Chimera

by Mr. K

 

1.

 

The woman took hold of Dark Moon's throat and squeezed. She used both hands. She used her full strength and rage. She lifted Dark Moon off the ground with that choke, that powerful choke, and pinned her to the bathroom wall. Manicured delicate, and slender, her hands had an unearthly power. They closed like a vise, denying passage to the air and the blood that struggled to travel up Dark Moon's neck. She was smaller than Dark Moon, but her sinewy frame was enough to raise the Puerto Rican heroine up and strangle her.

 

This was the second heroine she had to choke that night. Only and hour or two before, she had to strangle Night Star, with a cable. She hanged her, actually, wrapping a metal cord around the red head's tender throat and dangling her over the side of a bridge. She waited until the curvaceous woman, in her black body stocking stopped struggling, then she dropped her over the edge, and into the murky water below.

 

Now, she was grinning ear to ear as another woman in black was dying in her hands. This one wore a black nylon body stocking also, only it was like pantyhose nylon. She wore black, glossy, high-heeled leather boots instead of the stocking feet of Night Star. She was caramel and dark-haired instead of snowy and henna, but she would fall in defeat just the same.

 

Dark Moon raised her muscular legs, only to realize how weak she was, and how squeezing this vicious red head with her thighs was an impossibility. Blood pounded in her ears, and weakness flooded her lean, muscular body. Those powerful, long, athletic legs in black nylon grew heavy and sluggish.

 

The dark one was weakened already from the beating she endured that night, all through the house, and could give little resistance as the lithe, red head closed her windpipe. The strangler took a step back, tightened her grip, and pulled the nylon-clad woman away from the wall. There was the red head's perfect, crystal moment, there was her gift for the evening: she was holding Dark Moon up above her head, by the heroine's throat, crushing the heroine's throat, and carrying her to the full hot tub.

 

Sinewy, feminine muscles flexed below the emerald green of the woman's body stocking as she squeezed with superhuman strength and forced against the curvaceous Latina in black nylon. Dark Moon's eye lids sliding down, her brain lulling to sleep for lack of oxygen, the ruby-lipped heroine could only make a feeble defense as her foe plowed her over the edge of the churning hot tub. Black hair flew out in a web, and then closed in a sodden veil around her face as Dark Moon was pushed down below the fragrant water.

 

Navalha , the woman in green, didn't care for water, and did a fine job of keeping herself on the side of the tub and, for the most part, dry as she pressed Dark Moon to the bottom of the Jacuzzi. There was no need for her to get soggy killing this raven-haired frill. Only her muscular arms were submerged as she harnessed everything that she had left and closed off the other woman's air supply. She couldn't help but smile as she looked through the water at the dying woman's face. This is how it finally ends, she thought. This is what Dark Moon deserves.

 

Maroon-shaded eyelids of the drowning woman were slowly shutting, and tiny bubbles were escaping from between bright red lips. Soon, her hands sank away from the other woman's arms, and floated on top of the frothing water. I'm dying, she thought as the curtains were drawn around her mind.

 

There was no panic on her face. Her eyes closed.

 

Navalha released Dark Moon's throat, and sat back on the bathroom floor. Strangling the heroine felt good. Beating her had felt good. Using Dark Moon's body to destroy this house felt good.  But that wasn't why she came to this place. All of this fighting was fun, but she still had work to do. She had to find the laptop.

 

She stood, looking once over her shoulder at the dark form below the water. The woman had fought well for the brief moment that Navalha allowed her to, but now she was as beaten as her friend who was stretched out in the hallway. As she left the bathroom, she took a moment to smile down at Night Star's prone form, then continued on. This bitch was tough also; she had survived her hanging and her plunge into the Cyrus River, only to show up at this mansion in a feeble attempt to stop her.

 

Again, she had to defeat Night Star. Then there was Dark Moon, backing her up. She also had to be defeated.

 

Only minutes before she strangled Dark Moon, when Navalha had  slipped through a window of the mansion and started looking for the professor's laptop, she figured it would be an uncontested break-in. It would be in and out. She would take the laptop that held The Birthright, and she would vanish. The scientist who lived in this overly posh place, the scientist who discovered The Birthright, would have his wine and his hot and toddle off to bed without ever knowing that she was there.

 

She had come to get that laptop. She had come for the Birthright. She would have the key to her existence on Earth.

 

And she had it in her hands when Dark Moon came out of the shadows.

