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/parody, 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.
The young man's eyes fluttered open. He glanced up at the ceiling, then his brown eyes began to dart around the room, seeking something familiar. He found it in the chair next to his bed.
"Hey, Danny Boy," Billy said, smiling at his younger brother as he awoke.
"Hrrrmmm..." Danny groaned, then frowned groggily. He glanced at his older brother, confused.
"Take it easy," Billy told him mildly. "You haven't used those vocal chords in awhile. Here. Take a sip of water..." He held up a plastic covered cup with a straw to Danny's lips. The younger man took a sip of the cool liquid. "Not too much," Billy warned him.
Danny looked around the room and spotted another person. This one he didn't know, but immediately decided he wanted to. She was possibly the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen in his life. Tousled reddish-brown hair cascaded down onto her shoulders, framing an oval-shaped face. Slender brows arched back on her forehead over deep brown eyes. Beneath a delicate, slightly up-turned nose, a bow-shaped upper lip and slightly-thicker, pouting lower lip were curled into a gentle smile. Danny's eyes flicked downwards and his eyebrows rose when he saw that the girl was, as he and his buddies would put it, stacked like an IHOP breakfast.
"Hi, Danny," she said, her voice soft and pleasant. "I'm Candy."
"She's my girlfriend," Billy informed him quickly. "Got that?" he added with a smile and an arched eyebrow.
Danny glanced at the smiling beauty beside his bed, then back at his brother. "Mm-hmm," he murmured with a sigh. He coughed softly to clear his throat. "Where...where'd you meet..." he asked in a hoarse whisper.
"University," Billy told him.
Danny's brows rose slightly. "Guess I better...improve my grades, huh?"
Billy and Candy both laughed softly. Candy pushed her chair back and stood up. "I'm going to give you boys a little time together." She reached over and gave Billy's hand a squeeze. He looked up at her, his lips pressed together, his turquoise eyes shining. She smiled back and turned to go, blinking away her own tears as she left the hospital room.
Outside, her mother was addressing a small coterie of the local press. "...which is why we need universal health care. Not every injured boy is going to have a wealthy benefactor waiting to spring for an operation the insurance companies and HMOs will wriggle out of covering," she was asserting. She spotted her daughter, waiting patiently, out of the corner of her eye. "Now if you'll excuse me..."
The small scrum broke up, and Congresswoman Andrea Roberts walked over to Candy. She looked like an older, darker-featured version of her daughter. She had dark brown hair, almost black, that was carefully tousled like Candy's but shorter.
"How's he doing?" the older woman asked.
"He just woke up," Candy told her. "I left Billy alone with him. I thought they might have some things to talk about." She took a deep breath, and made sure the reporters were far enough down the hall. "So do we," she added.
Her mother's eyebrows rose slightly, then she smiled softly. "Shoot, kiddo," she said.
"I've decided to drop out of Engineering. For now," Candy told her, then shrugged. "You were right. It's too heavy a load. I can keep the credits I have and finish the degree later, when I've finished the one in Science."
Her mother nodded in approval. "I think you made the right decision. It's important to have some free time to...relax and socialize, isn't it?" she said with a sly, knowing smile. Her dark eyes glanced briefly but pointedly towards the door of the hospital room where Billy still sat with his brother.
Candy smiled abashedly. "Yes, mom...actually, that's the other thing I have to tell you. I'm going to be moving out again."
Andrea Roberts blinked in mild surprise as she caught her daughter's meaning. "Are you sure you want to do that? Don't get me wrong; I like him. He's a fine young man. It's just that you've only known him, what, less than a month?"
"I know, but...he's the one," she said confidently. "I just know it. Here," she said, placing her hand over her heart. "Like you did with Dad. I've...been through some things lately, and...he's helping me get through them."
Her mother's eyes softened and filled with concern. "Anything you want to tell me about?" she asked.
Candy smiled and shook her head. "Not just yet, mom. But someday. I promise."
Candy looked into her mother's eyes and saw the worry there, but also the sad realization that someone else was now closer to her daughter than she was. The fact that it was inevitable didn't make it any easier. Candy placed her arms around her mother's shoulders and embraced her. She felt her mother's arms squeezing her tenderly and took the comfort that she offered.
"All right then," Andrea Roberts said when they'd broken the embrace. "But I want to see you two over for dinner whenever I'm back in town. Got it?"
"Got it," Candy said with a smile.
