her weight. Duster's arms were stretched out to each side and behind her; the superheroine's wrists were encircled by thick leather straps, each connected via heavy metal eyelets to a length of thick, industrial-strength nylon rope. The ropes were tautly connected to large metal eyelets inserted in the rear side of the huge concrete columns. Besides immobilizing Duster's arms and torso, the ropes also pulled her arms back at a slight angle, making them form a shallow V; the padded rod, however, pressed against her spine, making her arch her back and thrust her large, spandex-clad breasts forward.

The concrete columns each had a base about three inches thicker than the column and about eight inches high. Duster's feet rested on the tops of these bases, and were also bound by leather straps and ropes which led, this time, to eyelets inserted into the sides of the columns, right next to her ankles. This, of course, had the effect of spreading her legs, emphasizing her vulnerability, and her body was forced upright and straight, save for the jutting of her luscious breasts. Duster still wore her costume, including her gloves, boots, and visor, for all the good that did her; she was totally helpless, bound securely. But that wasn't the worst of it.

A few feet in front of Duster was a long, high table, like a workbench. On top of the table were a variety of items which made her heart pound and her stomach churn: a spool each of rope and rubber tubing; several leather straps; a couple of hand towels; a cat-o-nine tails and a bullwhip; a ball-gag and a ring-gag; a large, thick, black latex cylinder that could only be a dildo; a large hunting knife and equally large scissors; a couple of medical syringes; an assortment of nasty-looking tools; and several small jars and other containers. Duster ran her eyes over the tabletop and failed to suppress a shudder that ran through her shapely, tightly-bound body.

And as icing on her bitter cake of captivity, Duster noticed what appeared to be a half-dozen small security cameras, mounted at various places in the room, and all pointing at her. One was directly above and slightly in front of her; another appeared to be mounted over the door and aimed at her backside. Two were mounted on the walls, just forward of the columns, at different heights; another was on the far wall in front of her, beyond the workbench; and the last one was on the floor below her, beside a drain, pointed directly at her crotch.

Dear God, she thought as she swallowed hard, what have I gotten myself into? And how am I going to get out of it?

Suddenly, behind her, she heard the metal door to her prison open. She turned her head to watch as the tall, dark, and handsome white man who had dragged her down here with his cohort walked through the door, closed and locked it, and slowly walked around the columns to stand in front of her. He wore a long black leather coat--a duster, she noted wryly--over a silk burgundy dress shirt and black dress pants and shoes. Not exactly supervillain attire, Duster thought hopefully, though his clothes indicated he had both money and taste. The man just stood there silently; his dark, deep-set eyes ran slowly over her gorgeous, bound body, drinking in her luscious form and its helpless state. His dark eyes traveled upwards to stare into hers; a cocky, lascivious half-smile played across his thin, cruel lips, but still he said nothing.

After several moments, Duster could no longer stand the silence. "What's the meaning of this?" she demanded, struggling to suppress the tremors in her voice and sound confident. "Release me at once!"

Her captor frowned slightly and gave a disappointed sigh. "Is that the best you can do? 'What's the meaning of this? Release me at once!'" he mocked, imitating her voice but making it sound high-pitched, whiny, and ridiculous.

"Listen pal," Duster growled, her anger growing and starting to overcome her fear, "you're in big trouble!"

The man appeared mildly surprised. "Gee, am I?" he asked with mock seriousness.

"You bet you are," Duster continued, ignoring his mocking tone. "Kidnapping, unlawful confinement, not to mention grand theft auto."

"Wow," the man responded, making a quarter-turn and starting to pace slowly. "That sounds bad. Like, I could do some serious time for that, couldn't I?"

"You certainly will," Duster responded confidently. I think I'm getting to him, she thought.

The man shrugged and turned to face her again. "So I guess adding a sexual assault charge to the mix won't really make much of a difference," he said with a slight smile. His eyes looked directly into hers, his gaze piercing.

"What...?" Duster breathed as his words confirmed her worst fears.

The man laughed and shook his head. "Oh, Dusty, Dusty, Dusty...can I call you Dusty?" Still shocked by his forthright declaration of his intentions, Duster didn't respond. The man continued. "You can call me...the Motormaster."

Duster's eyebrows arched at that. "Seriously?" she asked.

"I suppose I should have a more ominous-sounding supervillain name. And a flashier costume," he said, stealing a glance at his silk shirt. "But...spandex? Kinda eighties, don't you think?" He glanced at Duster's skin-tight costume and blinked. "Oh. Looks good on you, though," he muttered sarcastically. "Truth to tell, Dusty, I'm really more 'villain' than 'super'; I mean, I don't think hot-wiring counts as a super-power. And besides...," his voice dropped an octave and took on a dangerous rasp as he took a step towards her, "...I've been much more focused on all the nasty things I am gonna do to that ripe little body of yours," he concluded with a penetrating stare and a malevolent sneer.

The superheroine swallowed and choked back her fear. "Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"Have you looked in the mirror lately, babe? Come on!!" the Motormaster answered with a laugh. Then he held up his hands and nodded. "Okay, okay. We've taken the superhero game this far, we may as well go all the way. Heh. That's a pun, in case you missed it. Anyway, yes, I am a car thief," he admitted, holding his arms wide, "...and a damn good one. Last year, my operation made over a half mil in this town, did you know that?"

"Gross or net?" Duster responded. Keep him talking and off-balance, she told herself, maybe you'll find a way out of this. She began to surreptitiously pull on the ropes that held her arms, looking for weaknesses, but finding none.

The Motormaster, mildly annoyed, stared at Duster for a moment. "Gross, if you must know. But that's not the point. The point, toots, is I've got some college girl in a leotard running around, trying to blow my operation!" He paused and looked at Duster. "That was another pun, by the way. In more ways than one, in fact..."

"How do you know I go to coll..." Duster asked before she realized her mistake.

"Lucky guess," the Motormaster said with a smile. "You really are new to this, aren't you? Ah, but I'm sure you figured out the rest by now. I told some of my team to take a fall if you caught 'em and to feed you the info about the warehouse, then boom! Here you are. In the special prison I had constructed just for you."

"Lucky me," she answered sarcastically. Then Duster frowned as she processed something he'd said. "How did you convince a car thief to intentionally get caught?" she asked, incredulous.

The Motormaster pointed a knowing finger at her. "Hey, there's no 'I' in 'team', young lady. I hire very carefully; take Hawkeye, for example. He's the one who shot that dart into your ripe little ass." The Motormaster shook his head and smiled with no small amount of pride. "He practiced shooting that dart gun in a wind tunnel for the last two weeks to get ready for you. See, now that's dedication, and that's what I look for in my people. And I take care of them in return; the informant who misled you will get bail, the best defense lawyer in this dusty little burg...boy, another pun, I'm just on a roll today...and a sizeable bonus upon his inevitably speedy release."

"As for you," the Motormaster said, lowering his voice and stepping forward until he stood mere inches in front of the captive heroine, "...you will also get a sizeable bonus." He reached out and ran a finger down her soft cheek, across her neck, between her breasts, and down her quivering abdomen. "Or maybe that's just a sizeable bone," he concluded, cupping his fingers over Duster's spandex-covered mound. Duster gasped and tried to pull away from him, but her bonds made it impossible for her to do much more than wriggle her pussy over his hand.

"Ugh! Don't touch me, you bastard!" she snarled, her exertions making her breasts bounce slightly inside her costume.

The Motormaster just laughed. "Oh, I'm going to touch you a lot. You may not have destroyed my little business, but you've cost me. And I intend to get some payback," he concluded as he grabbed one of Duster's large breasts with his free hand and began to knead it harshly through her costume.

"Unnngh! All right! That's it!" Duster declared angrily. She was not going to get molested by some second-rate car-jacker! Her thin, arched brows furrowed as she concentrated and called the winds to her.

A soft whistle whispered in Duster's ear as the wind rose. The Motormaster stopped groping Duster's body as he felt a light breeze in the room. But that was all; a moment later, Duster's efforts had done little more than ruffle his short brown hair. He glanced around, then looked at a confused Duster with a cocky smile.

"Gee, that was quite refreshing, honey," he taunted her. "Hey, could you make that oscillate?"

Duster only stared at him in bewilderment, and growing fear. "What...how...?"

The Motormaster sighed heavily. "I thought you said you went to college? You're a couple of hundred feet under ground, girlie. In a small, enclosed space. Not much chance of whipping up a whirlwind down here." He turned from her and walked over to the workbench and its malevolent collection of tools.

"Under ground?" Duster asked as she anxiously looked around. "Where?"

"Ah ah ah," the Motormaster said, wagging his finger over his shoulder. "Third rule of super-villaining: never tell the superhero everything."

The gravity of her situation began to hit Duster full force. She was helpless, her powers useless, her voluptuous young body bound and vulnerable. She was completely at the mercy of an obviously perverted villain who considered her an enemy and had already declared his intention to rape her. She'd only had two lovers in her young life: a brief dalliance during high school and a two-year relationship that had ended--badly--just before the accident that gave her the powers. Now she was about to be violated by a complete stranger--albeit a damn good-looking one--unless she could figure a way out of it, which didn't seem likely. She couldn't fight her way out of this, or reason with her captor. She could feel her heart beating faster in her chest, and her breathing accelerate. Sweat began to run down her back.

"What are you doing?" she asked, looking nervously at her adversary as he focused his attention on the items on the table.

The Motormaster turned and smiled at his captive. He walked towards her, holding something from the table behind his back. "Is that fear I smell?" he asked, grinning. He could see Duster's body shaking ever-so-slightly in her bonds, the perspiration beginning to stain her costume. He caught Duster's dark eyes glancing over his shoulder at the items on the table as she tried to figure out what was still there and what he had removed, and was holding behind his back, about to use on her helpless body.

The Motormaster turned his head to look at the workbench briefly, then turned to face Duster again. "Ah. Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm not real big with the whole S & M thing. I won't use that stuff unless I get bored," he said in a low, rough whisper. He gently ran his fingertips down her soft cheek. "And you'll make sure I won't get bored...won't you?"

"Please," Duster begged, as her body began to tremble in earnest now, "...don't do this. I beg you..."

"Aw, shit," the Motormaster cried, rolling his dark eyes, "you're begging now? Where's that plucky superheroine spirit?" He sighed as Duster only stared at him, her terror growing. "Well, I was getting bored with your cliché-ridden patter anyway, and I certainly don't want to hear any pathetic begging and pleading, so..."

"What are youAAAAHHHMMMMPPPHHHHHH!!!!" Duster exclaimed as the Motormaster deftly inserted the rubber ball-gag between the heroine's lips. He swiftly reached behind her head and fastened the ball-gag's strap, carefully rearranging her long auburn locks over it when he was finished. He stepped back and smiled at his handiwork while Duster moaned into the gag, her eyes pleading with him to stop this madness.

"There...much better. Huh? What's that?" the Motormaster said in response to Duster's unintelligible moans and whimpers. "I'm sorry, I can't understand a word you're saying. You see, you have this, uh, ball-gag in your mouth," he said with an amused shrug. Duster glared at him, angered suddenly by his mockery and her inability to speak. The humiliation cut her to her core, and anger began to overcome her fear once again...though not completely.

The Motormaster slapped his hand against his forehead as though suddenly realizing something. "Of course! How insensitive of me," he said, placing one hand over his heart. "You need to get, well, warmed up. And you were hoping for a little foreplay." Duster only seethed and glared in response. "Don't worry, sugar-lumps. Daddy's got that a-a-a-ll taken care of," he said as he turned back to the workbench.

Duster watched him and felt the fear return. What is he doing now? She watched with growing trepidation as he opened one of the small jars, filled with a light blue liquid, dipped in the needle of a syringe, and filled the vial with some of the light blue chemical.

"In preparation for our time together, I contacted this biochemist at the University," the Motormaster explained as he finished with the syringe. "He's working on this sort of...female version of Viagra, I guess. He calls it 'Ecstamex'--which, frankly, makes 'The Motormaster' sound like a stroke of marketing genius, but hey. The thing is, he needs to test it on a human, but the FDA probably won't approve clinical trials of this stuff for years, so I...kinda made him a deal. You can probably guess what it was."

Duster knew about the scientist the Motormaster spoke of; she'd even taken one of his classes. He had a creepy tendency to stare overly-long at the most attractive young women in his class. This drug he was working on--Ecstamex--was designed to overcome severe female frigidity; but in a normal, healthy female like herself...

"Whoops!" the Motormaster exclaimed suddenly with an abashed grin, "almost forgot!" He returned to the workbench and picked up what appeared to be a remote control. Suddenly all the security cameras in the room came to life, tiny red lights beside their lenses blinking on and indicating that every moment of Duster's violation would be dutifully recorded, and from several different angles. "He needs a record. Y'know, proof that it actually made you horny. I suspect it's also how he gets his jollies, but I'd really rather not go down that road. Oh, don't worry, no blood samples or those sticky monitor things they put on your body. Just...hours and hours of videotape. Which will probably make me a small fortune when I sell copies on eBay..."

"MMMMMPPPPHHH!!!" the superheroine moaned in anger and despair. For the first time in her superheroine career, she cursed the accident that had given her now-useless power, and cursed her decision to become a superheroine. But her curses came too late, she knew, to prevent the desecration about to be visited upon her nubile body. This can't possibly get any worse, she thought. She was, of course, mistaken.

"Hmmm. Y'know, before I give you your present," the Motormaster said, tapping the syringe, then laying it on the workbench, "I think we need to unwrap something. You," he finished, pointing at her. He then grabbed the large hunting knife from the work bench and walked slowly towards his helpless, bound captive, smiling as she squirmed in her bonds.

"RRRRMMMPPPHH!!!" Duster shrieked into her gag, her dark brown eyes growing wide as the gleam of the halogen lights glinted on the blade of the huge, sharp knife.

With his left hand, the Motormaster grabbed a handful of the helpless heroine's auburn hair and yanked her head back. With his right, he pressed the knife against her delicate, exposed throat. Duster did her best to quell her trembling body and hold still.

"Relax, sweetie," the Motormaster murmured to his trembling captive, "I told you, I'm not into the S & M thing....much."

The Motormaster then deftly poked the tip of the knife inside the collar of her costume and plunged the blade down.

"HHHHRRRRRMMMMM!!!!!" Duster screamed as her costume was split open from her neck to her navel, right through her stylized D emblem. As the ruined cloth of her uniform fell away, it revealed the milky-white skin of the tops of her breasts and her stomach. A black sports bra compressed her large breasts into two luscious mounds separated by a deep valley of mouth-watering cleavage. Duster's lungs pumped air rapidly now, making her breasts rise and fall invitingly, a vision enhanced by the metal rod that pressed into her back and forced her to jut her incredible tits forward. A single bead of sweat dropped from her chin to the top of her chest and ran down between her breasts, watched intently by her captor.

The Motormaster gave a low, impressed whistle as he eyed Duster's bounteous assets. "V-e-e-e-ry nice," he complimented her with a leer. "Oh, this is gonna be so much fun," he said with a malicious smile, then suddenly turned serious. "...though probably not from your perspective."

Duster could only watch helplessly as the Motormaster walked around one of the columns and emerged behind her.

"Let's check out the back forty, shall we?" he said as he grabbed the back of her costume's collar. Duster felt the sharp tip of the knife prick the back of her neck, then heard the sound of tearing fabric as he cut into the spandex and split the costume down to the bottoms of her shoulder blades, where the padded metal rod pressed against her back and prevented him from cutting any further. With her peripheral vision, she saw her captor tuck the knife into his belt. She then felt his fingers pressing against her back from underneath the rod; he grasped the torn fabric with both hands and pulled it apart.