 

Dark Moon was taller than Navalha had expected, but aside from that, she was just about right. She was an athlete. Striking, sinewy definition stood out in her lithe, long-limbed body. Her body was ripe, and her muscles like feminine, steel rope.  Navalha could even seen the tight, hard, sculpted abs below the skin-tight nylon. She had heard that Dark Moon was a consummate martial artist, and there was a twinge of fear when she saw the conditioning in the Latina's body.

 

That twinge of fear must have been what caused her to psychically summon her the rest of her family. That twinge caused her to go through The Phases, one by one.

 

Like her, though, Dark Moon still looked feminine and lush. She was large-breasted and flared out in the hips. A thick wave of jet-black hair poured down past her shoulders. Even in that dim room, it had a gloss and a blue-black sheen. Her lips were like that too, deep red and glinting moistly in the darkness.

She wore a body suit of semi-opaque nylon. It was like a second skin of pantyhose material, but Navalha knew that it was a super-strong polymer. Her high-heeled boots and opera-length gloves were also something more than the shiny, black leather that they appeared to be.

 

She didn't speak a word as she moved to disrupt the flow of Navalha's plans, as she moved to take the birthright.

 

There were stories about how fast she was, but Navalha had always written them off to just that--stories.  That was why she was caught off-guard. She was wide-open as Dark Moon launched a kick into her ribs, lifting her off her feet and slamming her against the bookshelf. There was a moment of panic in her head as she realized that the scientist--the keeper of the birthright--was now running down the hallway to see what the crash was...and Dark Moon was touching the laptop. She was touching the Birthright.

 

"No!" Navalha shouted, tumbling forward into an acrobatic capoeira kick. She did a handspring and planted both feet into the sculpted and toned midsection of Dark Moon. The heroine let out a painful exhalation. Now it was her turn to pitch backwards. The wiry bathrobe-clad old man appeared in the doorway of his study just in time to see the dark-haired woman crash down on his 18^th Century globe.

 

He was too shocked to speak.

 

The women clashed again, Dark Moon sweeping with a low knee-down spin kick, while Navalha leapt into the air to avoid it. They both came to standing again, and faced each other.

 

As Dark Moon moved again, time slowed down.

 

Time slowed down for Dark Moon. There was a flash that came from Navalha's eyes, and Dark Moon was moving to attack her foe with all the swiftness of syrup. She wasn't frozen, but was moving so slowly that the rest of the world seemed to fly around her in a frenetic panic. She struggled to comprehend the blur of action that surrounded her.

 

That was Navalha's power. She could alter time in a concentrated bubble around you. It would last for only a matter of seconds, but it would be enough to finish off this voluptuous interloper. She struck with a high front kick, hitting Dark Moon on the point of the chin. She shot another, lower, that plowed into the dark one's middle section. Then a right hook. Then a left hook. Then a flurry of doubled-fisted blows to the middle of her back. 

 

She grabbed Dark Moon's arms, lifted, and flipped her down on to a table, shattering it.

She grabbed Dark Moon's arms again, and smashed another table.

And again, into a bookshelf.

And again, into another bookshshelf.

 

Time went back to normal for Dark Moon.

 

Dark Moon collapsed in a painful groaning heap, her body convulsing from multiple blows that fell on her as Navalha beat her.

 

The woman in green slowed time again.

 

Dark Moon was helpless as Navalha took hold of her ankles lifted them, and clasped them together. She took a moment to look at the soft, glossy leather of the boots, and the thick muscles of the curvy nylon legs.

 

"Dark Moooon," she whispered to the stunned woman. "You die tonight."

 

Almost effortlessly, the red head pulled, and whipped and swung the tan-skinned woman in black like a rag doll. Antiques and delicates gave way as the Dark Moon became a missile. She ended up on the shattered remains of a desk, face-down and spread eagle. She released a low sigh, her eyes open, but vacant.

 

Time returned , then slowed again as the woman who was defeating Dark Moon clamped one hand down in a grip on the Latina's wrist, and the other on her ankle. She heaved and slung Dark Moon across the room. Another bookshelf gave way.

 

The perplexed scientist watched, agape, as the lithe red head in her shimmering green body glove took hold Dark Moon's thick, black hair. She pulled the caramel-skinned woman's head up off the floor, enjoying the slack weight of her foe's semi consciousness state. She pulled back a hand in a text book reverse punch, and slammed her knuckles into the base of Dark Moon's skull. Her eyes gone dull, her full lips pouting senselessly, she blacked out.

 

"Do you see my powers, Creator? Do you see how powerful I am? Look me! I came through the gate! Your gate!" the victor called out to the old man.

 

Navalha looked up at the scientist. "Creator...?"