"You got it, Tommy?"
"Y-yeah, Jimmy, I got it..."
The young skinhead, Tommy, shorter and more slender than his partner, patted the sawed-off shotgun beneath his battered leather coat. Since they made bail, he had wanted nothing more to do with Jimmy and his wild schemes. But Jimmy could be very persuasive--chillingly so. Tommy had resisted, but Jimmy won out. The threat of the older skinhead was very real. Meeting up with Duster again, while frightening to the young skinhead, seemed improbable, like having the same phenomenal dream twice in a row. Still, the young thug hesitated.
"Y-you sure about this Jimmy?" Tommy asked nervously. "I mean, armed robbery's one thing...but murder?"
"Will you quit bein' such a fuckin' pansy-ass wimp?!" Jimmy responded angrily. "Jesus! I told ya--we blow away the gooks, and they got no case. It ain't like that Duster bitch is gonna show up and testify. 'Sides, that's why we brought help," he finished with a nasty smile, nodding his shaved head at the back of the car.
Two more skinheads sat there, malevolent grins on their faces. The two thugs were a study in contrasts. One was huge and fat; the occasional lethargic blink of his eyes was the only sign that he was actually alive. The other was short and wiry, and animated by constant perverse giggles.
"We gonna kill us some gooks, huh? Heh-heh-heh!" the short one chortled, his features contorted by a sadistic grin. "My old man killed gooks. In 'Nam. Killed 'em dead. Heh-heh-heh!"
"Yeah, that's great, Bobby," Jimmy said, then turned forward and rolled his eyes. "Okay. Masks on." The four skinheads retrieved the cheap nylons from their laps and pulled the sheer stockings over their heads to disguise their features. They left the car and walked across the dark, empty side street off of Telegraph Road and entered the convenience store.
The shopkeeper's wife looked up from her Korean language newspaper and gasped. Her husband turned from where he was tidying a display of newspapers and reacted in a similar fashion.
"Hey!" Jimmy exclaimed in a friendly voice, "remember me? How ya doin'?" He pointed his shotgun at the Korean man and waved it towards his wife. "Behind the counter with your bitch. NOW!"
"Ding Dongs..." the fat skinhead muttered, and proceeded to help himself to the junk food the store offered.
Jimmy glanced back at him, frowned, then turned to face the shopkeeper, who still stood, like a statue, in front of the newspaper rack. "MOVE!!" he shouted.
The shopkeeper raised his hands and moved behind the counter, glancing at his wife nervously. He looked at the armed skinhead, then sighed and opened the till.
"Leave it, you slant-eyed fuck," Jimmy told him. "I ain't here for your fuckin' pocket change. I'm here for you."
Jimmy pointed his shotgun at the shopkeeper as the man gasped and his eyes went wide. The shopkeeper and his wife backed up until they were pressed against the wall behind the till. The skinhead pulled the trigger, and the shop filled with the explosive retort of the shotgun blast. The man's wife screamed, and Jimmy pumped the shotgun, pointed it at her, and let off another shot. Then he stood there in stunned silence.
"What the fuck...?" he said.
The Korean couple looked around in confusion. They looked down at their torsos, which should have been blown open and spurting blood, but their bodies were whole and intact. They looked at each other in a mixture of relief and amazement.
They gasped as a man clad completely in black, including a black hood over his head, walked right through the wall behind them, and through their bodies as well. He kept his eyes on the shocked skinheads, but placed his hands on the shoulders of the shopkeepers and gently but firmly pressed them down until they knelt on the floor behind the counter.
"Who...WHAT the fuck are you?!?" Jimmy shouted, pumping the shotgun again and pointing it at the man who had just walked through a wall.
"Your worst nightmare, you ugly fuck," the Black Phantom answered. He walked forward, passing right through the counter that separated him from the four thugs.
Jimmy screamed and shot at the black-clad apparition before him. The other skinheads fired their weapons as well. But the man kept coming as though they were firing blanks.
Tommy had had enough. Encountering the wind witch had been bad enough. Now a real live ghost had come to confront them! He dropped his sawed-off shotgun and ran from the store. The fat skinhead, similarly spooked, kept his weapon but followed close on Tommy's heels, moving faster than anyone had seen him do in years. Half-chewed chocolate cake spewed from his face as he ran.