"MMMNNN!!" Duster gasped at the loud ripping sound and the tension the tearing of her costume placed on her shoulders. She could feel rather than see that her uniform had been split open down to the top of her shapely behind, exposing the waistband of her black panties. The damp coolness of the air in the concrete room crept over her exposed skin, though whether she shivered in reaction to it or to her dire predicament she couldn't be sure. In spite of the cool air, her body now sweated profusely; small rivulets of sweat ran down her chest and back.

The Motormaster reached into the torn costume and roughly fondled one of Duster's round buttocks, earning a protesting moan from the heroine.

"Yum. You really do stay in shape, don't you?" He stopped groping her and walked back around the column to the workbench. He returned the knife to the table top and picked up the large pair of scissors. He held them up in front of Duster and snipped them a couple of times. "A little off the top?" he said with a grin as he sauntered towards her. Duster struggled to control her breathing as he approached; soon, she knew, she would be naked as well as helpless in front of this man. And then...

The Motormaster grabbed the green material still covering Duster's right shoulder and arm, inserted it between the scissors' blades, and began to slowly, torturously cut the fabric. Duster could feel the cold metal of the bottom scissor blade against her arm as he cut the spandex, working towards her wrist. Snip. Snip. Her dark brown eyes, wide with fear, watched his face from behind her green visor. She desperately looked for any sign of a conscience, of humanity, in that handsome but cruel face; she found none.

The Motormaster finished cutting the spandex to the point where it ended beneath her golden glove. He pulled the fabric out from beneath her glove and the thick leather strap on her wrist that held her arm immobile. Duster's ruined costume fell away from her right side, exposing her arm, shoulder, and breast, which was still covered--though not for long, she knew--by her black sports bra. The torn fabric came to rest uselessly against her right thigh.

Duster's handsome captor now shifted his attention to her left arm and repeated his actions, cutting then pulling the fabric away from her now-almost naked left side. The remnants of Duster's green and gold costume hung in tatters from her shapely hips. The superheroine's creamy-white torso was now totally exposed to her enemy's dark, lascivious eyes, save for the black bra that covered her large breasts but also made them look so luscious and appealing. The Motormaster ran his fingertips lightly, teasingly along Duster's exposed skin, brushing the delicate hairs on her arms, softly caressing the sensitive tops of her breasts. Goosebumps rose on the heroine's skin as he touched her. His dark eyes studied her from beneath his lowered, heavy brow, and his thin lips formed a cruel, closed-mouth smile.

"I don't know about you, but this is definitely the high point of my day, tootsie. Or maybe I should call you titsie," The Motormaster joked as he lustily eyed her generous mounds of breast flesh. Duster only stared silently at her tormentor, struggling to look defiant rather than terrified. "Well," the Motormaster continued, raising his eyebrows, "let's go from the high point to the low point, shall we?"

With that, he gently pressed the scissors against Duster's naked white abdomen. She flinched and gasped as the cold metal touched her skin. Then he extended downwards the cut in the front of her costume he had made moments before with the knife, snipping the scissors from her belly towards her crotch. He was careful not to cut through the waistband of her panties; each article of clothing he removed, he knew, only increased her humiliation and her alarm, and he wanted to savor every moment of her violation and every twitch of her magnificent, helpless body.

"Mmmmmmmpppphhhh..." Duster moaned despairingly into her ball-gag as each snip of the scissors brought her closer to complete nudity and her inevitable rape.

The Motormaster's work with the scissors had now exposed the front panel of her panties, where a slender triangle of black silk barely covered the auburn pubic hairs and female treasure underneath it. He knelt down to continue his methodical removal of her costume. He cut downwards until the scissors were slicing through the fabric beneath her still-concealed pussy. He then pulled the scissors out and rotated them a quarter-turn; with his free hand he gently pulled down the cloth in the costume's crotch, and he cut through it, intersecting his length-wise cut. As soon as he released the tattered spandex, the remains of Duster's costume fell from her hips and onto the cold concrete floor. She now was left wearing only her gloves, boots, visor, black sports bra and black panties.

As her handsome captor stood up, Duster struggled to regain some semblance of her composure. She tried to think of what her idols like Wonder Woman or Black Canary would do in this situation--not that they ever found themselves in a situation even remotely like this, she was sure. She realized that they'd resist, they'd fight with every last ounce of their strength. Duster began to pull desperately on the ropes and cuffs that bound her wrists and ankles, but found no give or weakness in her bonds.

"Easy, lover, easy!" the Motormaster chided her with an amused chuckle. "The fetish shop gave me a money-back guarantee on this stuff. You're not getting out of it. And why would you want to, when we're getting so close to the highlight of the evening?"

"GGGmmmmpphh..." Duster whimpered. It was useless. She couldn't break free, and she couldn't muster the bravado or resilience of her idols. She would be stripped, raped, tortured, and...she had no idea what else. She didn't want to think about it. Her auburn-haired head slumped over her chest as she fought back tears. I'm just a spoiled little white girl who's in over her head, she chided herself in despair; a sob wracked her body, making her breasts shake inside her bra.

"Awwwww, there, there, sweetie-pie," her tormentor said in a mocking tone. "Cheer up. The best is yet to come. Heh! Get it? The best?" he said, pointing to himself. "Come?" Duster only stared at him, grim and silent in her defeat. "Boy," the Motormaster muttered, "tough room. Oh well. Back to work," he said with a grin.

The Motormaster clasped Duster's right bra strap with his left hand, then used the scissors in his right to cut through it. Duster watched helplessly as the black lycra strap fell away from her shoulder. Her captor then cut through the left strap and it, too, fell away from her creamy shoulder. Yet the black sports bra still covered her large breasts, held in place by the strap that was fastened at her back.

The Motormaster chuckled and gazed toward the ceiling as though recalling an amusing memory. "Do you remember when you were a kid, making out in the back of a car?" He asked, waving the scissors absent-mindedly. "Of course you do--I'm probably describing what you did last weekend. Anyway, you know how you get in a clutch with your boyfriend and he starts fumbling around behind your back with the clasp of your bra?"

Duster only stared at him blankly.

"I always hated doing that," her handsome enemy remarked, and suddenly used the scissors to slice through the thin strip of fabric between her bra cups.

"MMMMMPPPHHH!!!" Duster cried into her ball-gag as her bra fell from her torso and landed on the concrete floor on top of her tattered costume. Free of their confinement, her naked breasts jiggled enticingly on her chest.

The Motormaster exhaled loudly in appreciation of the mouth-watering sight before him. Duster's breasts were perfect: symmetrical in every way; large but not overly so--just a bit more than a handful; and natural, with just the right balance of youthful, gravity-defying firmness and Jell-O-like bounciness. Large, pale pink areolas, about the size of a silver dollar, topped the creamy-white mounds, with small, dark pink nipples jutting from their centers. The master car thief stood in silent appreciation for several moments, while Duster's white cheeks burned red with embarrassment.

"Ay, caramba," The Motormaster muttered lustily, unable to tear his dark eyes from Duster's gorgeous chest. He carelessly tossed the scissors over his shoulder and reached for Duster's magnificent mammaries with both hands. The heroine tried to pull away from his touch, but the rod at her back meant she couldn't back away and her bound wrists and ankles meant she couldn't turn around. Suddenly, her breasts were in his hands.

"HHHRRRMMMM!!!" Duster groaned in protest as her captor kneaded her sensitive breasts, first squeezing them separately, then mashing them together. She gasped as he flicked his thumbs over her nipples, causing the tender buds to engorge with blood and grow.

"Oh yeah...BABY...these are just...WOW!!" the Motormaster exclaimed in admiration as he continued groping the large mounds. Duster moaned and writhed at his touch but couldn't escape it; in fact, he found her futile efforts to escape his molestation quite enticing. He stopped suddenly and smiled at her. "Do they taste as good as they look?"

Duster's dark brown eyes widened at the question, and she futilely shook her head and moaned into her gag in protest.

"Won't know 'til I try 'em!" the Motormaster declared with a broad smile, then plunged his head down to her left breast, which was still held captive by his right hand. He closed his mouth over the areola and nipple and began to eagerly suck on the budding teat, making it swell further.

"MMMMMPPPHHH!!!" Duster groaned in response. She tossed her head back and squeezed her dark eyes shut, but she could not get away from or shut out the intense sensation at the peak of her breast. Then her captor playfully bit her swollen nipple. Duster's brown eyes flew open and she squealed at the new, powerful feeling assaulting her precious tit. The criminal at her breast pulled back his head slightly while still holding her nipple between his teeth. Duster bit into her ball gag and gave a hoarse cry from deep in her throat.

"Yum!" the Motormaster declared as he suddenly released her nipple from his mouth. "Oops, don't want the other one to feel left out, do we?"

With that, he closed his mouth over the peak of her right breast and gave it the same treatment he'd bestowed on her left mammary. He ran his tongue around the nipple and areola several times, swirling the sensitive bud around in his mouth. Duster tossed her head from side to side, tousled auburn locks flying, as she struggled to suppress the overwhelming sensations.

Finally the Motormaster stopped and raised his head. He also released her breasts, allowing them to fall and jiggle against her chest. Duster sighed with relief.

"Oh, don't worry, lover," her debonair captor assured her. "I'm not done with those fun bags--not by a long shot. But we have other fish to fry. Hah! Fish! I kill myself...now where did I put those scissors?" he wondered, looking around. "Hmm. Guess I got a little carried away. Oh well, we'll do it the hard way."

He reached forward with both hands and grabbed the waistband of her black silk panties, then pulled back hard. The cloth ripped easily and loudly, the elastic waistband snapping against her hips as it broke, and Duster gasped as her femininity was revealed. The removal of her panties exposed a neatly-trimmed patch of auburn pubic hair; it barely covered the pussy lips at the apex of her creamy-white thighs.

"Mmm, mmm, MMM!" the Motormaster intoned in admiration. "This just keeps gettin' better and better, doesn't it? Well, maybe not for you. Hmmmm...you know, your tits tasted so nice, I wonder..."

The Motormaster knelt down on the concrete floor between Duster's spread, shapely legs and pressed his mouth against her pussy lips. Aghast, the young superheroine could only watch in shock as her adversary moved into position to perform cunnilingus. He ran his tongue slowly up her slit and over her clitoris; Duster shuddered at the sensation--her captivity ensured she could focus on nothing else but what the villain was doing to her. She bucked and cried out when he caught her clit between his teeth and gave it a playful nibble. Then he stopped and stood up, leaving Duster gasping for air.

"Nice, very nice. But you know...I still think you're overdressed for the occasion."

Duster struggled to understand what he meant as he stared into her eyes. No, wait, he wasn't looking into her eyes...he was looking at her visor! Duster's dark brown eyes widened and her stomach churned in fear as she suddenly grasped his meaning. She glanced around in horror at the video cameras that were still capturing every moment of her violation and humiliation. Now her identity would be revealed, and caught for posterity on videotape. Her family and friends would learn of her secret life...and they'd be at risk! A few minutes earlier, she didn't think anything could have been worse that being stripped naked and raped by her enemy; she'd been wrong, horribly wrong, she now realized.

"MMMPPHH!!! RRRMMMPPHH!! NNNMMPPHH!!" Duster squealed frantically into her ball-gag, shaking her head in horror. As her tormentor reached for the visor, she twisted her head away in a futile attempt to stave off the inevitable.

The Motormaster gave an angry, exasperated sigh and grabbed a handful of Duster's auburn hair. He used it to hold her head still and placed his fingers over her visor. "Hold still, cupcake. This'll only take a moment..." He pulled the visor up over her eyes and back over her head.

Duster felt the elasticized strap that held the visor in place go slack and knew that her exposure by her enemy was now complete. Something between a sob and a groan of utter despair tore at her throat. She turned her head to one side and pressed her face against her shoulder to hide it, though she knew the gesture was futile.

"Oh, come on, sugar lumps," the Motormaster teased her as he tossed the visor to the floor. He took her chin forcefully in his hand and turned her face towards him. Duster stared into his dark, pitiless eyes as she blinked back tears. "Why would you want to cover up such a pretty little face with a big, nasty green visor like that?" he taunted.

The villain then took a moment to appreciate her now-exposed face--and acknowledged to himself that it was as beautiful as the rest of her body, perhaps even more so. Though beautiful, her face lacked the axe-like hardness of a supermodel's. Instead, her lovely face, with its clear complexion, creamy tone, and pleasant oval shape, possessed a freshness, an innocence even--like the girl-next-door-look of Playboy in its heyday, before its photo editors discovered PhotoShop and the girls discovered silicone.

He studied her face further, poring over every detail. Her thin, dark brows, beneath a smooth, unblemished forehead, arched delicately upwards and back from the center of her face. Beneath them, her dark brown, almond-shaped eyes stared at him with a mixture of fear and anger that he found intoxicating. He followed the fine curve of her nose down to where it turned up just slightly above her lips. And her lips! Even enclosing the ball-gag, her lips were luscious and beautiful; he could make out the delicate bow-shape of her upper lip, and the enticing pout of her slightly-thicker lower lip. He would remove the ball-gag soon and ravish those lips, he swore to himself. Her face--its oval shape emphasized by the distortion caused by the ball-gag--came to a finely-rounded chin, and was framed by those gorgeous, tousled auburn locks that cascaded down around her neck and onto her shoulders. She was, he had to acknowledge, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. And she was helpless, bound, and trembling before him, and he was going to FUCK. HER. BRAINS. OUT.

To Duster's surprise, he suddenly released her chin, took a step back, and pumped a fist into the air. "YES!!" he shouted. "I LOVE my life!" He spun around and performed a victorious moonwalk, then stopped, clapped his hands, and laughed out loud. Duster's emotional pendulum swung back to anger at this triumphant display, and she yanked furiously on her bonds, but to no avail.

The rattling of the eyelets on her leather cuffs drew the Motormaster's attention back to her. "Oh, sweetie, don't worry...I haven't forgotten you!" His eyes wandered over her naked, spread-eagled body. "How COULD I forget about you!" he said, shaking his head in amazement. "Oh!" he exclaimed as though suddenly remembering something. "Of course! Forgive me sweetheart, I'm so forgetful sometimes...I promised you a present, and now that you're unwrapped, I think you're ready for it."

As her captor turned back towards the workbench, Duster suddenly remembered the syringe full of the experimental sex drug, 'Ecstamex', which he'd prepared for her earlier. Did he really intend to use that on her? Would it work? Would it kill her? Would he rape her then? And...would it make her enjoy it? Duster felt her heart go into overdrive; it was all too much. Sweat ran freely over her naked body, making it glisten beneath the bright halogen lights. Her lungs pumped air like bellows, making her breasts rise and fall on her chest. Her supple, spread thighs and shapely behind clenched involuntarily as she began to panic.

Slowly, malevolently, her enemy walked back towards her, the syringe filled with the bright blue liquid in his right hand. "I gotta admit," he said as he approached her nude, trembling form, "it was a tough decision when I heard about this stuff. I mean, I could just rape you the old-fashioned way, and let you suffer through it. Or I could pump you full of this stuff," he said, and squeezed the syringe a little so some of the liquid shot out to emphasize his point, "and make you like it."

He stood next to her now, on her right side, his thin lips drawn into a slight half-smile. With his left hand, he clenched her right forearm, cupping and immobilizing her elbow; with his right, he brought the syringe closer to the main artery in her arm.