 

The old man had fled. Tears welled in her eyes. She looked down at the helpless woman in black nylon. Her bitterness flowed.

 

With one hand, she grabbed a tangled nest of black hair and coiled it tightly around her fist. The full-lipped Latina could offer nothing as her captor dragged her limp body down the hallway. Lost in a senseless haze, she could not see the prone form of Night Star stretched in the hallway. The redheaded heroine was on her back, face placid and body limp. Her shimmery  black cat suit camouflaged her to the shadows, but Navalha knew that the woman's big nipples were hard, and her vulva wet and swollen. Both black-gloved hands massaged the mound between her thighs. She would be of no help to the beaten Dark Moon.

 

Navalha took Dark Moon to the bathroom. That was where she strangled and drowned Dark Moon.

 

Navalha had disappeared into the darkness of the house by the time a soaked and coughing Dark Moon painfully crept over the rim of the tub. Her head still spun, and her body seemed to glow with pain. She rolled to the bathroom floor with a moan and a wet thud.

 

She allowed herself a heartbeat to feel the pain and frustration of her beating, then she moved her to feet and continued after the woman. She dragged herself out of the bathroom and into the hall.

 

That was where she met the girl.

 

She looked like the college-aged daughter of a DAR member. Her plaid skirt, fuzzy sweater, and bob haircut actually brought a calming affect over Dark Moon.

 

"I am Jennifer. Be my lover, Dark Moon," she said.

 

Almost instantly, Dark Moon gasped and tilted her head back. Her hands clutched at her suddenly swollen crotch and the feeling of a female tongue licking her from clit to asshole drove a tremor through her body. A spray of water leapt from her hair as she flung her head forward, then back again.

 

That invisible female mouth, those ripe, phantom lips wrapped around her clit and slowly began sucking. It wasn't so hard that it hurt; it was just hard enough to douse her in sex and drain her. She felt her legs trembling, and her crotch flooding.

 

"You love that, Dark Moon. You want nothing more than to have your pussy eaten all day, every day, by women."

 

At that moment, it was the only truth of her life. Again, her eyes became drowsy, and her brain slipped into a languid lesbian revelry.  She felt her muscles go slack in the wet nylon as she mused over every woman she'd had. She remembered with joy the time Gold, under the mind control, ate her pussy for an audience of the Congregation. They had a great time with Gold, making her walk with her arms out in front of her like a zombie in some B horror film. They made her unmask herself, go to her knees, and crawl like a dog on the shag carpet.  After toying with her, they got down to business, having her kneel in front of a tightly bound and gagged Dark Moon, and extend her tongue. She ate Dark Moon for hours.

 

She thought about Succubus' forked tongue and thick, red lips working with a smooth, drooling rhythm as she spread Dark Moon's  labia open on the night that she captured her. Succubus had lured Dark Moon in by assuming the heroine's identical form. There she stood in front of Dark Moon, a complete identical copy of the heroine. How could the Latina vixen keep herself from following a perfect copy of herself across the city roof tops?

 

"Succubus trapped you that night. Tricked you and trapped you...."

 

"Yesssss."

 

"And then she had you."

 

Dark Moon's pussy trembled when she thought about the chains Succubus used to fetter her, binding her wrists, wrapping her arms, collaring her, and holding her legs apart. Her pussy trembled when she remembered the villainess' tongue on her clit.

 

 

She remembered captivities that ended with women using her, each one coming back to her as a celebration rather than a defeat.

 

Soon, it became a montage of the women who gave her head. She lived for women and their succulent mouths on her cunt.

 

She remembered the blond, villainous Boa lapping wildly during the time that she held Dark Moon captive in her suburban home. Tied to a bondage rack, she struggled and screamed as Boa devoured her while her beer-drinking CPA hubby watched.

 

She went back to the League of the Black Cat taking turn after succulent turn. They had her pinned down with layer after layer of cruelly tightened Japanese shibari bondage. It was tight around her tits. It held her arms behind her back. It held her legs in a wide sprawl. They had decided not to crotch rope her so that each woman in the latex-clad group could lick through her nylon crotch, play with the swollen lips of her cunt.

 

She swooned.

 

When the explosion finally met Dark Moon's brain, she buckled, she screamed, and ended up a heap on the carpet. Wet hair covered her face like a spider's web. Her screams and cries echoed up the stairwells of the mansion. Meager light glinted on wet nylon.

 

Only a few minutes passed while the dazed woman lay in the hallway, her mind spinning, but it seemed like an eternity of recollection. Her body reacted over and over to every memory of women who had used her body.

 

When she had collected her mind and her wits, she started to stagger into the darkness, one hand against the wall to support herself.

