Cutlass – Earth Mother

By Mr. K

1.

We carried her up from the ocean. I held one of her arms, and Karen held the other. Remy had both of her legs gripped tightly and pinned together. He had his arms wrapped around her knees and pulled up tightly against his body. One of us could have easily slung her over a shoulder and carried her, but we all wanted a piece of Cutlass.

 It was night, but the moon was giving us ample light; the whole scene was played out for anyone who looked down from the house to see. When I turned my head and looked down, trying to keep my footing on the rocky beach, I could see the glow on the wet leather of her skin-tight body suit. It clung to the wet fabric and glistened on the skin-tight leather of her high-heeled boots.

I could see the thick, muscular lines of her thighs in the wet fishnet stockings.

Her head was flung back, swaying and bobbing like an unconscious metronome as we carried her up the incline from the seaside. All of that dark, red hair was soaked and matted, twisted together in a sodden pony tail that just barely touched the ground.

This was the second time in twenty-four hours that we had captured her.

“Not bad,” Karen had said, partially whispering under her breath. She was fishing for complements again.

“You did a great job,” I said. She was always one to want notoriety.

I looked down again. The woman looked as though she was sleeping, her lips partially pursed, her eyes closed behind the dark mask that cut across her face.

“You got her. This time …” I inhaled and readjusted my grip on the woman’s sinewy arm. Even in that awkward position, I could feel the lean fitness of her limbs. I could feel the firm, feminine conditioned muscle under the wet, second-skin leather.

“She tried to escape, and you recaptured her. She would have swam away of you hadn’t dove out there and dragged her back in.”

I made it a point to looker her in the eye.

“This time, she’s not getting away,” I continued. I held that arm close to my body and leaned forward as I walked. This time she wouldn’t get away.

This was the second time in twenty-four hours that we had captured her. The first time was near water, also, only she had avoided getting wet. We all had avoided getting wet.  The ocean was just a background for that capture, adding the sound of crashing waves and the smell of salt to the pantomime of the battle. The first time we captured her, it was that very same morning.

It was cool and clear that morning, and Karen, Remy, and I, along with some of the mercenaries were waiting by the dock. A shipload of guns and drugs was just over the horizon, and I was blowing warm air into my palms. Remy had his coffee and was a staring at the horizon as if his sullen gaze could draw the freighter in closer and faster.

Karen was pacing.

“You don’t get cold do you?” I asked Karen.

“No, I can’t.”

It was true. She never shivered, she never rubbed her arms when the air was biting and frigid, and she could sit in the waters of the North Atlantic for hours upon hours just waiting for a target to come by with no sign of discomfort. She could also run for miles, and carry out seemingly endless missions, staying up for hours without a sign of weariness. There are soldiers, people like the SEALS, who do things like thus out of sheer will, but Karen did it by nature.

That morning, the morning before we dragged our heroine captive, soaking wet, up from the sea ,  Karen was dressed in a trench coat and high-heeled black leather boots. You could see the hint of grey material that ran between the top of the boots and the bottom of the coat, skin tight against her muscular calves.

Her short red hair was slick against her head and brilliantly picked up the bright hue of her painted lips. She had sharp, taut features, a delicate turned-up nose, and darting intelligent blue eyes.

“No …. I don’t get cold, but ….”

She stopped herself. Those eyes darted to the left.

“Uninvited,” she said, her tone suddenly hard-edged and direct. She looked off towards the warehouses’ shadows. “We’ve got someone stalking around here.”

She turned around, squinting and slightly tilting her head back. “There’s someone else on this dock.”

There were dock workers just a stone’s throw from where we stood. They were union men – American, South African, French, Germans. Burly, taciturn, they were preparing fork lifts, ropes and cranes to transports our weapons for the next part of our operation. These were men who lived a hard-scrabble lives and watched like hawks every aspect of how an employer treated them, but my influence was enough that they were happy to work for no pay. They would be happy to work, kill, and die for me.

“Hey!” Karen barked. They snapped up attentively like the family pets that they were. “We’ve got someone … women … There are women around here who are definitely going to be a problem for us.”

She pointed at the cavernous warehouses.

“Find them. Bring them back alive. Bring them to me.”

The big men moved like cats now, picking up wrenches and lengths of heavy chain. They darted this way and that.

“They’re…” Karen took a moment to concentrate. “They’re in the warehouse to the left, but they’re moving. Go, go on.”