"You know what the clincher was, muffin?" he asked rhetorically as he poised the tip of the needle over the crook of her elbow. "It was when I thought about how you'd feel afterwards--well, probably pretty fuckin' awful either way, but--to make you enjoy it, to make cry out in ecstasy, your sweet little pussy gushing over my hot, hard cock...knowing you'd have to live with that memory, that you'd been raped and loved every second of it...well, it just gave me a warm, tingly feeling all over. Which is, by the way, the first thing this should make you feel too," he declared as he pressed the needle into her skin and injected her with the drug.

"HHHHRRRMMM..." Duster groaned in despair as she felt the pinprick of the needle pierce her tender flesh. She didn't feel any different at first, but the way her heart was pumping blood through her panicked body, she knew it wouldn't be long before she knew how potent the professor's new sex drug was. A few seconds later, she began to feel a little warmer, as if she were suffering from the first stages of a fever. Then her naked skin began to tingle a little, especially at her erogenous zones. So far, the drug did exactly what her captor had said it would; Duster's dark brown eyes darted nervously around the room as she waited for the other effects to manifest themselves.

The Motormaster smiled at her. "Looks like it's starting to work. Cool." She watched helplessly as her adversary walked away from her, back towards the workbench. "In a few minutes, you should be revved up, roarin', and ready to go," he said over his shoulder as he sloughed off his long leather coat. "See, I'm a car thief, so it's entirely appropriate that I use those metaphors...," he said, turning towards Duster, but the heroine was preoccupied by a sudden light-headedness; she closed her eyes and shook her auburn locks in an attempt to chase the sensation from her head. "Hmph. Really tough room," the Motormaster muttered to himself as he reached down to remove his shoes.

Meanwhile, Duster struggled to maintain what little composure she had left as the sex drug saturated her body. Her heart and lungs had worked overtime out of anger and fear up until this point; now, they began to pump blood and oxygen for the purpose of arousal. A powerfully warm feeling--almost burning, but more pleasant--began in her privates, and spread through her body from there, through her crotch to her puckered anus, up and over her curvaceous behind, across her shapely hips and taut stomach, and into her breasts. She rolled her lovely head and moaned into her ball-gag as the first intense sensations of sexual arousal washed over her.

She glanced over at her captor and wished she hadn't. He'd removed his shirt, revealing a smooth, hairless, well-muscled upper torso; lean, powerful muscles rippled across his chest and back. Duster tried to resist the lust growing within her, tried to tear her eyes away from the spectacle of male beauty before her, but couldn't. She felt her pussy begin to lubricate. The thief, his back towards her now, undid his belt and the zipper of his pants, which then fell away to the floor, pooling at his feet. He stepped out of them and kicked them aside. All the while, Duster's dark eyes were riveted to his backside which was barely covered by black jockey-style briefs. His ass was curved and strong--just the way she liked them. When he pulled his briefs down to reveal the tanned skin of his butt, she moaned in response.

Her now-naked tormentor glanced over his shoulder at her and chuckled. "Like what you see, superheroine?" he taunted her. "Just wait."

His taunting lifted Duster from the spell of the drug, if only for a moment. NO!! she thought, closing her eyes and shaking her head, this can't be happening! This bastard tricked me, captured me, bound and drugged me...now he'll rape me! I can't be enjoying this! I won't!

"Why resist, lover? Give in and enjoy it. I'm going to!" Her captor's voice came from directly in front of her; Duster's internal struggle had kept her from noticing his approach. She opened her eyes and looked into his, then couldn't resist looking down at his nude, hard body. Beneath his finely muscled chest and washboard abs, her eyes were irresistibly drawn to his midsection. She moaned in a mixture of despair and anticipation at what she saw there.

His cock was huge! Not ridiculously so, but the man could have easily found work in the porn industry if he'd been so inclined. Fully erect, it jutted proudly forwards and upwards from his thatch of dark brown pubic hair to a length of eight...no, ten inches at least, and with some girth to it as well. It looked so hot and so hard, and Duster felt her pussy lubricate some more at the sight of it. Her rational mind regarded his prick with fear and revulsion, but the drug had strengthened her animal instincts, and another, more primitive, more powerful part of her wanted to feel that cock inside her, pumping away...

NO!!! she shouted inside her head, squeezing her eyes shut and giving her dark tawny locks a shake. Fight this! Fight it! she told herself, though she could sense she was fighting a losing battle. Momentarily he would be inside her, fucking her, and she knew her resistance would fail.

Her eyes sprang open as she felt his warm hands on her breasts once again. Earlier, she had despised his animalistic groping; now she welcomed it. Some small part of her mind that was still devoted to all things scientific deduced that the drug must have tremendously increased the sensitivity of her nerve endings. As his hands brushed across her quivering breasts, her flesh seemed to light on fire wherever he touched her. He flicked his thumbs over her nipples; as the tiny buds grew fully erect, Duster groaned into her ball-gag. Saliva began to run from the corners of her mouth and down her chin; a drop of it fell to her chest and mingled with the sweat that now covered the surface of her skin.

"Yeah, you like that, don't you?" The Motormaster asked her as he squeezed and fondled her massive breasts. "Do you like this too?" he asked as he pinched her nipples and twisted them.

"RRRRRRRMMMM!!!" Duster squealed as her eyes flew wide open in response to the sharp sensation in her breasts. But the pain became pleasure in her drug- and passion-addled brain, and she felt her pussy gush with hot, sticky juice.

"You know, I really haven't paid enough attention to your ass, have I?" The Motormaster asked rhetorically. He moved closer to her, pressing their naked bodies together. He reached around and cupped his large, strong hands over her trembling buttocks. He began kneading her tender ass cheeks, gently at first, then more roughly. Duster ate it up; her curvaceous behind had always been sensitive, and the drug ensured that his fondling excited her profoundly, despite its brutal nature. Furthermore, his actions pressed his body against hers; her full breasts were mashed against his hard, powerful chest, and she could feel his big, hot cock pressing against her tummy, so close to its final destination. Her head fell forward, resting against his broad shoulder.

No..., Duster whimpered in her mind, don't...don't give in! Don't...give in...give in.... She moaned into her ball-gag once again as her rational mind fought desperately to stay in control.

"Well, I think we're both ready for the main event, don't you?" her captor asked with a lusty grin. The Motormaster shifted his hands from her ass to the insides of her spread thighs and used his fingers to part her pussy lips. Duster gasped and flinched in response; her body quivered with anticipation. He smiled broadly when he felt how wet she was. "Yeah, I'd say you're ready, you little slut."

The epithet brought Duster back to reality, if only for a second. Oh God...no! We're not using any protection!

The Motormaster guided the tip of his cock to the entrance to her pussy. He hesitated a moment, savoring the situation, especially the look in the defeated superheroine's eyes as she struggled with the drug-induced passion in her loins. Then, with a quick, powerful thrust, he impaled her on his cock as she squealed in response.

Duster felt his huge member enter her body and fill her to the core. At that moment, as she had known all along it would, her resistance shattered; the drug and, by extension, her captor, owned her completely. She moaned at the feeling of the big, hot, hard cock inside her wet, tender pussy. Yes..., her mind cried out, Yes! OH GOD YES!!!

"Oh, YEAH!!!" The Motormaster shouted, echoing her thoughts as the young heroine's tight pussy sheathed his cock. "GOD, you are nice and TIGHT!!" he proclaimed as he pulled his cock half-way out of her and thrust back in again, prompting a muffled cry from the bound heroine. His right hand reached behind to grope her curvy behind; his left hand busied itself with one of her breasts, squeezing the large globe and tweaking the hard, fully-erect nipple. "But Dusty, I'm shocked...you're not a virgin! Am I really not your first?" he asked, mock pain etched on his handsome face. Duster only moaned in response. "Oh, well, you're certainly not my first either, you little SLUT," he continued, punctuating his words with violent pelvic thrusts, "...not by a long SHOT...but you just MIGHT be...the BEST!!!!"

Her rapist's words barely registered in Duster's consciousness. If the clinical portion of her mind had been functioning, it probably would have noted that the drug's effectiveness increased in response to physical sensations, especially of the erogenous variety. But her rational mind had effectively shut down when her adversary's cock had first thrust into her hot, moist pussy. Duster's arms and legs strained at their bonds, not to escape, but in a futile attempt to wrap her limbs around her rapist's body and urge him onward. As it was, she began to rock her hips in counterpoint to his pelvic thrusts, and she rubbed and mashed her large breasts against his strong, bare chest.

Her enthusiasm did not go unnoticed by her captor. It was exactly the response he'd been hoping for, and it meant he could perform one last breach of her exquisite body, one last humiliation she would rue long after he had finished with her.

"You like that, BABY?!" he demanded as he thrust into her again. Her ecstatic squeal seemed like confirmation, but he wanted more. "Do you? Huh?" he asked again; his right hand held her face, his thumb under her chin, as he forced the drugged heroine to look at him and respond. "C'mon, you can tell Uncle Motormaster...do you like it? Do you like getting fucked?"

From beneath heavy-lidded eyes, Duster stared glassily at him through her thick lashes. Slowly, her addled brain processed his question, and she weakly nodded her head affirmatively.

The Motormaster smiled, and reached behind her head. "Tell me, baby," he ordered her as he undid the clasp and pulled the ball-gag from her lips, "SAY IT!"

At first, Duster only moaned and tenderly worked her jaw in relief. Then she stared at him in a daze and once again slowly processed his demand. "I...like it..." she murmured.

"WHAT?!?" her rapist demanded as he thrust into her.

"OHHHH!!!" Duster screamed in response, her eyes closing tight.

"WHAT do you like?" The Motormaster demanded.

"I...I like...getting fucked..." Duster mumbled through her passion-induced haze.

"Yeah...and what do you want me to do? Huh?"

Duster opened her eyes dreamily and stared at the handsome face of her captor, her tormentor, her enemy, her rapist, her lover. "I want you...want you to fuck me..." she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Say it AGAIN!!" The Motormaster ordered as he thrust is cock into her helpless pussy.

"UUUHHH!!! ...fuck me..." Duster responded.

"AGAIN!!!"

"NUHHH!!!" Duster moaned; she could feel the first stirrings of a powerful orgasm building in her loins. "Oh God...fuck me...FUCK ME!!!""

The Motormaster laughed. "You asked for it," he snarled as he began to furiously fuck her in earnest. His hips thrust up and down, backwards and forwards, like a piston in an engine. His hands firmly clasped her hips, holding them in place while he pounded against her.

"UHH! UHH! UHH!" Duster cried out with each impact. Her large, heavy breasts bounced on her chest, slapping against her rib cage. The orgasm felt closer with each thrust, and she craved its release.

"AHH! AHH! AHH! BITCH! SLUT! WHORE! I'M GONNA...TEAR YOU...APART!"

"OHH! OHH! OHH!" Duster cried out, egging on her rapist. She was completely lost to the drug now; his insults only turned her on. "HARDER! FASTER! FUCK ME!"

The Motormaster removed his right hand from her ass and moved it behind her head. He roughly pulled her face towards his and caught her ripe, luscious mouth with his. The man's hard lips forced hers apart, and he thrust his tongue into her open mouth. A high-pitched moan from the back of her throat greeted the villain's penetrating French kiss. His tongue swirled around her mouth, raping it just as his cock raped her pussy. Then he caught her pouting lower lip between his teeth and passionately bit down, drawing blood and making the heroine squeal in pain and ecstasy. That did it; he couldn't take anymore, and pulled away from her ravaged mouth as his body shuddered.

"UH! UH! UH! I'M GONNA...CUM...!!!" the Motormaster called out; his face contorted into a fierce scowl as he approached climax.

"YEAH! CUM INSIDE ME!! CUM INSIDE ME!! CUM...OH GOD!!!" Duster screamed as she felt her own climax approaching.

"UHHH...FUCK...AAAHHHHHHH!!!!" the Motormaster groaned. His back arched, muscles flexing, as he shot his load into the bound heroine.

Duster felt her rapist's hot jism explode deep in her womb, and it pushed her over the edge. Her back arched, squeezing her breasts against her captor's chest. Her arms pulled on her bonds. Her dark eyes squeezed shut. Her head tossed back. Her auburn tresses, heavy with sweat, slapped against the naked skin between her shoulder blades.

"OH GOD!!!" she cried hoarsely, "I'm...I'm cumming... OHHHHHH!!!!!" She screamed as she climaxed; her pussy discharged, soaking her rapist's cock with love honey. "OHHH!!!" she shouted as another wave of ecstasy crashed over her. Her body convulsed as the powerful orgasm shook her to her core. Involuntarily, she tightened her pussy, milking her captor's cock of all its seed. "OHHhhhh...oooooohh..." she moaned as her body slid down into afterglow. Her head fell forward and came to rest on the Motormaster's shoulder.

For several moments, the two rested their naked bodies against one another, gulping for air, their sweat intermingling on their flushed skin. Both had experienced devastatingly powerful orgasms and needed time to recover. Eventually, the villain felt his cock growing flaccid and pulled out of the bound superheroine. Duster responded with a groan and a shudder at this final sensation in her ravaged pussy.

"Oh, baby," the Motormaster finally said, "you are definitely the best piece of ass I've had in a long, long time." He gave her face a couple of condescending pats as he paid her the crude compliment. He then turned away and walked back towards the workbench, grabbing a hand towel which he used to clean off his wet cock.

At first Duster only watched his finely-shaped naked ass, lazy lust in her eyes. Gradually, though, with no direct sexual stimulation to feed the Ecstamex, her higher brain functions returned. She drew her gaze away from her rapist's body as he pulled his clothing back on. The reality--no, the horror--of what had happened, and her wanton reaction to it, began to dawn on her.

"Oh my God..." she whispered; then her voice rose dramatically. "Oh my GOD, you BASTARD, what did you DO to me!?!"

The Motormaster, clothed once again in his shirt, pants, and shoes, turned to her and laughed. "I fucked you, babe. I thought that was obvious."

"You RAPED me, you PERVERT!!!" she shouted at him angrily.

The villain walked towards her as he did up the buttons on his shirt and tucked it into his tight pants. "Did I?"

"YES!!!"

"Gee, I don't know...'Fuck me, fuck me, yeah, yeah, yeah!'" he responded in mock imitation of her passionate cries, "...is that what girls say when they're being raped these days? Seems awfully confusing." He paused, then snapped his fingers. "I know! Let's review the videotape, in slow-motion replay!" he suggested tauntingly.

"Videotape...drugs...you FUCKING BASTARD!! I'LL KILL YOU!!" Duster screamed as her anger reached hysterical levels.

"Whoa, calm down, lover!" the Motormaster told her, and amused smile on his face as he raised his hands defensively. "Let's not overreact, honey!"

"OVERREACT?!?!" Duster yelled at him. "YOU MISERABLE FUCKER!!! YOU KIDNAPPED ME, YOU DRUGGED ME, YOU RAPED ME!!! YOU..."

Smack!

The Motormaster brought her rant to an abrupt finish by backhanding her across the face, stunning her into a shocked silence. Duster slowly turned her stinging face back towards her captor. He looked somewhat embarrassed.

"Sorry, dearie," he said. "But y'know, Sean Connery once said that it's not the worst thing in the world to slap a woman, if she's hysterical, which is what you were working on pretty effectively, there."

"You bastard," she said, much more quietly as she suppressed a sob, "I'll get you for this if it's the last thing I do."

The villain gave an exasperated sigh, rolled his eyes and head, and slapped his hands against his thighs. "AGAIN with the clichés! Do you write your own material, or do you have a team of monkeys working around the clock on this shit?"