 

In a few paces, around the corner, stumbling , she met the young man.

 

He looked like a frat boy in his sweatshirt and jeans, his sloppy hair in a mess over half his face. In that posh, rich hallway he looked so out of place that Dark Moon gave into sheer confusion.

 

He was standing over Night Star's fallen body. The other heroine had come into the fight at the same time as Dark Moon, and was now also defeated.

 

"I am Jeremy. Be my lover, Dark Moon. Be my lover as Night Star has."

 

She looked down at the fallen heroine in black. Night Star. Her body, sculpted like a dancer's or a gymnast's, was sprawled out on the carpet. Her red hair was a wild swirl around her head. She was moaning and masturbating wildly through the crotch of her second-skin, black, footed, body stocking.

 

He raised his glowing hands.

 

Dark Moon shuddered and gasped, arching her back forward, as hands...the feeling of hands...the force of hands...pulled her buttocks apart. Nothing tore the nylon, but something touched her skin and opened her up. Two big, strong invisible hands spread her ass cheeks wide.

 

There was nobody behind her, but she would swear forever that two cruelly powerful hands were prying her tan ass cheeks open and exposed her. She felt another invisible hand grab hold of her hair, pulling her forward. It dragged her to her knees and pulled her down in an arch, her forehead touching the floor.

 

A finger...a digit of another invisible hand...pressed against the pucker of her asshole, then slowly and smoothly slipped inside. A ripple when through her body and she clawed at the floor. She screamed.

 

"That is what you like, isn't it Dark Moon? Your ass is very sensitive, and you love stimulation there. Isn't this what Ceasar did to you?"

 

Ceasar. She went cold. Her face flushed with anger, confusion, and pleasure as this young lethareo exposed Maria Cruz's erotic secrets. He had found a way into her brain, into her memories, and was wielding them against her.

 

He made her remember big hands searching her body, pushing her legs apart, and roughly probing between her thighs. He made her remember her greatest defeat.

 

"Isn't this what your lover did to you back in Puerto Rico? You loved being defeated by him."

 

She shivered there in the hallway, recalling what a gift it was to be beaten and fucked by Ceasar Escobar, who wore his high-powered body armor and fought like an animal, that night during their first and last battle. Her sore pussy was throbbing again. She couldn't help but beam as she recalled a big, armoured finger smoothly working its way up her ass. She shook her head, and tried to recall revulsion and anger, but smiled again as she remembered the cold steel of a mechanical cock extending deep into her.

 

"Isn't this what he did to you?" the young man asked again.

 

She remembered the way he lifted her and crushed her against his body, she struggled for air as two massive arms began to compress her body, and former lover whispered to her.

 

"I love you."

 

He shoved his tongue into her mouth as he crushed her  into unconsciousness. That was a fleeting memory. What she really recalled fondly was the way he dealt with her ass. She remembered waking up in captivity, trying to fight him, and being beating over and over until she was listless as he dragged her down to the beach.

 

"I always wanted you on a beach in the moonlight."

 

This Jeremy, this young man in the mansion hallway, made her recall how easily Ceasar rolled her on to her belly, and lifted her hips. He made her recall, with joy, the sound of the villain's armor powering up. There was a pause, then a cold, slick index finger pushed right through her body stocking.

 

He gave her a finger up the ass, all the way to the last knuckle.

 

Next, he gave her his armored, enhanced cock, driving the big, metal vibrating tool deep up her backside.  He gripped her hips, proclaimed his love for her, and gave the tan heroine thrust after thrust. When the time was right, he yanked himself out, spun her around, and shot the sticky, white cum substitute in her face. It shot with the power of a garden hose. It blinded her, coating her face.

 

Years after it happened, this Jeremy, whoever he was, made her remember Ceasar taking her ass, and she reared her head back and screamed in that hallway.

 

The feeling of Scorpio, not the svelt Asian heroine, but her malevolent, red-clad twin brother, came back to her. She glowed at the recollection of his hands around her throat, cutting off her air and blood, as he mashed a huge stiff dick against her nylon-covered thigh. That tingle of exhilaration ran through the backs of her legs as she rejoiced in the memory of his big, muscular body on top of hers.

 

"You're recalling the male Scorpio twin, aren't you?" the young man said. His voice seemed to echo, filling the whole hallway, then it became concentrated in her clit.

 

"He used a pheromone on you."

 

He did. Years before her defeat in the mansion hallway at the hands of Jeremy, she became a slack-jawed slave as Scorpio released a wave of pheromones. He stood up, she rolled onto all fours, and slowly began pressing her ass back against his big prick. He held her hips in place, let his prick loose, and spread her thighs a bit more. She was already wet and soaking through her costume.