That left Jimmy and the skinny psycho, Bobby. The latter ran forward towards the black-clad ghost, charging him and screaming, swinging the butt of his shotgun towards the man's hooded head. The Black Phantom pivoted back on his right heel and swept the rifle butt away with his open left hand. His right arm shot out and his forearm caught the scrawny skinhead across the throat, clothes-lining him. Bobby's gaunt legs flew up, kicking uselessly, and he fell on his back to the floor. The Black Phantom knelt down and knocked out the punk with a punishing right cross to his jaw.
While this was going on, Jimmy had taken the not-so-subtle hint and joined his comrades in retreat. He scrambled out through the shop door and ran across the street, back to the car, where Tommy and the fat thug were climbing inside. Jimmy tossed his shotgun in the back and, panicking, struggled to pull his keys from his pocket.
"Hurry!!" Tommy screeched. He looked across the street and saw the black-clad man striding purposefully towards them.
Jimmy grabbed his keys and climbed into the driver's seat. He glanced anxiously at the ghost who had confronted them. He had stopped, and was standing in the middle of the quiet street, his arms crossed across his chest. Jimmy didn't take any time to wonder why he'd ended his pursuit. He pushed the key into the ignition.
He never got a chance to turn it.
Without warning, the car lifted from the ground, spinning around its central axis as it rose into the air. The three skinheads screamed in terror as they saw the ground fall away and heard a violent whirlwind howling around them. Their bodies were thrown about inside the vehicle as it spun. Then the thugs screamed anew as they realized they were falling. The car smashed into the ground and bounced loudly on its wheels.
A moment later, Jimmy pushed his driver's side door open. He shakily pushed himself out of the car. Tommy and the fat skinhead were still inside, unconscious, but Jimmy didn't care. He just wanted to get away from this nightmare. He stood up and prepared to take off at a run when someone standing on top of the car kicked him in the head.
Stunned, the thug spun and fell to the ground, then rolled over and looked up. He gasped when he saw his attacker. There, standing on the roof of the battered car, was Duster. Her shapely legs were astride the car roof, shoulder-length apart. Her golden-gloved hands were clenched into fists and firmly pressed into her spandex-clad hips. Her long, dark brown leather coat hung off her slender shoulders, and was held open, its sides held back by her hands. The open coat revealed her voluptuous torso, the bright-green spandex singlet covering her magnificent breasts, the stylized winged D proudly atop and between them.
Duster's tousled auburn locks framed her lovely face. Her lips were pressed together into a grim line, and her jaw was clenched in anger. Her dark green visor concealed her eyes, but her opponent could sense the furious gaze that was locked onto him. He began to push himself back along the pavement.
"You again," Duster snarled. Her voice mixed equal parts anger and contempt. She jumped down from the car roof and landed at the skinhead's sprawled feet, her leather coat billowing and flapping behind her.
Jimmy reached into his leather jacket and pulled out a switchblade. Just as the knife snapped open, Duster lashed out with her right foot and deftly kicked the weapon away, out of his grasp. The thug whimpered despairingly as his weapon spun away across the asphalt. He scrambled back further and pushed himself to his feet. Duster kept slowly advancing on him. Jimmy took a step backwards and found himself pressed against a high chain link fence, the same one Duster and blown him against only a couple of weeks ago.
"S-stay away!" he shouted at her. "You fuckin' bitch! I got rights!"
"Do I look like a cop to you?" Duster asked in a low, menacing tone. "You think I give a damn about your rights?"
A fearful sob escaped the skinhead's lips. He took a step forward and threw a desperate punch at the superheroine. She easily side-stepped the blow, then drew her right leg up and drove her foot down into the criminal's lower leg. His shin broke with a sickening snap.
"GAAAAHHHH!!" the punk screamed as he fell, his hands grasping his shattered leg. Duster leaned down and grabbed the lapels of his leather jacket. She hauled him to his feet and threw him against the chain link fence as he screamed in agony. She reached up and tore the nylon from his face.
"Listen up and listen good, you ugly little snot," Duster snarled at him. She punctuated each sentence by rattling the fence with his slumping body. "Because you're gonna spread the word for me. High Plains City belongs to me. Got that? This is my town. All of it. Especially the Road. You tell your buddies, if they try to pull anything, I'll be there. So will my partner."
Shaking, his face covered with sweat, the skinhead looked at her fearfully. He then glanced over her shoulder and saw the tall, black-clad ghost who had begun the whole confrontation, and he gasped.