"You won't get away with this..." Duster growled through clenched teeth, glaring angrily at her adversary.

"You really don't respond well to criticism at all, do you?" the Motormaster responded with a tone of mock exasperation. "I think I preferred you when you couldn't talk, peach pie," the Motormaster said as he turned his back towards her and walked back to the workbench. He returned with the ring gag.

"Open wi-i-i-de," he said in a sing-song voice, as though addressing an infant at mealtime, as he held the ring-gag in front of her face.

"Fuck you," Duster snarled in response.

A derisive chuckle escaped the Motormaster's lips. "Been there, done that," he said, then his voice took on a quieter, more ominous tone. "Open that sweet little mouth, cunt, or I'll go get the whips," he threatened.

Duster swallowed the lump that had risen to her throat and slowly, reluctantly, parted her lips. She winced slightly as the action painfully re-opened the cut in her lip the Motormaster had inflicted on her with his teeth. Her captor inserted the metal ring between her teeth, then fastened the gag's straps across her cheeks and behind her head. As he had done before, he pulled her dark tawny locks out from beneath the strap so they framed her lovely face once again.

"There, now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked with that condescending tone that made her blood boil. "You know, Miss Duster, I think this style suits you more than the ball-gag."

"HUUUURRRHH," Duster moaned angrily at him through her open mouth, her dark brown eyes ablaze with hatred.

"Whatever," the villain snorted, dismissively waving at her and turning away. "Now, you're probably wondering what happens next...or am I giving you too much credit? After all, you haven't exactly shown a talent for thinking ahead, have you?"

"RRRRUUHHH!!" Duster growled. To her chagrin, she could already feel saliva dribbling over her lower lip.

"Yeah, and not for intelligent conversation, either," her adversary muttered. "Anyway, I now have to leave, as a good supervillain should, to go and set my nefarious master plan into motion...BWAH-HA-HA-HA!!"

Duster stared dubiously at her opponent as his dark eyes lit up with fake madness and his hands rubbed together.

The Motormaster sighed and tucked his hands into his pockets. "Okay, I'm gonna go out and steal some more cars," he admitted with feigned embarrassment. "Not exactly 'conquer the world and enslave mankind' kinda stuff, but a plan nonetheless. And I've always wanted to do that laugh." He paused as though reflecting seriously for a moment. "You're probably thinking, 'Why doesn't a successful--and handsome--criminal like him leave the thieving to his henchmen?' Well, cupcake, I believe in keeping my skills sharp. And every now and then, I like to show the boys how a real man does it." He smiled and chuckled lewdly. "Guess I should have invited them here tonight, huh?"

"HRRRHHH!" Duster grunted derisively.

"Oh, lover, don't be upset! I won't leave you here with nothing to preoccupy you!" He returned to the workbench and busied himself with several different items, stuffing some into his pockets. Duster did not find his words, nor his attention to the dread items on the tabletop, at all reassuring. After a few moments, he walked back towards her. Her eyes widened in horror when she saw the huge black latex dildo in his hands. She whimpered, then squirmed and pulled at her bonds yet again, though she knew there would be no escape.

"Don't worry," he said, and set the dildo down on the concrete floor; Duster relaxed slightly. "This'll go in last," he declared, and her eyes widened with dread once again. "First, it can get kinda chilly down here, so I thought you should have something to wear." The villain reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a long, slender golden chain, about 10 inches in length, with what appeared to be alligator clips at either end. "Can you guess where this gets attached?" the Motormaster asked with a sadistic grin.

"HUUUUUNNHHH!!!" Duster moaned in horror through the ring gag as her captors' free hand drew closer to her right breast.

The Motormaster flicked his forefinger against Duster's right nipple a couple of times, making the bound superheroine jolt and squeal in response. As her nipple grew erect again, he squeezed open the alligator clip, then closed its tiny teeth on her sensitive teat.

"AAARRRRHHH!!!" Duster groaned at the intense pain at the peak of her breast. Then the physical stimulation of an erogenous zone, as painful as it was, seemed to activate the Ecstamex still in her system. Gradually, an element of pleasure mixed with the pain.

The villain then repeated his actions with Duster's left nipple, painfully teasing the bud erect, then fastening the nipple clamp to it.

"HRRRRRHHHH!!!" she squealed in response. She shook her torso as much as her bounds allowed, trying to shake the painful clamps loose, but only succeeded in jiggling her large breasts.

"Now, sweetheart," the Motormaster chided her, "you keep that up and you'll just make me want to take another poke at you, and then you'll make me late."

Duster's breasts rose and fell as she panted for air. She could feel the sex drug reactivating in her system, though not as intensely as before; it seemed to require actual contact with another person to reach its maximum effectiveness. Still, she found herself growing mildly aroused in spite of--or perhaps because of--the painful throbbing at the peaks of her tortured breasts. The Ecstamex also attacked her higher brain functions, and she found it was getting harder to concentrate.

"Now, just to make things a little more interesting..." the Motormaster said as he pulled a small item from another pocket. It was bead-shaped, oval and cylindrical, about an inch long and a quarter inch in diameter, and dull grey in color. It looked like a lead sinker such as a fisherman would use. At one end of the sinker was a tiny hook. Without ceremony, the villain pulled the chain between Duster's nipple clamps into the hook and let the tiny weight drop.

"UUHHHHNNN!!!" Duster shrieked as the weight, heavy for its size, tugged on the chain, which pulled on the clamps, which yanked painfully on her nipples. Her eyes blinked away tears as the intense pain in her large breasts increased with the slightest movement of the chain. She struggled to hold her breasts still by calming her breathing, but found that hard to do because of the pain and the Ecstamex which made her body reinterpret that pain as pleasure. Still, she achieved some measure of success and managed to slightly reduce the throbbing discomfort in her now-swollen nipples.

"Yeah," her sadistic captor confirmed, "you'll want to try to keep those huge jugs of yours as still as possible. Unfortunately, that's gonna become quite a challenge in a couple of minutes."

With that, the Motormaster pulled a length of thin rubber tubing from his pocket and wrapped it twice around Duster's slender waist, just above her hips. He tied off the tubing but left a long strand hanging down behind the captive superheroine; kneeling down, he pulled this strand between her ass cheeks and up between her thighs. He yanked the tubing between Duster's swollen pussy lips, making the heroine gasp at the sensation. Eyeing the tubing carefully, he pulled it out of her vagina and carefully tied a thick knot into the middle of the loose strand.

All through this operation, Duster struggled to comprehend the purpose of the rubber tubing he had fastened around her midsection. When her tormentor reached for the black dildo, however, its purpose became horrifyingly clear.

The Motormaster held the large black latex dildo in front of Duster's wide, terrified eyes. The dildo was as large as the villain's own cock, maybe even slightly larger, and covered with insidious ridges, studs, and ripples. Her eyes caught his, and she shook her head pleadingly, imploring him not to shove that enormous thing inside her tender pussy and leave it there. The cruel look he returned told her that he intended to do precisely that. He knelt down once again and pointed the tip of the monstrosity at the entrance to her vagina.

"I call this sucker Black Dan," the Motormaster told her as he pushed the dildo inside her. Though large, it entered easily, thanks to the slick juices still inside her pussy from the rape. Duster groaned hoarsely through her ring gag as the phallus slid inside her. She felt her pussy lubricating thanks to the sex drug, welcoming the violation of the huge artificial prick. Her voluptuous body, taut as a bowstring in its bonds, quivered as the dildo penetrated her deeply, causing the weight on the chain between her breasts to jiggle and tug at her clamped nipples. Sweat once again began to run in rivulets down her naked body. She gave a sharp cry when she felt the dildo's tip touch her cervix. Her head grew dizzy as the insertion of the dildo and her shaking breasts encouraged the Ecstamex to assert its control over her body. 

"You'll be happy to know the batteries are fully charged and will last for hours," the Motormaster proudly explained; the dildo was in perfect position, its base just visible and surrounded by Duster's wet and swollen pussy lips.

These words slowly registered in Duster's drug-impaired mind, and her trepidation increased even further. Batteries?!? she thought; Dear God, that thing is a...

The Motormaster flicked a switch at the base of the dildo, and a loud humming noise confirmed her worst fears.

...a VIBRATOR!!!

"HHHHHUUUUUUHHHHH!!!!" Duster moaned loudly as a wave of sexual pleasure rocked her helpless body.

"Nice, huh? And that's just the lowest setting!" the villain informed her with a wicked grin.

Lowest...setting...? Duster thought hazily as the Ecstamex made rational thought more and more difficult. Oh dear God...

"Whaddya say we go for broke?" the Motormaster asked rhetorically. He quickly and sadistically twisted a small dial in the base of the vibrator to its most powerful setting.

"AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!" Duster screamed, her body losing itself in ecstasy as the vibrator buzzed inside her at full power like a hive of bees gone mad. Her head rocked wildly, back and forth, side to side, tossing her auburn hair to and fro. Her breasts shook and jiggled on her chest, the tiny weight bouncing like a Mexican jumping bean on the chain, tweaking her clamped nipples and driving her sexual frenzy higher and higher. Her hips gyrated as though encouraging or trying to expel the dildo inside her--perhaps both.

To ensure the vibrator didn't come loose, the Motormaster grabbed the loose strand of rubber tubing, pulled it forward between Duster's spread thighs, and tied it tightly to the rest of the tubing that he had wrapped around her waist. The knot he had tied in the middle of the strand served two purposes. Positioned carefully at the entrance to her pussy, the rubber knot held the vibrator firmly inside Duster's vagina, and the vibrator in return caused the knot to throb violently against the young superheroine's engorged clit.

Within seconds of the rubber knot contacting her love nub, Duster felt an orgasm building within her. Her breath became rapid and shallow, each exhalation accompanied by a short, high-pitched, whimpering squeal. Spittle flew from her mouth through the ring gag. Duster's arms trembled in their bonds, her fingers clenching and unclenching as the climax drew near.

"HUH...HUH...HUH...HUH...HUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHNNNNNGGGG!!!!" she cried loudly as the orgasm took her. Duster's head tossed back and her eyes squeezed shut as her bound frame convulsed in ecstasy. Then her head fell forward as her body slumped, exhausted, in its taut bonds.

But the vibrator buzzed relentlessly in her pussy, the nipple clamps did not relinquish their hold on her swollen teats, and the Ecstamex still coursed through her veins. The helpless heroine moaned in a mix of pleasure and despair as her body began its climb towards yet another shattering orgasm. Like a tiny boat beset by waves on a storm-tossed sea, Duster would have no choice but to ride out each sexual crest and trough.

"Well, I can see you and Black Dan have a lot to talk about," the bemused villain declared as the captive superheroine writhed in growing sexual ecstasy. "I'm just going to leave you at a simmering boil for a few hours while I head out to plunder the hard-earned motor vehicles of your city's populace." The Motormaster paused and frowned. "Wow...did I say that? Maybe I've got what it takes to be a supervillain after all!" He glanced at the dull, glassy eyes of the bound superheroine. "Unfortunately, my witty repartee is completely wasted on you right now, isn't it? But I'll be back in a few hours, and we'll continue that conversation we were having. No, wait, it wasn't a conversation, I was just fucking your brains out. Well, we'll continue that when I get back."

The triumphant villain, laughing the entire time, grabbed his leather coat in his right hand, walked past Duster, and swatted her ass with his left as he walked out. He then closed the door behind him, leaving his captive heroine writhing and moaning in a forced sexual frenzy.

Chapter Four: The Henchman

About an hour later, the door to Duster's cell opened and a tall, dark figure entered. He walked into the room slowly, his eyes watching the young superheroine's naked body shuddering in its bonds. From behind, he watched as her pale, heart-shaped ass, a black rubber tube running down its crack, quivered and clenched above her spread legs. Several drops of her vaginal fluid had fallen to the concrete floor beneath her pussy, speckling the dull grey surface with dark dots.  Her back arched and spasmed against the padded metal rod that ran horizontally behind it as her mid-section humped and bucked as if in response to the thrusts of an unseen lover. He watched the lean muscles on her bound arms, stretched tightly straight out from her sides and back, tensing and releasing arhythmically.

As he walked around one of the concrete pillars, he caught sight of her generous breasts, heaving and shaking on her chest as she gasped for air, a lead weight bouncing on a thin chain between two clamps firmly attached to her painfully swollen nipples. Sweat covered her body with a reflective sheen, and matted her tousled reddish-brown hair, making it stick to her face and neck. Her eyes, heavy-lidded and glassy, stared unseeing into the middle distance in front of her. Her full lips and teeth were spread apart by a ring gag; saliva drooled from her mouth in a long string and dribbled down her the center of her chest, mixing with the sweat between her breasts. Her passionate, exhausted moans and cries echoed in the concrete chamber.

Even when the man came to stand directly in front of her, she seemed completely oblivious to his presence. Her body, her mind, her very soul were all lost the sex drug Ecstamex that still coursed through her veins, and to the monstrous latex vibrator that hummed inside her sodden pussy, held in place by the rubber tube that buzzed crazily against her swollen clit.

Suddenly, her body froze. Her gloved hands contorted into curled claws and her breath rasped in her throat as yet another orgasm claimed her. "HHHHHUUUUUNNNNHHHHH!!!" Duster groaned hoarsely into her ring-gag as she climaxed. Then her body slumped in its bonds, her head falling forward over her magnificent chest. She whimpered despondently as she felt the vibrator continue its relentless assault on her loins, leading her body to yet another exhausting, mind-shattering orgasm.

Can't...take...much more... she thought, in the few lucid seconds she had after cumming. She was sure her thundering heart would burst from her chest any second; the human body was not designed to withstand this much constant pleasure and stimulation, she knew. Death seemed like a welcome possibility to her.

All of a sudden, the humming of the vibrator stopped. Duster blinked, puzzled, then glanced around quizzically. Had the batteries finally run down? Had it malfunctioned?

She started in her bonds when a tall, shaven-headed African-American man rose directly in front of her. He had kneeled down to turn off the vibrator inside her; now he stood before her, his arms crossed over a thin, olive-green sweatshirt, his expression unreadable. She noticed a dark leather holster, containing a large automatic pistol, fastened to the belt that held his tight black jeans around his slender hips. Duster recognized him as the other man who, with the Motormaster, had carried her to this prison. She dared to hope, for a moment, that he intended to rescue her. The first words he spoke told her otherwise.

"Never had me a white girl before," he said, his dark eyes roaming down her naked, helpless, curvaceous body.

Duster's heart, briefly hopeful that salvation was at hand, plunged into despair. Oh God, she thought ruefully, another rapist. And thanks to the Ecstamex, I'll probably enjoy it. Her head sank forward and she shook it in disbelief. Is this all I am now? A fuck-toy for Motormaster's gang?

The soft laughter of the black man brought her attention back to the here and now. "Shit, girl, you look fucked up. And when I say fucked up, I mean FUCKED. UP."

Duster could only grunt derisively in response. Great. Another comedian.

The black man looked over Duster's naked shoulder at the closed door to her cell, then back to the captive superheroine. He then reached forward, to the back of Duster's head, and released the clasp of her ring-gag, then pulled it roughly from her mouth before tossing it onto the workbench behind him. The young heroine, glad to be rid of the horrid gag, gingerly worked the feeling back into her jaw. She swallowed, shuddering slightly as the action irritated her dry throat, raw from moaning and crying in ecstasy. When she spoke, her voice was a rasp.

"Hhh." she coughed to clear her throat... "Who...who are you?" she asked, the dryness in her throat making her voice sound like autumn leaves rustling in the wind.