 

At that moment, right there, crumbled at the floor in front of the young man, she was overjoyed to be manhandled by a big, sweaty guy. A man. Big hands. A cock. She was meant for this. She was a slave to cock.

 

She was still bent over on the floor when two more hands grabbed her breasts, pushing them up and together.

 

"That's how you like it, right? You can have orgasms just from your breasts, they're so sensitive."

 

The force that pushed her breasts in and up was something overwhelming. It sent powerful tremors down the backs of her legs and she felt her orgasm rushing to meet her.

The hand that gripped her hair yanked down harder and twisted. He knew this also; she loved having her hair roughly pulled during sex.

 

Moving with a smooth, powerful motion, two fingers pressed into her pussy and spread the big lips apart. Dark Moon's large, dark, thick-lipped pussy gushed and quivered as invisible fingers opened her up. When the invisible finger entered her, she came instantly.

 

Her face contorted, her red lips curled back curled back, the heroine screamed and screamed again against the floor. The hands persisted, squeezing, moving, pulling and pressing until the Latina woman lay convulsing and moaning in the aftershocks of her life's most powerful orgasms.

 

Already soaked from the bath, her vagina juices joined the slickness of her wet nylon. She didn't pass out, but floated on the powerful current of her sex as the young man walked away.

 

How much time passed before she could rise and walk? She would never be able to say, but her legs were still weak and trembling when she stood and continued on. She had no idea if the woman who beat her, or the if the woman who seduced her, or if the man who violated her were still in the house. Enfeebled and drenched, she would continue the search.

 

Where was that laptop?

 

What was it?

 

Who were these people?

 

What was this thing about coming through a gateway?

 

She did her best to drag herself through the maze of the house. There was art, pottery, beauty and culture of all sorts decorating the house. It was the sort of place that she would have loved. But her body was still wracked with pain, and quivering with lust. She still had to figure out who these people were, and what was going on. She had started off simply following the villain Navalha, then trying to stop her in what appeared to be some sort of industrial theft.

 

She thought it was just a matter of stopping Navalha from carrying out a bit of mischief for hier.

 

Now she had been beaten and controlled over and over again.

 

She staggered around the corner, pushing hair out of her face, and met Domden.  The eyes were the first thing that struck her; his eyes reminded her of Jeremy's, which reminded her of Jennifer's. Something clicked in her mind, just as Night Star collided with her. Night Star's shapely body soared down the hallway like a missile, head first, and crashed into the nylon-sheathed woman. She had been thrown like a missile. The redhead had been launched like a missile . Both heroines ended up a jumble of beaten costumed women on the floor. Neither was out yet, but they were exhausted and dazed. Night Star's head rested against Dark Moon's amble bust. Dark Moon's right leg was wrapped around Night Star's waist, and Night Star's legs were spread and bent at the knees. Arms were draped in limp, angles, and two beautiful faces were masked in tangled black and red hair.

Trying to ignore the pain that plagued her body, Dark Moon looked up to see the man, the massive, massive man.

 

He was huge, shapeless man, towering over six feet tall. He was covered in hair, which poked out from around the straps and snaps of the black, leather SM gear that he wore. His face, his whole head, was shrouded in a tight, zipper-mouthed leather hood. He breathed hard through the zipper.

 

Dark Moon could see his eyes.

 

He reached down, taking hold of Night Star's right ankle, and dragged her off of Dark Moon. She moaned, but did nothing as the big man took control. He reached down to the floor lamp, yanked the cord out of the wall, then tore it from the lamp itself. Roughly, he grabbed her ankles pinned them together, and bound them tightly with swift, angry motions.

 

Dark Moon could only watch as he found another cord and did the same to the woman's wrists. White cord stood out against the black stockings and black-gloved wrists of Night Star. He rolled her on to her front and hogtied her. Tight Hard. He rose, stood over Dark Moon, and unzipped his hood's mouth.

 

"This will be the forth time I defeated you tonight. You thought that because there were two of you that you could just walk over me? Keep me from what I most desire? Keep me from my birthrite?"

 

Dark Moon was barely able to muster a question. "What...do...you...mean? Who...are...?"

 

"I am the Domden. I am the body breaker."

 

He laid his hands on her body. He touched her just below the ripe curve of her breasts, and Dark Moon was screaming again. It wasn't sex and shame this time. It was the razor's edge of a world of pain. Not a single cell in her body was damaged, but as far as her brain was concerned, her ribs were being pulverized. Not just broken, but crushed to a pulp, rebuilt, and crushed again. It was all illusion, but that was enough.