They ran into the cavernous warehouse, stumbling over each other, a rough-handed lynch mob with no idea as to what was driving them. Their minds were relatively easy to control and keep on line, I found. With Karen’s simple instruction loaded into them, I could just let them roll on their own.

Karen and I walked behind them and paused in the shadows of the warehouse. Our breath was forming steam trails around us.  We waited as the men fanned out looking for the intruder.

“It’s a woman. I see red hair. Over here”

She took off to the left, weaving in and out of box pillars. I did my best to follow her, stumbling to a stop and catching my breath just as Cutlass leapt down from the overhead beams. I took her in all at once, black, leather high-heeled boots, fishnets, ultra-skin-tight black leather body suit. Her costume was cut low, her cleavage exploding over the black leather horizon. Deep, dark vermillion hair fell across her shoulders.

She wore a black mask across her eyes.

“Get her.”

The first dock hand swung a massive wrench at her. The woman was lithe and agile, ducking under the wide, wild arc of the heavy steel. She was just a black flash, darting and shooting up to deliver an upper cut to the big man’s ribs.  The power lifted him off his feet. Doubled over, the huge laborer was in the air for a moment, then he slammed down to the concrete floor. He howled.

His buddies showed up to help, but it was largely futile.

She was in constant motion, so the stevedores were unable to pin her down. They swung like madmen and leapt at her, attempting to put their hands on this black-clad fitness model. She would melt away from each one, eluding him, then delivering a chop, punch or kick that would send the muscle-bound man reeling.

Then there was another. This one was blond, shorter than the first, and built more like a gymnast. Still busty and strong, she wore thigh-high, skin-tight stocking boots.  One was neon silver, one neon green. Her costume was a two-piece, the bottom a sheer, French-cut glowing green, the top a strip of silver that seemed painted across her amble breasts. This blond released a burst of energy from her palms, and two of my guys dropped.

Also dropping from above was a tall, lean woman with flowing chestnut-brown hair. Her whole body seemed to glow as she floated from the shadows, touched down with short, black, leather boots, and released a shock wave. It reminded me of times I saw explosions that were so powerful you could see the air move.

She sent one of my biggest guys through the wall.

She stood there, arms and legs spread like Virtruvian man. She wore a maroon cat suit, the right leg bare, the left one covered with the skin-tight, maroon material. Her right arm matched her left leg, as her left arm was bare. She was lean and long, but still as fit and curvaceous as the other two.

At one point the blond grabbed a pipe and did some sort of wild acrobatics that planted her feet in the face of one of my big guys. The sharp, wet snapping noise of surrendering bone and cartilage echoed out in the warehouse and the guy crumbled backwards, his arms flailing, his body shuddering like a rag doll that had been tossed away by an angry giant child. He hit the floor and slid. He went out like a light, sprawled on his back beside one of his sleeping comrades. 

Her body seemed to glow.

Remy was already muttering behind the thick, black veil of his beard. His finger tips were lightly touching one another, forming an arch, a diamond. His eyes looked sleepy.

“Metal bending … pipe curving around woman … wires reaching … taking woman … helpless woman … pipe grasping, lifting ….”

The pipes and wires of the warehouse, the pipe on which the blond swung became animated. They moved with a purpose, the rusty, thick pipe on which she swung breaking free of its moorings and slithering with a sleek, unnatural speed. It became a steel snake, wrapping once, then twice around her narrow waist. She gasped and clenched in shock, then arched her body and flung her head back as the serpentine pipe squeezed her athletic body.

Wires were tearing themselves loose from the overhead electrical system, twisting into one long rope. As the pipe lifted the thrashing blond up, the wires reached down encircling her neck in a copper and rubber noose, then seeking down between her big, round breasts. They rode the tight space between the two large, firm tits, down across the six-pack abs of the woman’s midsection, and below the tight frontier of her costume’s lower half.

Her eyes closed slightly, her lips trembled, and she shuddered as the coil entered her.

“Wires … metal…cords electric … binding woman….”

Another electrical cord reached up and wrapped around her ankle, holding tightly and pulling her leg out to the side. At the same time one of taking hold of the opposite ankle and pulling her leg up and behind her.

Another caught her knee in a dense wrap.

The coil around her neck tensed as a narrow, rusty pipe took hold of her left wrist, and a dirty, brown electrical cord took hold of her right one.