"Think you can remember that, messenger boy?" Duster asked contemptuously, a nasty smile on her lips.
The skinhead's frightened eyes returned to her determined face, and he nodded timidly. Duster threw him to the ground, making the thug squeal with pain and fear. She knelt down, bent his arms behind his back, and secured them with a plastic zip strip.
"You secured the other three?" Duster asked the Black Phantom as she stood up over the sobbing, quivering skinhead.
"Of course. Called the cops too," he told her.
"Good," Duster said, her tone even and businesslike. She began to walk away from the scene, the Black Phantom at her side. She glanced at him, then frowned. She couldn't see most of his face, since the hood covered it, but she could tell by the slight wrinkling of the skin at the corners of his eyes that he was smiling. "What are you so happy about?" she asked, a slight smile coming to her own lips.
The Black Phantom glanced at her, his turquoise eyes giving her spandex-clad form an affectionate once-over. "You're beautiful when you're angry," he told her. Duster stared at him for a moment, then laughed softly, as did he.
"You want to know something?" Duster said slyly a moment later.
"What?"
"I don't know what it is," Duster drawled, "but fighting crime...it gets me hot."
The Black Phantom stopped dead in his tracks and looked at her. Duster stopped as well, and turned to look back at him, a teasing smile on her lips.
"Really," he said.
"Really," she repeated in a husky voice with a gentle nod. Her hands left her hips; she spread her gloved fingers out over her naked, milky-white thighs. Her tongue darted out of her mouth for a moment to lick her bow-shaped upper lip. She took a deep breath that made her spandex-clad breasts rise and fall on her chest.
The Black Phantom coughed. "You, uh, you want to go somewhere and..." he began to ask her, his voice tight and heavy with sudden need.
"We really should wait for the cops. Give statements, that sort of thing," Duster said, her tone suddenly businesslike again. She raised her arms and crossed them beneath her breasts.
Her partner stared at her silently for a moment, his blue-green eyes intense. "Damn you, Duster," he muttered in a low, frustrated tone. "Damn you to hell."
Duster let a girlish, teasing giggle--uncharacteristic for her, but not for Candy Roberts--escape her lips. "You just keep that motor running, lover," she told him. "The night is young, and so are we," she concluded, then turned and walked back towards the convenience store. The Korean storekeepers were looking out at their saviors in awe.
The Black Phantom watched her walk away, noticing that she seemed to be swaying her behind just a little bit more than usual. He let a long, frustrated sigh out. Then he shook his head, laughed softly, and followed her.
"Hey! It's Cap'n Kidd!"
"Nice gams, dude!"
"Avast, matey!"
The Motormaster did his best to ignore the catcalls of his fellow prisoners as he limped along the corridor, led by two prison guards, his arms in chains, as he returned to his cell. His dark brow was furrowed. His handsome but cruel face winced with pain every time he placed his weight on his right leg; the stump, just above where his ankle used to be, was still raw from the amputation, and the cheap prosthesis they'd given him made it ache.
The guards led him into his cell, removed the chains, and closed the heavy barred door. The Motormaster glared across the corridor at the cell opposite.
"Pervy, you miserable little fuck," he snarled, "you didn't tell me what electricity does to your MetaMute crap!"
"Didn't I?" Professor Percival Purves said nonchalantly, his bald head looking up from the book he was reading. "Well, I guess that's just the sort of thing that slips your mind when some ignorant thug is holding you face-down in a toilet bowl."
"You little bastard!" the Motormaster shouted. "I'll get you for this!!"
"You'll have to catch me first, peg-leg," Pervy said with a smug smile, then returned his attention to his book.
"Hey, Motormaster!" one of the other prisoners shouted from his cell. "Maybe next time, Duster'll poke one a yer eyes out! Then you can get an eye patch and a parrot, and change your name to 'The Pirate King'! BWA-HA-HA-HA!!"
"BWA-HA-HA-HA!!"
"BWA-HA-HA-HA!!"
The sound of prisoners' mocking imitation of the Motormaster's carefully-honed supervillain laugh echoed throughout the cell block. The Motormaster turned back into his tiny cell and collapsed onto its hard metal bunk. He sat there, glaring at the cold concrete wall, his dark eyes blazing with fury.
"I'll get them for this," he muttered, "I'll get them both...if it's the last thing I do..."
of Duster: The Return of the Motormaster
but Duster and the Black Phantom will return in:
"Duster: Professor Pervy's Revenge"
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