The tall man shrugged his broad shoulders. "Boss-man calls me Hawkeye. On account a me shootin' so good. It's as good a name as any."

"Why..." Duster began to ask another question, but Hawkeye interrupted her.

"Uh-uh, bitch," the man said harshly. "This ain't no game of 20 questions. Here's the deal. I'm gonna give you a few minutes' rest an' a little drink of somethin'. Then you're gonna let me do whatever I want. And you ain't gonna say boo to the boss-man, got it?"

"What..." she asked groggily, eyes blinking slowly, her voice still rasping, "...you're not...supposed to rape me?"

The man snorted angrily. "Naw. Motor-motherfucker wants your sweet little ass all to himself. I'm callin' bullshit on that. But I don't want the man to know I crossed him. Turned off them video cameras for awhile. All you gotta do is promise to keep your mouth shut about it, an' I'll make you feel a little better. Then I'll make you feel a whole lot better," he finished with a malicious leer.

"Fuck you,"  Duster said angrily.

The black man shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'll just turn that big hummin' dick in your pussy back on."

"NO! Please...wait..." Duster begged. I need time...time to think, find a way out...

"You thinkin' it over?" the man asked as he grabbed a sports bottle filled with water from the workbench. "Don't think long, cunt," he said as he popped open the top of the bottle and poured the cool liquid into his mouth. "Mmmm...nothin' like a cool drink when you're all hot an' bothered, huh?"

Duster licked her lips as Hawkeye tauntingly took another swig from the plastic bottle and slowly walked back to her. She hadn't had a drink of anything for hours; she'd lost much of her bodily fluids to the disgusting mix of sweat, drool, and pussy juice that covered different areas of her creamy-white skin. Yet she resisted the humiliation of trading her body for a few minutes' rest and a swallow of water.

"Want some?" Hawkeye asked, waving the bottle under her nose, then pulling it away. "No? Your funeral, snowflake." He knelt down and reached towards the vibrator's controls.

"STOP!!" Duster cried, her mind racing. Maybe I can talk him into helping me escape, she thought desperately. Maybe I can regain some strength and fight him off; maybe he'll get me out of these straps...but I'll never get out of this if he turns that monster on and leaves!!

Hawkeye froze, then expectantly gazed up at her.

"All right," Duster muttered, feeling her cheeks burning with shame as she did so. I'm no better than a prostitute, she chided herself. No. Worse. At least a prostitute gets paid.

Hawkeye rose to his full height and smiled. "You're a smart girl, snowflake," he said, and held the bottle to her parched lips.

Duster greedily sucked the precious fluid from the bottle. She'd nearly emptied it when she suddenly spat the spout from her mouth and began coughing up some water that she'd gulped into her windpipe.

"Whoa! Take it easy, bitch," Hawkeye chided her, taking a step back. "Save somma that. I got somethin' else you can suck on later."

The coughing made Duster's large breasts bounce, which made the chain and weight dance and tug painfully on her nipples. She winced and inhaled through clenched teeth in response.

"You want me to take those off?" Hawkeye asked nonchalantly. Duster nodded yes. "Okay," he said. Quickly and carelessly, Hawkeye grabbed the chain and yanked it away from her chest.

"AAAAAHHHHH!!!" Duster shrieked as the nipple clamps were torn painfully from her tortured pink teats. She then squeezed her eyes shut and bit her torn bottom lip as feeling returned, excruciatingly, to her nipples. The sharp teeth of the clamps had scraped the sensitive nubs as they'd been ripped away and made her agony even worse. The young heroine inhaled sharply and rocked her head back and forth as she attempted to shut out the pain.

Oblivious to her suffering, Hawkeye tossed the chain aside, then eyed her breasts approvingly. "SHIT, girl, mother nature was good to you, wasn't she?" he asked rhetorically, reaching out for her luscious tits. He grabbed a mammary in each hand and began to roughly grope and squeeze the tender flesh. Then he pinched her nipples between his thumb and forefingers and twisted the hyper-sensitive buds.

"NOOOOO!!! AARRRGGGHHH!!!" Duster screamed, her body writhing in agony, as Hawkeye tortured her raw nipples. "STOP IT!! OH, GOD, PLEEEEASE...," she begged, sobbing in distress and exhaustion. Despite the pain, however, she could sense the Ecstamex beginning to boil in her veins again in response to the physical stimulation of her body.

Hawkeye let go of her nipples, but continued to grope her breasts. "Deal was I could do whatever I want, bitch," he reminded her.

"I thought...AH!...the deal was...UGH!...you'd let me rest...OOO!!" Duster replied as he harshly squeezed her tits.

Hawkeye released Duster's right breast and bent his left arm to look at his wristwatch. "Time's up," he said with a shrug and a nasty smile. He let go of her other breast, leaving the tender mounds jiggling and swaying on her chest, and turned around. He walked to the workbench and grabbed the hunting knife the Motormaster had used to cut open her costume earlier that night.

Duster saw the knife and trembled helplessly in her bonds. Hawkeye had already proven himself even more sadistic than his boss; what would he do to her with that knife? The young woman quietly sighed in relief when he knelt down between her spread legs and merely used the blade to slice apart the rubber tubing that held the now-inactive vibrator inside her pussy.

"You realize I'm gonna hafta put this back when I'm done with you," Hawkeye muttered as he grabbed the base of the large vibrator and pulled it from Duster's vagina with a loud slurping sound. Her body shuddered as the huge dildo was removed. As Hawkeye returned the dripping dildo to the workbench, Duster noticed that she felt just a little stronger thanks to the water and the brief respite from the vibrator. She decided to try a risky gambit.

"You know," she said in a low, husky voice, "It could be really good. For both of us." Hawkeye turned to look at her, dubious but interested. "You're...pretty easy on the eyes, you know. I've never had a black boy, either. I'll do whatever you want. I'll make it good for you," Duster continued, a slight smile on her lips.

"Really," Hawkeye remarked, leaning back against the table and crossing his arms.

"Really," Duster went on, looking at him from beneath her lashes and shifting her nude body slightly. "But it would be so much better without..." she paused, flicked her dark eyes at the leather straps on her wrists and ankles.

Hawkeye stood silently, a few feet away from her, seemingly giving her words serious thought. Then he half-turned and started pulling rubber tubing from the spool, cutting off a couple of yards of the stuff with the hunting knife. He carried it towards a puzzled Duster. He stood in front of her, staring at her silently. Then he suddenly, without warning, backhanded her.

Smack!

Duster's head spun, tawny locks flying, and blood flew from her freshly re-split lip. Shocked, the right side of her face burning, her eyes wide and frightened, she slowly turned her back face towards him.

"Fuckin' white bitch. You think I'm stupid 'cause I'm black, don't you? DON'T YOU?!?!" he finished with an angry shout, and Duster cringed away from him, cursing her mistake. "You know, I was gonna fuck you nice, snowflake. But just for that, I'm gonna fuck you mean."

"I'm sorry," Duster pleaded quietly, worried about what he meant by that. "I didn't mean..."

"SHUT UP!!" Hawkeye shouted, his face mere inches from hers, his spittle landing on her face. Clearly, she'd touched a nerve. He turned from her and strode around the concrete column on Duster's right. From behind her, he grabbed her right forearm and started wrapping the length of rubber tubing around it tightly. Duster grimaced as the rubber pulled on her skin.

"OWWW!!! That hurts!" she complained.

"GOOD!!" Hawkeye snarled, tying off half of the tubing and letting the other half hang loose from her arm. He then grabbed the leather cuff on her right wrist and began to undo its strap. "You try anything, bitch, and I'll use that knife on somethin' other than rubber," he warned her as her arm came loose from the cuff. Duster pulled her arm forward in relief, easing the stiffness that had settled into her shoulder and upper arm from being held in that position during her sexual exertion of the past few hours.

Hawkeye then released her left wrist from its strap and quickly strode around the left column. Duster now had her arms free, but the stiffness in them prevented her from taking any action, and Hawkeye moved too quickly for her to take advantage of her freedom. Moving back in front of her, he quickly grabbed the loose tubing on her right arm and pulled it forward. Duster gasped at the quickness and harshness of his action. He then grabbed her left forearm in a tight, painful grip and pulled it forward as well. As she watched helplessly, he wrapped the tubing around her left forearm, tying it on top of the right forearm, forcing them into an X, and tying off her bindings.

When he finished, Hawkeye stepped to her left side, grabbed the rubber tubing binding her arms, and harshly yanked her forward. With a shocked cry, Duster fell face-first towards the concrete floor. She broke her fall with her bound, crossed hands, ripping open the palms of her golden gloves on the rough concrete surface in the process. Her leather ankle cuffs rotated as she fell forward, the rope twisting in their eyelets, and held her legs spread. Her feet were still slightly elevated, resting a few inches above the floor on the base of the columns. Duster found herself on the cold concrete floor, still bound, her weight on her hands and on her bent and spread knees. Her large breasts swayed slightly where they hung beneath her rib cage. She cast a worried glance up at the tall black man who towered above her.

"There," he said with a satisfied smirk, "now you in my favorite position." He walked over to the work bench as Duster watched anxiously, and returned with a hand towel and a small blue plastic tub. "Crisco...over a hundred household uses," he said, holding the tub of congealed vegetable oil above and in front of her. He then walked around her, stepping over right leg and kneeling down between her spread legs and immediately behind her exposed and vulnerable ass.

Oh God, Duster thought with a shudder, not there...he's not going to fuck me THERE!!!

But his next actions confirmed her worst fear. Hawkeye opened the tub of Crisco and gathered some of the hydrogenated vegetable oil onto the fingertips of his right hand. He then placed the plastic container on the floor and used his left fingers to spread the helpless heroine's shapely ass cheeks, exposing her tight, puckered anus.

Duster gasped in shock as her assailant then began to spread the oil into the crack of her ass, and she nearly jumped out of her skin when his forefinger penetrated her anus. Instinctively, Duster tightened her sphincter, trying to prevent him from gaining entry. Hawkeye's sudden grunt of frustration and immobile digit confirmed that she'd been successful. But not for long.

Hawkeye reached forward with his left hand, grabbed the auburn hair at the back of Duster's head, and used it to pull her body back up towards him. A pained and frightened cry escaped the young superheroine's lips as the tall black man pulled her naked back against his broad chest and her head against his shoulder. She could feel a huge erection bulging behind his pants where his midsection pressed against the top of her ass.

"Deal was you'd let me do what I want, bitch," he snarled in her ear. She could feel his hot breath on the side of her neck.

"Not that!!" Duster insisted. "Please, don't do this to me!! I've never..."

Hawkeye yanked her hair sharply in response, making Duster wince. "I saw a pair of pliers on that workbench, slut," he whispered harshly in her ear. "You don't wanna find out what I can do to you with those. Now are you gonna cooperate?"

A soft sob escaped Duster's lips as his threat sank in. "Y-yes..." she murmured, helplessly resigned to her fate. A single tear rolled down her cheek. Oh, God, when will this ordeal end? she wondered. Even worse, she could feel the sex drug's effects on her body, making her heart beat faster in her chest and her pussy lubricate in anticipation of her horrid violation. I won't allow myself to enjoy it...I won't!! she told herself over and over.

Hawkeye released her hair and pushed her forward; once again Duster had to break her fall with her bound hands. Then she felt his hand spreading her ass cheeks and choked back a sob. Her body shuddered when his forefinger, liberally coated with Crisco, entered her anus and rotated inside, slowly spreading the lubricant around.

"Now you just relax, snowflake," the big black man ordered, "an' ol' Hawkeye's gonna get your prime piece of lily-white ass all greased and ready."

Duster took a long, deep breath, desperately trying to calm herself. She whimpered when she felt Hawkeye press his middle finger into her tiny opening, joining his forefinger. In spite of the revulsion her rational mind felt, she could feel her nubile body gearing itself up for sex. It's the drug, she told herself. Still...it's...not as bad as I thought it would be... A shudder ran along her spine as she felt the black man's fingers moving inside her. Kind of...nice, actually... She gave her head a vigorous shake. No! It's the drug...it has to be...

She gasped as Hawkeye withdrew his fingers from her behind. He wiped his hand on the towel, then pulled his sweater over his head. Duster looked over her shoulder to see what he was doing and saw him expose his muscular, smooth, chocolate-brown torso. Her dark brown eyes opened wide in appreciation. Just as Hawkeye had never had a white girl before, Candy Roberts had never made it with a black man. That, along with the bondage and the primitive, animalistic position of her body, were all elements from some of her deepest, darkest fantasies. Her breathing grew more shallow and rapid as an unwelcome sexual thrill, driven by the Ecstamex, took hold of her.

Hawkeye then undid his belt and zipper of his black jeans and slid them down, along with his black jockey shorts, to his bent knees. His huge cock sprang free, and Duster gasped at the sight of it. Longer that the Motormaster's by at least two inches, it rivaled the dildo that had recently stuffed her vagina to its capacity for size and girth. The black man, aware of the awe-inspiring sight of his member, smiled a closed-lip grin of pride and malicious intent. He returned the look from the frightened superheroine's large brown eyes with his own steady, intense gaze.

"Oh my GOD!!!" Duster exclaimed at the sight of Hawkeye's huge cock. "You can't do this! It won't FIT!!" That thing will split me in TWO!! Duster thought in a panic.

"Oh, we gonna make this bitch-tamer fit, cunt," Hawkeye informed her as he grabbed her hips. He parted her ass cheeks with his thumbs and positioned the tip of his huge prick at the entrance to her tiny anus.

"No...please...," Duster whimpered fearfully, but to no avail. And some dark part of her, manipulated by the drug, wanted this to happen. Not that it mattered; bound and on her hands and knees, her legs spread wide before her assailant, her powers useless, she could not have prevented the imminent violation of her body however she felt.

"You just relax now...UHHH..." Hawkeye ordered; the tip of his cock now touched her puckered anus.

"OOOOHHHHHH...." Duster moaned as she felt the huge, hot member begin to push into her ass. She closed her eyes and her auburn-maned head fell forward, hanging beneath her shoulders and between her bound arms. Time seemed to stand still as slowly, torturously, the big man pushed himself into her.

"Jes'...let it in..." Hawkeye said through a grimace of exertion. Damn, this bitch is TIGHT!!! he thought.

"OH MY GOD!!!!" Duster screamed, throwing her head up and back, tawny locks flying, as her lubricated asshole spread wide to accommodate the huge cock entering it. Her body began to tremble at the incredible pain of the penetration. A rivulet of sweat ran down her arched spine. And yet her body, inexorably, began to respond; female lubricant filled her neglected pussy, and her rational mind began to shut down, losing itself to the intense sensation in her rear. Can't be...enjoying this!! she thought, in denial of her body's obvious reaction. Damn that drug...

"DAMN!!!" Hawkeye shouted as he forced another inch of his tremendous length into her ass. "You feel good and TIGHT, white girl!! I'm gonna FILL your ass, then I'm gonna REAM it!!"

"OHHHHH!!!" Duster moaned as his cock slid further into her, tearing the skin and making her bleed slightly. "Please...STOP...," she sobbed, partly to her assailant, partly to her own body as it betrayed her. In spite of the pain, she felt her sphincter relax, seemingly of its own accord, allowing him to shove his cock into her further.

"No fuckin' WAY!!" he declared as he thrust forward, pushing his cock more than halfway into his victim.

"AAAAHHHHH!!!" Duster cried as her arms buckled. Her upper body collapsed and fell to the floor, her face falling onto her hands, her breasts and still-sensitive nipples pressing against the cold concrete surface.