I watched the fury in her face build, then subside as the intruder between her thighs slowly coiled its way up and into her.

The red head in black was propelling another one of our guys through a window.

I heard Karen sigh and chuckle to herself. It was that if you want something done sigh. Karen let her coat fall away. My eyes moved away from the battle, and soaked in the woman. Karen’s second-skin costume was a shark-grey body sheath. It was like skin, simply skin that coated the Olympian redhead from neck to ankles. No insignia. No visible zippers or clasps. No space or gaps between her body and the costume. She exhaled and ran at the red-haired combatant.

She became a grey blur.

I could see and comprehend what she was doing, but to anyone else, she was a blur.

Her first kick was text-book perfect. It was a piercing front kick, the ball of her foot meeting the chin of the woman in fishnets. I heard the busty redhead give a guttural   groan as her head snapped back and her back arched. She stumbled, her lips parted , and her hair flinging out in a spider web.

She was unable to respond as Karen dug another kick into her midsection, doubling her over, and another to her face, snapping upwards and sending her flinging back again.

Karen did a gorgeous jumping roundhouse across the redhead’s face, sending her spinning into the wall. Before the woman could recover, she caught one of Karen’s back kicks in the side, sending her clear through the concrete.

I could have totally gotten wrapped up in watching the beating, but there was one more costumed woman of whom we had to take care. I reached out to the one in maroon. I wrapped my mind around hers.

Her eyes grew wide, and her body stiffened. Like a toy soldier, she locked her arms down by her sides and snapped her legs together.

Now, I knew that her name was Brooke. In her costume, she was Foil. The other women were her sisters, the redhead being Tina, or Cutlass, the trapped blond being Tiff, or Saber.

Now, I knew that they were heiresses to a magical tradition from the UK, and that they had used that power to fight “evil.”

I created for her the image, and then the feeling, of stone. I conjured up mountains and great slabs of granite for her.

This is how your muscles feel. This is how you are rooted to the floor. You cannot move, and you have lost your will to even try. Feel how much they are hardening. You are a statue.

Brooke stood still.

I looked back at Karen. Because of who she was, what she was, she wasn’t panting or sweating as she stood over the broken body of Cutlass. She simply pushed her hair back into place and looked down at the woman. Tina was on her back, one arm across her face, the other off to her side.  Her legs were spread.

“I say,” I proposed. The others looked at me. “I suggest we take one, and only one of them with us. We bring one home for Earth Mother to make the change.”

Without my guiding them, all eyes settled on Cutlass’ prone body.

Karen picked her up, grabbing one wrist, kneeling, pulling, yanking the beaten woman up on to her shoulder. She gave Cutlass a little pat on the ass, then turned and walked through the door of the warehouse.

We left the two other sisters in their bondage states. My suggestion would eventually fade, and Saber would surely find a way out of her bondage; we would be long gone by then.

That was her first capture at our hands. Now, we had her back in the house.

With the woman laid out like that, I could see how perfect her breasts were.  They were big and round, jutting forward and sitting up high and firm on her lean frame. Her nipples were hard in the cold, wet costume, standing out like thick, little nubs.

 She had a sleek, narrow waist, quite small, actually, that curved her like an hour-glass, flaring out dramatically at her firm, defined hips, her firm, defined thighs.

Long legs.

Long, perfect legs in fishnets and black, leather boots.

I looked back up to the sleeping face. The full, red lips were what drew my eyes. They were a perfectly curved, brilliant, red pout. The ocean had soaked her red hair, turning the thick, dark wave that flowed down her shoulders to a twisted, sodden rope. It was coiled below her head now.

Karen gripped the helpless woman’s face and tilted it as if she was trying to get the captive’s attention. She dragged one finger across the captive’s lush, red lips.

“She’s part Italian,” said my henchwoman. “I’ll bet she’s part Italian. She has those full lips,” she said. “And this skin.” She dragged one finger across the woman’s cheek. For a moment, she seemed lost in some sort of transport.

“I feel like we can learn a lot from this little minx,” she said. “I feel like we can use her. We can make another weapon out her. We can weaponize and sell her. I like that idea.”

“So do I,” I replied. “We have to take her to Earth Mother for the change.” My eyes darted up to her face with it’s obscured eyes. “The first thing I want to learn is ….”