 

These were desperate screams that erupted from the red mouth.

 

"Beg for mercy, and I will stop."

 

He was running his hands up and down her body now, 'breaking' bones, 'shredding' organs.

 

"Listen, you whore, be the smart one. Gold nearly died at my hands, and all she had to do was say 'enough'. Bora and Cold Front, stupid mother and daughter, those whores also nearly died because they would not give up to Domden. Can you hear yourself  screaming?"

 

She could.

 

She felt surrender bubbling up in her just as her body reached his threshold, and then the blackness took her.

 

Dark Moon would never see what Domden did with Night Star. She would never know that this bout with defeat and unconsciousness would not be her last defeat. She would stay there, on her back in the yet another hallway of the drafty house, aching, and wondering if she had ever felt so badly defeated.

 

She wondered if she could even stand. She tried to put the questions out of her head. The strange things said, the strange beings...she would let it all go for now. She had to keep searching, and striving to bring them to justice.

 

"Upstairs," she whispered aloud.

 

Waves of pain ripped her as she tried to stand. This was worse that the time Ms. V embedded her with The Pain Giver.

 

She clung to the banister like life itself and practically dragged herself, one leather-booted step after another, up the stairs. Her pussy and ass still tingled, and the muscles and bones still ached. Who were these people? How had her attempt to thwart a simple cat burglar turned into something so strange?

 

 

Dark Moon continued to climb.

 

The man who met her at the top of the stairs had gentle eyes and spoke softly. He was dressed in a business suit, but had a fatherly manner about him. He was grey and Dark Moon hung on his every word.

 

He spoke, and she was transfixed.

 

"She beat you. She hurt you. Look at you, beautiful girl, you're soaked. Look at how your hair is matted to you. And then that fellow knew every single one of your sexual desires. He made short work of you. You weren't much of a heroine there, eh? This has been a hard night for you, Dark Moon."

 

Dark Moon considered making a fist, but couldn't make the muscles work together to do so. She lost interest in it, and found herself gazing into the eyes of the grey-haired man. He was like a professor, or a best friend's dad. She felt warm come over her, and the idea of pursuing the woman in green, or her two lovers, or the massive body breaker bled away.

 

"So tired," she whispered.

 

She was suddenly aware of the weight of her soaked mane, and the hardness of her nipples in the cold house. Her pussy seemed to moan. She suddenly felt cold and exhausted from the defeat.

 

"She escaped, Dark Moon, and so did he. They all did.  They took the plans that were in that laptop, and they escaped. Even if you had been able to catch her, she would have beaten you again."

 

Suddenly, she felt every bruise from the beating, and wondered if she would ever recover. She imagined going back to her apartment, alone, to wrestle with the pain and the cold, and the humiliation.

 

"Are you tired, Dark Moon?"

 

She watched his lips, and swayed with the words.

 

"So tired," she replied.

 

He nodded at her black body stocking.

 

"Hang yourself. Use that costume of yours to do it. Leave the boots and gloves on , and stuff your hair in your mouth; I don't want to hear the strangling noises. I want you in just boots and gloves, your crotch shaven, and your costume used as a rope to hang you. Go ahead." He looked around. "With all of these winding staircases and beams you should have no trouble finding a place. Oh, shave your crotch. Don't forget to shave your pussy. There's an old straight razor in the guest bath."

 

Robotically, the beaten Latina heroine climbed the stairs, and found her way to the small guest bath. She would have noted the sweet-smelling soap, and pretty flowers, had her mind been her own. But , she was a puppet. She was single-minded.

 

Meticulously, Dark Moon removed her gloves and boots, then stripped herself of the nylon skinsuit. The costume. The body sheath that made her Dark Moon, fell in a wet heap at her feet. Naked, her eyes empty, she reached down and pulled her boots and gloves back on.

 

It would look best this way.

 

She quickly focused on the open straight razor that lay on the sink. Perfect. She had a seat on the toilet, in front of the mirror.

 

It would look best this way.

 

She reached into the sink, soaped her gloved hand with the floral soap that rested in the soap dish, and lathered her thick, black bush with slow circles. She seldom trimmed or shaved her nether regions, so her delta was wild and hairy. When there was enough foam coating her crotch, she brought the gleaming, straight edge down to kiss her soapy, brown skin. She took one, long scrape, then another, watching as curly, black hair gathered on the sharp line of the razor. Again. Again.