Suddenly, Hawkeye withdrew his cock almost completely, so only the tip remained inside her. He paused a moment, then violently shoved his huge prick back into her, slightly further than it had gone before.

"UUUUUNNNHHHH!!!" the young heroine moaned loudly as he thrust into her. The motion pushed her body forward, scraping her breasts and nipples against the rough concrete floor. Her hands shot out in front of her, and she turned her head and laid it on her outstretched forearms, her dark eyes staring over her naked shoulder at her rapist.

"Oh YEEEAAAAHHHH!!!" Hawkeye growled through clenched teeth as he pulled back and thrust into his victim yet again. His large hands gripped her curvaceous hips firmly, holding her ass in place as he pushed even deeper.

"OHHH!! OHHH!! OHHH!!" Duster groaned as he withdrew and thrust into her yet again, and again, and again, pressing deeper into her ravished ass each time. Her eyes stared glassily as sweat covered her back.

"UHHH!! UHHH!! UHHH!!" the big black man grunted as he began to pump harder and faster into the helpless superheroine.

"AHHH!! AHHH!! AHHH!!" Duster panted loudly in response. Her rational mind shut down completely as physical sensation and the drug overtook her. Though she would regret it later, all thought of escape or retaining her dignity vanished and she began to lose herself to the rape. The need to climax built within her.

Suddenly Hawkeye shifted his weight forward, laying his body over that of the prone woman beneath him. His right hand reached beneath her and grabbed her right breast roughly. His left hand reached underneath her left hip and pressed against the sensitive nub of her clitoris. His actions were rewarded with a hoarse groan from the beautiful heroine. The henchman smiled, then stuck his tongue out and licked her naked shoulder, neck, and cheek. He bit her earlobe, making her wince, and began to pump his hips against hers with short, sharp, rapid strokes.

"Gonna...CUM...," he panted with each thrust. "Gonna...make YOU...cum...BITCH..."

"OH! OH! OH!" Duster cried as he pumped into her ass. Her eyes squeezed tight and her mouth opened wide as she gulped air. The ass rape, and now the stimulation of her breast and clit, proved too much for the drugged heroine, and she gave into the sensations in her ravaged body. "OH!! YES!! MAKE ME CUM!!! MAKE ME CUM!!! FUCK MY ASS!!!"

Hawkeye laughed triumphantly at her capitulation to her drug-induced lust. Then he began to fuck her ass harder, his thrusts faster and more violent. He squeezed her breast and pinched her nipple with his right thumb and forefinger. His left hand performed the same action on her clit. Beneath him, her body went wild as it rushed towards the orgasm it eagerly desired. It bucked and writhed beneath his weight as he ravished her. Her head whipped back and forth, left and right, her auburn hair striking his face and urging him onwards. Her breath came in rapid, whimpering gasps.

"UH! UH! UH! GONNA...CUM!!" he grunted into her ear as he felt his cock prepare to explode.

"OH! OH! OH! YES! CUM in my ASS!! DO IT!!!" Duster shouted, lost to ecstasy...and to the Ecstamex.

"UH...UH...HHHUUUUNNNNNHHHHH!!!" Hawkeye groaned, his back arching as he came, his cock emptying into Duster's violated rectum.

"OH! OH!! OHHHHHHHHHHH!!! OH GOD! OH GOD! OHHHH! Ohhhhh..." Duster cried out in unison as her umpteenth orgasm of this long night shook her ravaged body. As the last wave crashed through her, she collapsed on the cold concrete floor, exhausted, limp and panting, her limbs spread out as much as her bonds would allow.

"UHHH...Uhhhh...uhhh..." Hawkeye grunted as his body spasmed, squirting his hot seed into Duster's ass. Then he, too, collapsed in exhaustion on top of the captive heroine.

For several moments they lay there, Duster struggling to breathe beneath Hawkeye's weight but too exhausted to do otherwise. Finally, the big black man stirred. He slowly pulled his huge member from Duster's ass; the young heroine trembled and moaned as he did so. Then the henchman sat back on his haunches and studied the prone form of the woman he'd just raped. Her back, covered with a mixture of her own sweat and his, rose and fell as she labored to breathe. He could see the sides of her large breasts, squished slightly against the cold concrete floor, pressing out from her chest. Her anus secreted a mix of oil, his semen, and some of her own blood, while female ejaculate leaked from her pussy. Her long, shapely, sweat-covered legs trembled slightly where they lay on the floor, still spread invitingly.

"DAMN, that was one fine fuck!!!" Hawkeye declared in a crude compliment. "We gonna hafta do that again sometime, snowflake!" he said as he smacked her ravaged ass with his hand.

The slap on her rear stirred Duster from the trance of afterglow. As the Ecstamex's effectiveness decreased in the absence of sexual stimulation, her rational mind awoke, and recoiled at what had happened. Oh God..., she thought in despair, I...I actually ENJOYED it...I came! I SCREAMED FOR HIM TO MAKE ME CUM!!! Oh God, Oh God... Duster's despair and revulsion manifested itself physically. Tears began to flow from her dark eyes, and the body of the proud young superheroine was wracked by sobs.

Hawkeye regarded her display with callous disgust. He shook his head as he watched her start to cry. "Ain't that just like a cunt," he remarked. "One minute they beggin' ya to fuck 'em, the next they wish ya hadn't. Je-e-e-esus!!" he concluded, rolling his eyes. "Tell ya what, snowflake. You collect yourself, 'cause in a minute, I'm gonna give you something to eat: I got a big, black salami you can suck on..." Hawkeye informed her, then began to laugh derisively.

Duster moaned in despair at his words, and at the resonance they found in the dark corners of her mind that the drug had activated. The Ecstamex made his proposition appeal to her in a way it could not have otherwise. The heroine despaired; she had been captured--far too easily captured--stripped, and raped twice. More rapes would surely follow, and the insidious drug ensured that her body would welcome the repeated violations as she had the first two. If the drug wore off, she knew, they'd just administer more. Or maybe they wouldn't; they'd just rape her without it. Would that be worse? Could anything be worse than the fate she now suffered? Her powers and martial arts training could not save her. Nothing would save her. Her spirit sank; it was only a matter of time before it was broken.

The auburn-haired heroine suddenly shrieked in pain as Hawkeye once again grabbed her hair and pulled her upwards. Lost in despair, she had not noticed that he had moved in front of her. He lifted her head painfully upwards until she found herself staring directly at his dark, slightly-erect cock, which glistened with a mixture of oil, blood, and semen.

"Lick it clean, bitch," the henchman ordered as he pushed his cock towards her mouth.

Duster moaned in despair at the new indignity about to be visited upon her. But what choice did she have?

Suddenly, the door to the room swung open; both the heroine and her assailant turned towards it.

"Honey, I'm home!" the Motormaster called out as he pushed closed the door behind him. Then he stopped dead in his tracks and stared, dumbfounded, at the sight before him. His prized captive, his captured superheroine, was not in the upright position where he'd left her, but was on her hands and knees, her legs spread wide and still anchored to the concrete columns, her naked ass, dripping fluid, pointed towards him and her hands bound by rubber tubing. His henchman, his trusted right-hand man, was kneeling in front of her, his chest bare and his pants around his knees, the superheroine's hair clutched by his left hand, his right holding his now-shriveling cock towards her face.

The trio froze in an obscene tableaux, each waiting for the other to make the next move.

Chapter Five: Vengeance

"WHAT THE FUCK...?!?!" the Motormaster shouted in angry indignation.

"Oh, shit..." Hawkeye muttered, then released Duster's hair and his cock. He fumbled for his pants with both hands, desperately pulling them over his bare loins.

Duster stayed silent, her dark eyes looking at one man, then the other, wondering whether to be relieved or even more worried.

"SON OF A BITCH!!!!" the Motormaster yelled. He stood stock-still, shocked and angry, in front of the door, while his henchman worriedly did up the belt of his pants.

"Hey, boss, this ain't what it looks like..." Hawkeye muttered nervously.

"Oh REALLY?!?" the Motormaster asked angrily. "It LOOKS like you were gonna get a BLOW JOB from MY private FUCK-TOY!!!"

Hawkeye, still bare-chested, froze. His dark eyes darted nervously around the room. "Okay, maybe it is what it looks like. But..."

"JEEEEEEEZUS!!!" the Motormaster exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air. "I THOUGHT I could TRUST you! But I turn my back for ONE MINUTE..."

"Hey, c'mon, boss," Hawkeye said a little more smoothly as he stood and stepped over to retrieve his shirt. He found his confidence returning as he dressed himself. "It ain't like she's your girlfriend or fiancé or nothin'."

"No, but she IS my FUCKING PROPERTY, you ASSHOLE!!" The Motormaster responded, then paused for a moment. "Huh. 'Fucking property'--yet another pun..." he muttered.

"Hey, you said I could have her when you was through with her!" Hawkeye reminded his employer as he pulled his sweater over his head.

The Motormaster shook his head in disbelief. "WHAT I SAID was you could have her when I was COMPLETELY through with her. Which I WON'T BE for several WEEKS at least!!!"

Duster, now in a sitting position, resting on her haunches while the two men argued, felt her heart sink. Weeks?!? she thought. He plans to keep me here and rape and torture me for WEEKS?!? No...NO!! Duster looked around desperately, and suddenly realized that her hands, though bound, could reach the cuffs on her ankles. She calmed herself and slowly, so as not to draw the attention of the arguing criminals, twisted her naked body around and began to release her legs from the tight leather cuffs.

The Motormaster strode angrily across the room towards his henchman, his long coat flapping behind him. "Did I TELL you you could take a poke at her? DID I?!? When EXACTLY did I say, 'Hey Hawkeye, I'm through with the slut, go poke her pussy!'"

"Hey, I didn't poke, boss. Never touched that pussy," Hawkeye insisted as his boss came to stand directly in front of him. The two men stared each other down.

"Oh no? I suppose you just..." The Motormaster paused, recalling the doggie position Duster had been in when he entered, as well as stories his henchman had told him about his sexual conquests. "Did you fuck her up the ass?" the villain demanded in a low, threatening tone. Hawkeye responded by shifting his weight uncomfortably and avoiding the Motormaster's eyes. "DID. YOU. FUCK. HER. ASS?!?" the angry criminal asked again.

Duster had freed her legs from the cuffs. She spotted the discarded scissors on the floor and quietly used them to cut the rubber tubing that bound her arms. When she had freed her hands, she kept her eyes on the two arguing men and began to crawl away from them and towards the door.

Hawkeye sighed and shrugged his broad shoulders. "Yeah, okay, I fucked the slut's ass," he admitted angrily.

The Motormaster threw his hands up and spun around, away from his henchman. Duster froze and held her breath, worried that he would spot her.

"I DON'T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS!!!" he cried, then spun 180 degrees again to face Hawkeye. "I WAS GOING TO DO THAT, SHITHEAD!!!" Duster exhaled in relief; he was too angry to notice her. She continued crawling towards the door.

"Hey, LOOK, her ass is still THERE, man!!" Hawkeye responded indignantly.

The Motormaster's eyes widened in shock. "I was going to do it FIRST, NUMBSKULL!!!" he shouted, spittle springing from his mouth.

"Hey man, say it, don't spray it," Hawkeye said as he backed away.

The Motormaster sighed angrily, then held his hands up in front of him. He pulled his lips tight, then clenched his fingers, index fingers shaking angrily towards the ceiling as he spoke in a low, angry tone. "Supervillain rule number four: the BOSS does NOT get SLOPPY SECONDS!!!!!"

Unnoticed by either man, Duster managed to crawl halfway to the door. A feeling of exhilaration grew within her as she turned away from the men and continued to move on her hands and knees towards the door and freedom. Just keep arguing, you two...

"Man, you're makin' them rules up as you go along," Hawkeye said derisively.

The Motormaster snorted. "Oh, I think THAT one's pretty OBVIOUS!! When we capture a super-slut," he said, pointing to the place on the floor where Duster had been a moment before, "the BOSS--that's ME, in case you've FORGOTTEN--gets first crack..." the Motormaster stopped speaking as his eyes darted to base of the pillars, then he did a double-take when he realized the space was empty.

The two criminals glanced towards the door just in time to see Duster, crawling on her hands and knees, naked behind facing them, reaching towards the door handle with her golden-gloved hand. The Motormaster strode angrily towards her, easily catching her before she could exit.

"Where do you think YOU'RE going, SLUT?!?" the Motormaster shouted as he grabbed her by the arm that reached for the door and by her tawny hair.

"AAARRRRHHH!!" Duster cried out in pain as he yanked her to her feet. Then the Motormaster strode across the room, between the pillars and past the workbench, dragging the naked heroine. He threw her roughly into the far corner of the room, then pointed at her angrily as she rolled on the floor then crawled into the corner.

"You stay RIGHT there until I'm through with HIM, BITCH!!!" the villain yelled from where he stood over her, his teeth clenched into a vicious grimace.

As the Motormaster turned around and walked away from her, his flowing coat stirred Duster's auburn hair. A quiet, derisive laugh escaped her lips. Sure, HIS 'duster' can move the air in this room, but I can't.... The heroine frowned at the thought. Waitaminute... She narrowed her eyes in concentration.

"Now where were we?" the Motormaster growled at his associate, who stared back at him defiantly with his arms crossed.

"Hey, man, I think you're gettin' a swelled head, you know?" Hawkeye snarled back. "You ain't the king of the fuckin' world. We share the profits, right? So we share the pussy. What's the big?"

The Motormaster gave a short, angry laugh. "Funny you should mention 'profits', old buddy..."

Hawkeye frowned at his employer. "What's that mean?" he asked.

"I mean, if I can't trust you with the PUSSY when my back is turned, why should I trust you with the PROFITS?" the Motormaster asked ominously. Unnoticed by either man, a light breezed ruffled his short brown hair.

"Hey man," Hawkeye responded, holding up one hand, "pussy's one thing...but the dead presidents, that's a whole other deal."

"Is it really?" the Motormaster asked pointedly. Just then, the breeze picked up, catching his duster and making it wave behind him.

"Yeah, man, it is. Look, maybe I fucked your whore, but I wouldn't fuck you."

"Oh, you wouldn't? Well I..." Suddenly, the breeze became a wind, and the Motormaster's coat tails snapped as they were blown away from his body. Both men looked around them in puzzlement.

"Did the AC just kick in?" Hawkeye asked as the accelerating air rippled his sweater against his body.

"There's no air cond..." the Motormaster began to say, then his eyes grew wide and he spun around to face Duster. "It's HER!!"

Duster's naked, abused body was huddled in the far corner of the room. Her arched dark brows were knit together in concentration. Her eyes regarded the two men with an angry, determined squint; her jaw was set, her hands clenched at her sides. When her attempt to escape had failed, she resorted to what the flapping of the Motormaster's coat had reminded her: that there was air in this room, and wind was just air in motion. So she was commanding the air in the room into a swirling vortex, faster and faster. She had never attempted to move air in such a tiny, enclosed space, which is why the idea had not occurred to her until now. But it was working! In the time it took the two villains to realize what she was doing, it had grown to gale force strength, and they found it hard to stand.

"I won't be your whore..." Duster snarled through clenched teeth. "I WON'T BE YOUR WHORE!! NOT ANYMORE!!!"

The now-howling wind caught the Motormaster's coat and almost toppled him over; he fell against one of the concrete pillars and hung on to it to steady himself. Hawkeye, meanwhile, had dropped to one knee in an effort to reduce the wind's pressure on him.

"WHAT DO WE DO?!?" Hawkeye shouted at his boss, holding up one hand to shield his eyes from the ravaging wind.

"MAKE HER STOP, MORON!!" the Motormaster yelled back. He tried to take a step towards Duster, but as soon as he left the shelter of the pillar, the roaring vortex of wind nearly threw him over. He stepped back and hugged the pillar as if it was a lover.

"HOW WE GONNA DO THAT?!?" Hawkeye shouted, watching the futility of his boss's efforts.

"SHOOT THE BITCH!!!" the Motormaster ordered.

Hawkeye silently chided himself for his stupidity and drew a Colt .45 from his belt holster with his right hand. He quickly pointed the pistol at Duster--just under 20 feet, nearly point blank range. He squeezed the trigger.

Duster had heard the Motormaster's order and saw Hawkeye draw the gun. When she saw the barrel pointing directly at her, she focused her efforts and made the already-violent wind accelerate further. The sudden wind gust hit Hawkeye's arm and shifted his aim just slightly. Duster heard the shot, then felt the bullet brush her hair as it missed her. She ducked as the bullet ricocheted off the concrete wall and bounced back into the room, where the Motormaster and Hawkeye ducked as well, before the wind caught the tiny missile and began to swirl it around the room.

"SHIT!" Hawkeye shouted angrily. "BITCH MADE ME MISS!!! I NEVER MISS!!!" He reinforced his grip and aim by placing the heel of his right hand into the palm of his left. He shifted his body into a three-point stance, this time aiming at the larger target of Duster's naked chest rather than her head.

As soon as the bullet missed her, Duster focused her powers as she never had before. She doubted she could make Hawkeye miss a second time. Since she had gained her powers, she had only truly learned to use the brute force of the wind; but she had been training herself to use it more skillfully. Now, staring death in the face, she would put that training to the ultimate test. She commanded the air to move at even greater speed towards a specific object: the workbench. An instant later, the wind caught the large, heavy table and toppled it, blocking Hawkeye's view of her before he could shoot.

"MOTHERFUCKER!!" the marksman shouted. He pressed himself against the wall, using it to brace himself against the wind, and stood. Once again he took aim at the naked superheroine.

But the table hadn't been Duster's sole target. The objects that had previously rested upon it now swirled around the room, blown by the tornado-in-a-box, picking up speed. Again, Duster focused her power as she had never done before in defense of her own life.

Hawkeye, squinting through the wind, once again drew a bead on the heroine. "BU-BYE, BITCH!!!" he shouted. But before he could squeeze off his shot, the hunting knife the Motormaster had used to remove her costume flew through the air, buoyed by the swirling wind, and landed in his neck, penetrating his windpipe. The scissors, lifted by the wind from spot on the floor where Duster had left them, also hit him, embedding themselves in his rib cage and piercing his heart.

Hawkeye's eyes went wide and he dropped the pistol, which the wind picked up and blew into a far corner of the room. Hawkeye took a step forward, his hands reaching towards his throat, then fell forward onto his face. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Duster stared in shock as the black man fell dead a few feet away from her. She had never killed anyone before. And she hadn't intended to kill him, but the sharp objects from the worktable had struck him in parts of his body even more effective than she had intended. She pushed herself up against the wall in the corner of the concrete room and stared, dumbfounded, at the body of the man she had just killed. Red blood flowed from his wounds, collecting on the floor, rippling in the wind, and running towards the drain in the middle of the room.

Duster crossed her arms over her chest and held herself. "Oh my God," she breathed, "oh my God..." Without her concentrated efforts, the vortex began to ebb gradually.

The Motormaster stared at his now-dead right-hand man and stepped over to his body now that the wind did not have the strength to push him over. "Hawkeye? HAWK?!?" he shouted at his henchman, but quickly realized he would never get a response. He twisted around to glare angrily at the young woman who stared back at him in shock from the far corner of the room. "You fucking bitch..." he muttered. "You fucking BITCH!!! YOU KILLED HIM!!!"

"I...I didn't...I didn't mean..." Duster murmured, her head shaking back and forth in denial.

"I'M GONNA KILL YOU!!" the Motormaster shouted, glaring at her. He then looked about, furiously, for a weapon. He spied the hunting knife in his deceased henchman's neck and pulled it out. He pointed it, the blade dripping with fresh blood, at the naked superheroine. "I'm gonna gut you like a FISH, you little slut," the villain snarled, his face twisted into a sadistic grin. He took a step towards her.

His threat was like a slap in the face to Duster. It snapped her out of her shocked reverie. Her dark eyes regarded her enemy with hatred, with a burning memory of all he'd done to her, and of what he had just forced her to do. No more, she thought. I won't let you hurt me anymore...

With a thought, the vortex of wind sprang from a brisk breeze back to its full force, catching the Motormaster in its center. The villain stood unable to move forward, swaying in the eye of the storm, screaming for his vengeance. Before him, Duster stood boldly, her legs shoulder-width apart, her arms held out from her naked body, elbows slightly bent, fingers curled into claws. The wind tousled her reddish-brown hair about her face, but she paid it no mind. She stood, her enemy helpless before her, her voluptuous nude body magnificent and shining--the Goddess of the Winds.

She regarded her enemy with contempt as he tried to escape her vortex and harm her. "IT'S A LITTLE EARLY FOR FISH!" she shouted above the howl of the wind. "HOW ABOUT PANCAKES?!"

Not comprehending her remark, the Motormaster stared blankly at her. Then he saw the swirling air pick up the heavy workbench and hurl it around the room. On its second circuit, it changed course and flew straight for him. He screamed and threw his arms up. The flat tabletop slammed into him. It knocked him off his feet, through the howling wind, and flattened him violently into the cement wall on Duster's left. The villain collapsed to the floor, unconscious, and the heavy table fell on top of him.

Duster coldly regarded her fallen enemy, and seeing that he did not stir, allowed the wind to die down. She then took a deep breath and shakily settled her naked bodily against the cold concrete wall. She hugged her arms around herself, crossing them over her breasts, and took a few moments to calm her nerves and let the adrenaline rush in her body die down.

Shortly thereafter, she gave her head a shake and pushed herself away from the wall. Snap out of it, girl. You've got things to do. The rational, dispassionate mind that allowed co-ed Candy Roberts to excel in both science and engineering took over, almost as a defense mechanism. She suppressed, as much as she could, the tempest of emotions within her and set about her work.

Chapter 6: Aftermath

A couple of days later, Candy lay on her stomach, not a stitch of clothing on her, on her own bed in her apartment near campus. Straddling her naked body, her roommate and best friend, Tori Walker, administered a soothing massage to her friend just before bedtime. Tori wore her usual nighttime attire: a pink tank-top and matching panties over her slender but curvaceous body. Candy preferred to sleep in the raw.

"Y'know, at times like this, I am so glad I have a roomie who's majoring in sports physio," Candy said as Tori's massage relaxed her aching body. Even after this much time, her ordeal continued to take its toll. Candy told herself that the tension her friend had to ease out of her muscles was purely physical.

"So, what's the latest on the Duster front?" Tori asked as her dark brown hands pushed down Candy's white back. The young African-American woman reached up and brushed away a strand of her long, charcoal-black hair as she worked on her friend's naked body.

"Well, let's see...seems like the Motormaster, real name David Boris, will be facing a murder rap in addition to all the other charges...when he gets out of the hospital," Candy told her. She and Tori had been friends since childhood; she would never conceal anything from her, including the details of her new life as a superheroine.

"So they're gonna pin that on him, huh?" Tori remarked flatly as she pressed her fingers into the pressure points along Candy's spine.

"Oooooo...that's nice..." Candy cooed. "Yeah...they found his prints on the knife," she answered, suppressing a shudder when the image of Hawkeye's violent death came unbidden to her mind. Self-defense--it was self-defense, she told herself, as she had ever since the incident.

"You're not gonna correct them?" Tori asked. She wasn't disapproving of her friend's actions--not at all; but she wanted to sound out Candy's own feelings on the matter.

"Nope. That bastard forced my hand; he deserves to be held accountable for that man's death. And Duster's name hasn't come up in connection with this, and I want to keep it that way. Their explanation is that Motormaster had a falling-out with his gang, killed one of them, and the others beat him up and dropped a table on him. Sounds plausible to me."

"You sure Duster won't get dragged into it?" Tori asked, concerned, as she shifted her slender bottom down onto Candy's thighs. She began to press against the pelvic bone at the top of Candy's heart-shaped ass. "You sure you got everything?"

"Mmmmmmm...that feels good..." Candy moaned. "...yes, mom, I got everything: my costume--what was left of it--my visor, and the videotapes."

"Hmmph. Those," her friend muttered with a slight shudder. She hadn't seen the tapes, but Candy had told her what had happened and what was on them. "You sure you want to keep them?" Tori queried. She began to press rhythmically against Candy's spine, making her medium-sized breasts bounce gently inside her tank-top.

"Uhhh...Uhhh...Uhhh...God...that's...good...yes...I...am." Tori finished that technique and began to gently gather the skin on Candy's back into folds and release them. "The tapes are in a safe place, and they'll help back up my story if push comes to shove. Which it won't."

"You don't think CSI will find a DNA sample and trace it back to you?" Tori asked, concerned.

Candy laughed. "Girl, you watch way too much TV, you know that? Trust me--the HPCPD CSI unit has nowhere near the funding--not to mention the hyper-dedicated, need-a-life employees--of the one on that ridiculous show."

"And no prints?"

"I wear gloves, remember? Tori, trust me; they won't connect me with this."

"Okay, if you say so," Tori commented. She knelt on the bed at Candy's right side and began to work on her friend's right shoulder and arm. "What about that souvenir you took?"

"What about it? He won't be needing it where he's going, and I think I deserve a little reward for the trouble I went through. Not to mention the fact that I needed something to wear home. Besides, it's a nice coat. And really strong; I'm thinking I might be able to use it to fly--you know, get the wind to carry me."

Tori climbed over Candy to work on her left arm and shoulder. "Guess you've thought of everything."

"Don't I always?" Candy asked with a smile. She actually felt quite proud of how she'd handled everything, and how it had all turned out. All it had taken was an anonymous phone call to the police from a public payphone once she'd found her way out of the building, wearing the Motormaster's coat and carrying a dozen videotapes in a garbage bag, and everything had fallen into place. It was perfect.

"I'm not so sure," Tori said quietly and stopped massaging her friend's body.

Candy turned her head to look at her friend and pressed herself up on her elbows. "Now what is that supposed to mean?"

Tori shrugged "It's just...you keep acting like it was just another case, just another couple of bad guys."

"It was," Candy replied, a little too insistently, as she let her head fall back onto her pillow.

"No it wasn't," Tori corrected her, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. "You got captured, tied up, pumped full of some funky sex drug, and raped. Twice. And you enjoyed it!"

"I know, Tori," Candy said in a tone that she hoped would warn her friend not to pursue this any further. "I was there, remember?"

"Yeah, you were there, but now you're not here, you're not dealing with it!"

Candy rolled over onto her side. She propped herself up on one elbow, her large, firm breasts hanging down slightly, and glared angrily at her friend.

"I am dealing with it. In my own way. Maybe it's not your way, but that's not my problem," Candy told her in a clipped tone. "It won't happen again. And if I enjoyed it, it was because of that damn drug."

"You sure about that?" Tori asked pointedly.

"What the hell does that mean?!" Candy demanded, pushing herself to a sitting position directly in front of her friend.

Tori held her hands up in a defensive posture. "Hey, calm down, girlfriend. I'm not saying you wanted it to happen."

"Then what are you saying?" Candy asked sharply, crossing her arms beneath her naked breasts.

Tori sighed and tried to explain herself. "Look. I'm studying stuff about this, okay? Physio isn't just massages. I'm studying psychology, physiology, biochemistry, drugs..."

"If you get anywhere near a point," Candy told her, "...make it."

Tori's dark eyebrows rose and her eyes opened wide at her friend's angry reaction. "Looks like I struck a nerve, girl!"

"Screw this..." Candy said as she started to push herself off the bed and go to the washroom.

Tori grabbed her friend's arm to stop her. "My point, girl, is that this drug...Ecstamex...it brought something out in you that was already there. Like hypnosis. Something you'd normally suppress, maybe even for your whole life, but now you have to deal with it. Only you're not. You're trying to suppress it still, pretend it isn't there, but the genie's out of the bottle and she isn't gonna go back in without a fight."

Candy angrily tore her arm from her friend's grip. "So you're saying that I have these...secret urges, to be raped? Sodomized? Is that what you think?"

"We all do, Candy," Tori said in a soothing tone. She moved behind Candy's naked back and began to massage her friend's  shoulders and neck. "C'mon. Don't try to tell me you haven't had rape fantasies. Or fantasies about black men? Huh? About getting raped in the jungle by some big, strong African warrior?" she asked with a giggle.

Candy began to relax again and laughed a little as well. "None that I'm going to share with you," she muttered.

Tori went on as if she hadn't spoken. "And this double life you're living, and what led to it. Six months ago, Mark dumped you..."

"Hey, I dumped him," Candy corrected.

"Yeah, after you found out he was seeing someone else on the sly."

Candy sighed sadly at that painful memory. "What's your point?"

"You get treated bad by this guy, and right after that, you were in that accident, and you get these powers. And what are you doing? Running around town in a sexy, skin-tight outfit, puttin' the hurt on bad guys--emphasis on the guys here. See a connection?"

"Maybe," Candy murmured as her friend continued to soothingly massage her shoulders, "...but I don't think I like it."

"I didn't think you would. But you gotta face it. The whole time you've been Duster, have you even been on one date?"

"Well...yeah...there's that guy in my physics course, we've been spending time together," Candy pointed out defensively.

"Uh-huh. Girlfriend, spending time with a guy while you work in the lab on a super-accelerator experiment does not count as a date, not in any sense of the word."

Candy sighed as Tori continued to work on her bare shoulders. "So...you're saying I'm sublimating all my sexual energy into my crime-fighting?" she asked hesitantly.

"Wow. Sure you're not a psych major?" her friend teased her. "That's exactly what I'm saying. Then Motormaster grabs you while you're doing your superheroine-slash-vengeance-against-men thing, ties you up, shoots you full of this sex drug, and when he rapes you, you can't help but come like a house on fire. All that pent-up sexual energy, all those dark fantasies realized--and the drug gives you the perfect excuse to say, 'It wasn't me!'"

Candy's naked body slumped as the truth of her friend's words sunk in. "God, I am so fucked up!"

"No, you're not. You just need a little...release every now and then. Like bleeding the pressure out of a stressed valve."

Candy smirked and turned her head to look over her creamy-white shoulder at her friend. "Now you sound like an engineer. Maybe we should swap majors," she said with a laugh, then turned serious and sighed again. "So...you're saying that what I really need is a good...you know..."

"Well, every now and then, yeah. Who doesn't? Besides, who knows how long that Ecstamex is gonna float around in your system?"

Candy faced forward again, suddenly deadly serious. "It's gone. I'm sure of that."

"Oh, are you? Have you read any of Professor Pervy's papers on his wonder drug?"

"I don't need to," Candy insisted calmly. "I can tell. It's gone."

"Okay, you know best," Tori said, then stopped working on Candy's neck and shoulders. "Lay down again. I'll finish with your legs."

"Sounds like a plan," Candy said with a smile as she flopped her voluptuous body back onto the bed. She lay on her stomach again, relaxing and spreading her legs slightly.

Unseen by her, a slightly wicked smile crossed Tori's dark-chocolate colored lips. She moved to the foot of the bed and began to gently massage Candy's feet, one at a time.