 

Her mind rolled back to when she was captured by Gloria Sullivan, the gorgeous red- haired industrialist /crime boss. This was back when she wore a body suit and hips boots, her thighs remaining bare. Gassed unconscious, dragged up to her enemy's bedroom, and tied spread-eagle on Gloria's bed, she watched as the beautiful woman in lingerie pulled the material away from her captive's crotch, and went to work with a straight razor.

 

"My girls have to be smooth," she cooed. She was already wearing a strap-on. Unable to struggle free of the bonds, she could only watch, breathing against her leather gag, as the criminal queen made her crotch smooth with a straight, sharp edge.

 

Now Dark Moon went to work on herself in the same manner. Whoever the man was, he had tapped into the darkest side of her mind, and she was now doing his bidding. Soon, there was wet, smooth, brown skin where there had been a thick, coarse, black muff.

 

Once her pussy was shaven, she rose and walked out to finish the job.

 

Her big, black nipples were hard in the cold house's air. Her wet hair lay matted against the caramel skin of her back, sending a chill through her. She absorbed it indifferently. Her mind was elsewhere.

 

There was a certain joy, something she never experienced before, as she worked the costume in her hands, knotting and coiling it into a short, thick nylon noose. She wandered a bit, then decided that the upper railing of the big winding staircase was the best place to end it all.

As she tied one end to the sturdy wooden banister, she thought about all of those years of pain. She remembered first learning the magic, she remembered all of the fights, the defeats, and the pain and loneliness that came even with victories. She could have been married with children if she'd been an average woman.

 

Again, her mind took a trip back to an earlier defeat. Ropemaster. He had tried to string her up. He had hanged her once, not that long ago.  She struggled and fought against having the noose placed around her neck that night. She threw him and struck back, even with the drug that he'd used on her slowly dulling her senses. She broke her bonds twice, before falling to icy rooftop.

 

She was still awake, but helpless, as he fit the noose around her neck. He tied the other end to the railing of the fire escape.

 

That night, a villain almost succeeded in hanging her. This night, a villain drove her to do it herself, and he was victorious. 

 

She fit the noose around her own neck.

 

She gathered up her hair, pulling the thick, black pony tail into a thick fistful in front of her face. She considered it, then opened her red mouth, and crammed her hair as far into the back of her throat as she could. Without the mind control, she would have gagged, but her body played along, allowing her to stuff her mouth with a banner of her own hair.

 

She heard the voice of the gentle old man.

 

"Go on and end it, Dark Moon."

 

She slipped one bare leg over the railing, then the other, and let herself drop. The costume pulled tightly around her throat, closing up her windpipe. Part of her said to fight for breath, to use her powers to save herself, but it faded as she listened to the old man's voice in her head. Soon, blood was pounding in her ears. Soon, blackness was closing around her. This would end her.

 

Dark Moon's eyes were fluttering, rolling back in her head when Night Star grabbed her around the hips and lifted up. The tension of the costume noose was relieved, and Dark Moon took a gulp of air.

 

 

2.

 

 

Connie Gnau moved slowly through her apartment. She dragged her feet, and supported herself on her furniture and the walls of her expensive flat. She was naked, her red hair sodden and matted from her shower., and she  felt as though she had spent the previous night on a drinking bender. Either that or an ultimate fighting match. Maybe both. Her legs were wobbly and her head still spun. This was the hang over of defeat.

 

She looked down at her costume, wadded and crumpled where she left it the night before. She'd come through the window of her apartment, exhausted and demoralized, and striped herself naked. She dumped her black body stocking on the floor, and dumped herself into bed.

 

There hadn't really been a fight, and her costume showed it. The second-skin, jet-black body stocking with its light shimmering gloss looked as good as new. It was a footed cat suit with a high collar and gloves built it, and it showed no wear at all. Even the mask, which they had make her peel off under mind control, was in one piece. They had defeated her that easily.

 

Even the physical beating was easily done that her costume bore no significant marks.

 

In a way, she wished her costume had something more to show for the battle. That would show that she was more evenly matched with these new foes, as opposed to simply being a costumed plaything.

 

At the end of her fight with the League of the Black Cat, she had hardly any of her black body stocking left. By the end of the fight, and her escape from the League's captivity, the crotch was torn completely out, letting the big, thick lips of her red-haired pussy hang out. One breast, her right breast, was out, the big, hard red nipple exposed. There was a wide slash across her waist, showing her vivid, white skin.

 

The Spinster, the insidious old woman who could control matter by sheer force of will had a great time with her costume. First, she took control of the fibers, tightening them so that Night Star could not breathe. The other women at her tea party clapped and cheered as the curvaceous, young, red head squirmed, and gasped on the floor.

 

Next , she stretched and coiled the skin-tight fabric until the heroine's costume, making it grow and stretch like a living being, until it encased her like a cocoon. Now they laughed at the muffled struggle of the captive.

 

Finally, she snapped her fingers, and the material fell apart, leaving her a naked, powerless redhead in the middle of the carpeted floor.

 

 

When she was hunted, beaten, and captured by Dominatrix, she ended up with her big breasts exposed to the cold night air. The taller, stronger woman, dressed in her leather gear and high heels, a massive strap-on spouting from her sleek crotch, carried Night Star through the snow-blanketed woods. The heroine's costume was ripped open at the bust, a victim of her captor's razor-sharp talon gloves.

 

Her eyes were open in a vacant stare.

 

"I'm going to have you, and then you will be my new sub. My new bottom," the villainess said in a cold matter-of-fact tone. Her hip boots crunched in the snow.

 

The woman took her to a vacant house, out in the middle of nowhere, and laid her on an altar. She effortlessly tore out the crotch of Night Star's costume, and used the black shred as a gag, stuffing it into her captive's mouth.

 

"Just like your costume, I will tear you down, bit by bit."

 

By the time she was on her hands and knees, licking Dominatrix's boots, her costume was a wreck.

 

The being that beat her the night before left her without a scratch. She confronted a  young man, who raised his hands and simply made her crumble. He made her remember that dildo sliding into her, curved and big, as Dominatrix laid her down in the snow. She remembered the joy of a woman's mouth on her neck, and leather against her smooth, black, body stocking. On the floor, in front of that young man, she remembered how good it was to have a woman with a dildo, a villainess who had proven herself stronger and more wily, beat her and fuck her. When it really happened, she just laid there, but in her recollections, with that young man controlling her brain, she remembered wrapping her strong, gymnast's legs around Dominatrix's waist. She remembered the sight of her stocking feet crossed in the air. She remembered joy.

He made her remember, with that same joy, the man-beast Grendel using massive claws to lift her up by her breasts, and shake her like a rag doll. When he brought her back down...drove her back down...he let her buxom curvaceous body slide down his huge hairy frame, and become impaled on his gigantic prick.  He made her remember it as a  night of ecstasy, as the hairy giant penetrated her for hours on the rooftops of the city. He leapt from rooftop to rooftop with her in his arms, and an unconscious Gold over his shoulder. He would stop, lay them out next to one another, and fuck them.

 

Sometimes one would be unconscious, sometimes the other. She remembered looking over at Gold's placid unconscious face as the monster held both of them down and drove his cock in the pussy of the Golden One. At the time that it really happened, it was a hell of helplessness, in recollection, under the spell, she giggled and gushed over it.

 

Connie sat on the bed, and exhaled. Her pussy dampened when thought about how the young man morphed into a young woman, and made her recall the joy of being forced to eat the sopping pussy of Check Mate. She shivered at the joy of having a collar around her neck, and a chain held by a woman who tasted that good, and could put a former astronaut with superpowers in her place.

 

She thought about the older man who she met in the house. She remembered, in a soothing way, how he gently spoke to her. He gently spoke.

 

"So much pain. You were an astronaut. You encountered some force in space that gave you these powers. You never asked for that. You never asked to be a heroine. Look at how much pain it has caused you."

 

She remembered her weakness, and how well this man seemed to know her.

 

"Go to the back yard, bind yourself in chains, and throw yourself down the well. Drown in the bottom."

 

In only minutes, she was standing, wrapped in chains, on the rim of the well. The chains served more to weigh her down, rather than bind her. She let herself drop down into the darkness of the well.

 

The spell, or whatever it was, wore off in time for her to save Dark Moon from hanging herself. Her mind was also under control, and she was also defeated.

 

"What was that...who...?" the naked heroine could barely find words as Night Star helped her down the hallway.  Her costume was still around her throat.

 

"They were after what ever was on that laptop," Night Star told her. Both women were broken, and worn-out.  Night Star's crotch was soaked and musty damp from her swollen throbbing vagina, and Dark Moon was naked except for her glossy leather boots, gloves, and mask. Her costume was knotted into a cord and twisted around her neck.

 

They held each other up.

 

"They..." Night Star started to say, they had to process her own thoughts. "It was one person, creature...whatever. It wasn't a 'they'."

 

Connie Gnau, spread herself back on her bed and closed her eyes. She exhaled. As she passed back into sleep, she could feel the defeat written all over her lush body.

 

"It wasn't a 'they'. It was one person."