"Mmmmmm..." Candy hummed, "...feels good..." Someone into all that new age stuff had told her once that there were connections in the feet to every part of one's body. When Tori massaged her feet, she believed it. Nothing else, and no one else, relaxed her more, and her friend knew it. Candy's naked body melted into the bed as Tori worked her dark fingers over her friend's tender feet over the next few minutes. Candy cooed and sighed as her closest friend took her to a level of relaxation she rarely attained.

When she finished with the foot massage, Tori gently placed Candy's feet on the bed and positioned herself between them, pulling apart the prone young woman's legs a little further. Tory placed one of her slender but strong hands on each of Candy's calves and began to work the muscles beneath the creamy skin.

"Ohhhhhh..." Candy moaned softly. Walking around campus all day and running after bad buys at night took its toll on her long, shapely legs. Tori's massage felt wonderful as it chased away the stiff, sore feeling that had settled into Candy's calf muscles.

"You like that?" Tori asked her in a low, soft voice.

"Mmmm-hmmm..." Candy responded in a pleased murmur.

"Just wait..." the young black woman told her. She pushed Candy's legs apart a little further, then inched forward on her knees between them. Then she began to work on Candy's thighs. The white woman gasped softly as her friend spread her dark fingers over the creamy-white flesh of her thighs and kneaded the aching flesh.

"Uuuuuuhhh..." Candy moaned contentedly. Tori gently pressed her thumbs against the inside of Candy's thighs, just above the knee, and slowly pushed them upwards towards the apex of her legs. "OOOOOOOOO!" Candy responded, "...you've never done that before..."

"You like?" Tori asked with a knowing grin.

"Yeah...do it again..." Candy didn't want to tell her friend, but the massaging of her inner thigh had...excited her, just a little. Only slightly, but it added to the pleasure of the sensation.

Tori moved her thumbs back into position at the base of Candy's thighs, her palms pressed into the backs of her upper legs, and slowly pushed upwards. This time, she gently brushed her thumbs against a few of Candy's soft brown pubic hairs when she reached the top of Candy's thighs.

"OOOOHHHHH..." Candy moaned. "That feels so good..."

Without waiting for her friend to ask, Tori once again ran her thumbs over the insides of Candy's thighs. Again, she gently teased the hairs around her friend's pussy.

"OHHHHHH GGGGGOD..." Candy cooed. Her pussy had begun to lubricate. Despite her body's relaxed state, her heart began to beat a little faster in her chest. Tori repeated her stimulation of Candy's thighs. "MMMMMMM..." Candy purred in response. She spread her legs a little wider. "Don't stop..."

"I won't, girlfriend," Tori murmured. She could smell Candy's pussy juice; she could also feel her own vagina lubricating. "I won't stop unless you tell me too," she said; it was an offer, but also a warning. She ran her thumbs up her friend's inner thighs yet again. This time, she brushed the tips of her thumbs over Candy's pussy.

Candy's back arched slightly in response to the soft caress of her nether regions. She inhaled sharply through her teeth. "YESSSSSSSSS..." she exhaled.

On her next run up Candy's legs, Tori grew bolder still and ran the top half of her thumb between Candy's pussy lips. The young superheroine pushed her head up at that; her mouth dropped open as she exhaled loudly. Yet again, Tori pressed her thumbs, fingers and palms into Candy's thigh muscles and pressed upwards, approaching the now-sodden pussy at their apex.

"OOOOOOOHHHH..." Candy moaned loudly, a huskiness in her voice. She arched her back slightly, lifting her ass up from the bed to provide her masseuse with better access to her privates. When Tori's fingers reached their ultimate destination this time, she pressed her right hand's fingertips against Candy's clit and began to massage the tender nub.

"OHHHHHH...GOD...YESSSSS..." Candy groaned, losing herself to the pleasure. She pulled her arms down from where they lay above her head. With her right hand, she grabbed hold of her right breast and began to knead the large mammary. With her left, she reached under her flat tummy and between her legs. She pressed her fingers over Tori's, forcing her friend's digits against her swollen clit. She gulped a breath, then began to breathe faster.

Tori allowed Candy's fingers to press hers against her roommate's swollen clitoris. Tori began to rock her hand back and forth, increasing and decreasing the pressure she applied. Candy responded by rocking her hips, humping her wet pussy against Tori's hand.

"OHHHH...OHHHH...OHHHH...TOREEEEE...," Candy called out, her eyes closed tight.

"I'm right here, girlfriend, right here..." the young black woman responded. She pressed her left hand under the waistband of her panties and began to rub her own pussy. It was already quite wet; it had been for some time. In fact, Tori had gotten turned on as soon as she'd started running her dark fingers over Candy's pale white flesh. Tori had loved that study in color contrast for years; she had given Candy massages since their teenage years, never confessing her true motivation for them. Now she had finally sensed an opportunity to reveal it, and she had taken hold of it...literally. "MMMMMMM..." Tori moaned as she began to masturbate, her eyes unable to tear themselves away from body of the beautiful white woman, her best friend, her confidante, her heroine. "Ohhhhh...Candy..."

"SO GOOD...OH GODDDDD..." Candy moaned into her pillow as her friend coaxed her towards orgasm. She squeezed her breast and flicked her thumb over her nipple. Her hips rocked faster and faster against her friend's hand.

"CANDEEEE...," Tori groaned as she felt her own climax rapidly approaching; it had been building since she'd started Candy's massage. "OH GOD...I...I'M GONNA...CUMMMMM..."

"YES!!" Candy cried ecstatically, her hips humping madly now, her body starting to bounce on the bed. "ME TOO...OH GOD...TOREEEE..."

"CANDEEEEE...UHHHHHHH!!!!" Tori groaned as her climax claimed her. Her hips rocked against her hand; her breasts bounced beneath her tank top as she came. "OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD!" she cried as each wave of pleasure washed over her.

Candy's breath caught in her throat momentarily. Her body suddenly froze. Then the orgasm exploded within her. "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!" she screamed as the first spasm tore through her. Then she began to she bucked wildly against her friend's hand as pleasure burst in her loins. "OHHHH!! OHHHH!! OHHHH!!!" she cried, her pussy discharging into Tori's hand.

Finally both women's orgasms came to an end and they rode down the last waves of ecstasy. Candy's body collapsed onto the bed and she lay on her tummy, panting, sweating, lost to the afterglow. Tori eased her hand out of her panties and away from Candy's soaked pussy. Panting, she ran her dark brown eyes over her friend's naked body. She had to see all of it. She reached for Candy's shoulder and pulled, rolling her friend over onto her back. Tori's eyes made a slow, lusty study of Candy's large breasts, heaving and gently bouncing on her chest as she struggled to fill her lungs; her flat tummy; her trimmed auburn pubic hair; her shapely legs, one straight, one slightly bent. Candy stared back at her friend, her eyes heavy-lidded, her mind blank after her powerful climax.

Then Tori collapsed on top of Candy, throwing her body over that of her friend. She moved her hands softly over Candy's large, beautiful breasts and smiled; she had wanted to touch those magnificent mounds for so many years. She looked at Candy's lovely face and saw her luscious, parted lips and couldn't resist. Tori pressed her thick, dark lips over her friend's and kissed her passionately. She tentatively pushed her tongue into Candy's mouth, and moaned with delight when Candy's tongue responded and twirled around her own. Tori broke the kiss and then ran a trail of smaller, enthusiastic kisses down Candy's chin, neck, and chest towards her right breast. Tori reached it and enclosed the pale pink areola and darker nipple in her mouth, sucking and licking avidly. Candy closed her eyes and moaned in response.

"Oh God...," Tori breathed as she released her friend's breast and looked down at her beautiful face. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this..."

"Tori..." Candy sighed, touching her friend's lovely, dark cheek. Suddenly, her eyes widened and her body stiffened. Her hand shifted down to her friend's shoulder, and she began to push her away. "TORI!" she exclaimed as the startling fact of what she had just done with her childhood friend hit her, full force. "OH MY GOD!!! What..." she stammered, her head shaking in disbelief.

"SHHH!! Shhh..." Tori shushed her friend, placing her right index finger Candy's lips. "Please, Candy, calm down."

"But...Tori...JESUS!!" Candy said, her brown eyes wide and glancing wildly around the room. "I just...I mean...I don't know what came over...JESUS!!"

Tori's face fell and, suddenly despondent, she looked away from her friend. "I'm sorry. Maybe I took advantage..." She pushed herself off of Candy and turned around, blinking away tears. "I'm sorry. I...I should go..."

Candy caught her friend's arm before she could stand. "Tori, wait!" Candy sighed heavily and ran her other hand through her hair. "Whatever just happened, you're...you're my best friend. I don't want to hurt you. Stay."

"You sure?" Tori asked quietly.

"Yes," Candy said, letting her hand slowly drop from Tori's arm. "Now...what the hell just happened?!"

Tori let out a soft, anguished laugh. "We made love," she answered.

"Uh, yeah, I caught that part. But...you and I...we're not lesbians...I mean, you date guys, I date guys...well, okay, not lately, but..."

Tori turned towards her friend. "I'm bi, Candy. Have been for years," she confessed in a soft voice.

Candy stared incredulously at her best friend. They had never kept secrets from each other, never. Or so she had thought. "What?! And you never told me?" she exclaimed, throwing her arms out. "Tori, we tell each other everything!! Christ, you're the only one I told about my powers, about my secret life..."

"Guess I had a secret life too," Tori said softly.

"You must have," Candy remarked. "How come I never saw you go out with any women?"

Tori shrugged her dark, slender shoulders. "I guess...'cause there was only one I ever wanted..." she murmured, giving her friend a sidelong glance.

Candy put her hands to her head and fell back onto the bed. "Oh. My. GOD." My best friend has had a crush on me since FOREVER, she thought incredulously. And I never knew. I never even noticed!

"You must be...so disgusted with me," Tori remarked, shaking her head and looking away from her lifelong friend.

"What?" Candy responded and sat up straight again. "No, Tori, no," she reassured her friend, placing her hands on her shoulders as if to prove her words. "I'm not. I'm just trying to understand all this. Okay. You're bi. I can live with that. You have a crush on me. I...can learn to live with that. But...how I responded..." Candy suddenly remembered something Tori had just said. "What did you mean...you 'took advantage'?" she asked, but without a hint of accusation in her voice. She was seeking understanding, not recrimination.

Nonetheless, her question made Tori shift uncomfortably where she sat on the bed. "I...I don't know. Maybe...that drug is still in your system. Maybe it made you respond the way you did. And maybe I wanted to see if it would."

Candy sighed softly. "I see. And this was your big chance to act on your crush..."

"Something like that," Tori muttered.

The two young women sat in silence for several moments, unable to speak or even look at one another.

"Maybe it wasn't the drug," Candy suddenly offered, her voice soft and gentle. Tori looked at her, her dark eyes hopeful, but said nothing. "Maybe...I do have, like you said, all this stuff in my subconscious I haven't dealt with, including some...bisexual urges. Maybe this whole incident with the Motormaster, and the drug, brought all that stuff up to the surface." She paused a moment as if gathering strength to say her next few words. "The rapes...they were...brutal," Candy confessed, her voice shaking a little. "...they hurt. Even if the drug made me enjoy them. But what you just did...it was so gentle..." the young heroine paused for a moment. "So maybe I responded that way because...because I liked it. Because, for the first time in a long time, someone I...care about...gave me pleasure."

Tori waited several very heavy seconds before responding. "Did you?" she finally asked, her voice quiet and anxious. "Like it?"

Candy looked at her friend and recalled the passion and the pleasure they had just shared. She couldn't help smiling, and nodded. "Yeah...it was..." she replied, holding her hand outspread and waggling it, "...pretty incredible," she finished. Then she smiled at Tori and giggled, a sound she'd shared with her friend for years.

Tori stared at her friend, then giggled softly as well. "It was, yeah," she agreed, smiling, "...pretty incredible." Her smile slowly faded. "So...I guess the question is...what now?"

Candy pursed her lips and blew an exasperated breath through them as she let her naked body fall back into the bed. "I don't know!! I don't know..." she moaned, rubbing her eyes. "I'm tired, it's late, I have classes tomorrow, I just had INCREDIBLE sex..." She looked at her friend...her lover?...beseechingly. "Can we talk about this tomorrow? Please?"

"Yeah. Sure," Tori said, nodding. "No big, girlfriend," she said with forced casualness, then stood up.

"Hey," Candy said, "where are you going?"

Tori stared at her roommate, her black brows furrowing. "Well...to my bedroom," she answered, pointing at the door and stating what she thought was obvious.

Candy shook her head, the auburn locks that framed her face swaying gently as she did so. "No. Stay. Please," she said, patting the bed gently. Often, when they were children and neighbors, they'd had sleep-overs at one another's' homes. They used to fall asleep in the same bed, cuddled together, often without pajamas in the dry summer heat of the high plains. They hadn't done that in years, not since the onset of adolescence and the oppressive peer pressure to behave "straight". But tonight, after all the recent upheaval in her life, Candy felt the need to snuggle her body against her friend's as they had during the innocence of childhood.

"Really?" Tori said, a smile broadening across her face.

"Really," Candy said, also smiling. She loved seeing Tori smile, she realized; the contrast of those white teeth shining in that dark face--beautiful, she thought. "Now, turn out the light, and, uh...lose those," she said with gentle insistence, casting a glance at Tori's tank top and panties.

Tori smiled even more broadly. "Okay," she said, and pulled off the tank top, revealing her pert breasts, her dark chocolate-colored areolas and nipples standing out against her milk-chocolate colored skin. Then she pulled down her panties and stepped out of them, exposing her neatly-trimmed patch of jet-black pubic hair. She turned and turned out the bedroom light, then climbed into Candy's bed. Tori turned onto her right side and pressed her naked back against Candy's body; Candy lay her head on her right arm and slid the left over her friend's side and around her tummy.

They nestled against one another like spoons; Tori could feel Candy's large breasts pressing softly against her naked back, and her friend's soft pubic hair against her behind; their legs intertwined, and she sighed contentedly. She placed her hand over the one Candy had placed on her stomach; she pulled Candy's hand up to her lips and kissed the palm softly, then nestled the hand between her breasts.

"I love you, Candy," Tori whispered.

"I know," Candy whispered back, a slight sadness in her voice, and gently kissed the back of Tori's neck.

As Tori dropped off to sleep, Candy lay awake, her mind tumbling with questions. Had it been the drug? Or am I bi like Tori? She wondered. If that's the case, do have weirder, darker desires that made me cum during the two rapes? Are Tori and I going to have a relationship? Are we already in one? Will it work out? What does all this mean to my career as a superheroine? If we broke up, or if I turn Tori down, can I trust her with my secret?

Candy sighed, exhausted, and decided to follow her own advice. Tomorrow, she told herself, tomorrow... Just before she fell asleep, she felt Tori wiggle against her as she slept, her friend's round behind rubbing gently against her own loins. Hmmmm...Candy thought as she dropped off, ...I could get used to this...

THE END

...of "Duster versus the Motormaster"

...but Duster will return! I'm not sure when, but I like this chick and have already developed several story ideas for her. She'll be back...someday...

And Motormaster... Motormouth might be a better name... will return as well. And boy, will he be pissed! I mean, putting a man into the hospital is one thing; putting him in prison is another; but stealing his prized leather overcoat? Duster, honey, you're gonna pay for that one...

Thanks for reading this far and not just stopping when you finished "the good parts". And for the handful of you who've been waiting faithfully for more material from me, thanks for your patience. Until next time, I remain...

Faithfully yours,

Dangerguy