My hands had purpose now, as they climbed the smooth contours of her face and pinched the lower edge of her mask. Her maroon-shadowed eyelids continued to slumber as I pinched the slick material of the mask and peeled it up. I folded it, pushing it up her forehead, and back into her hair.  Now, I had a full picture of how beautiful she was.

“You could have just compelled her to do that once she was awake,” Karen said.

“I know,” I said. “I just wanted her to have a hands-on experience. I want her to be a hands-on experience.”

As I was saying that my hands had already closing around the curvaceous woman’s breasts, crushing them together and kneading them. They were firm, and the cold water had left her nipples hard and erect. I pinched them and pressed them below my thumbs. I rolled them and pinched them, then followed my urge, lower my mouth, and bit the left one.

The leather was wet and cold in my palms, but I just focused on the woman’s breasts, kneading them and pressing them together. Biting her skin.  I drooled on her flesh as I bit and I ran I teeth over her breasts.

She continued to sleep as my rhythm grew more demanding, squeezing and pulping them. My eyes glided down the sleek contours of her body to the mound that rested between her open thighs. There was the clearly-defined cleft of her labia in the wet fabric.

“I think she needs to wake up for this,” my wet, red-headed companion. She could see the raging bulge in my pants, and I’m sure she could read the increase in my pulse and my body temperature. I knew that her nipples were hard, and that she was growing wet in her grey, shark-skin body suit.

“We want her awake for the greeting. Especially, since she tried to leave so suddenly.”

It was rude, the way she tried to leave her new family. There was cistern in the basement, a well that was fed by an underground conduit to the sea.

You are awake and unable to resist, I put in her head.  I watched the unmasked eyes flicker open as I gave her images of a butcher manipulating a cut of meat. This is all that you are. Your body is supple and yielding. We can move you around, use you at will.

I gave her the image of a plastic doll, with strong, male hands undressing it.

So, that was what she did. Cutlass lay wide awake and completely dormant as I took hold of the crest of her costume and yanked it down from her breasts. I tugged and pulled, her head rocking and jerking, as I exposed her. There was a lost second or two; one moment I was looking that the large, dark nipple, and the next my mouth was closed around it.

I bit into her.

Remy was undoing her boots, and Karen had taken over the job of stripping away the body suit. Like me, she got to a point, then became overwhelmed. It didn’t surprise me that she didn’t go directly for the nipple; Karen was the type to go for the thickest part of any meal. She bit into the curve of Cutlass’ breast dome.

I was now shoving two fingers into her mouth, as Remy gave a final yank and flung the fishnets, boots, and body suit on the floor. He worked quickly, returning her boots to her feet, zipping them securely. Next, he was flinging her legs apart, his bites digging into her thighs and the glistening gorge between her thighs.

We tried not to be frantic, pacing ourselves, but the Groupmind was awake now and so hungry that it could barely contain itself. I could taste Remy eating the shaven cunt. It was pungent, and the clit was long and full-up with blood. We sucked it, as we slid a finger up her ass.

Karen moaned as moved up her body. With my cock thick and raging with the blood that was pouring through the veins, I took hold of the captive’s face and parted her lips with my fingers. I pried her mouth open.

Now, Karen arched her back with a shuddering gasp as I slid my cock into the prisoner’s slack mouth. She arched again as I drew my hips back, and plunged my cock into her mouth again. I drew back, then again, marveling at how hot the moisture of her mouth was.

I could taste the woman’s skin from Karen’s mouth. Even after her beating, after being chained and tied in the back of our truck, after her attempt to escape and her second beating at the hands of Karen, she still tasted fresh, clean. Her skin had that fresh, peachy woman taste.

I made a fist, taking hold of the hair on top of her head, just as I felt the muscle squeeze and tremble in the backs of Karen’s legs. Remy pulled his head up from between the woman’s thighs, face contorted. He grunted and almost seemed to bark I shot my load into Cutlass’ mouth.

“So good,” I groaned. The warm human feeling washed over me. “So good.”

There was a panting pause for all three of us. Remy spoke finally.

“We should prepare her and take her to …” He drew breath. “Take her to Earth Mother. She’ll want her in her costume. She always wants to start them off in costume.”

Dressing and undressing a heroine is fun. They put so much stock in these costumes of theirs, that it brings to see them stripped down to become average women.  Putting the costume back on is equally joyful, as it shows them that you can give or take their heroine identity as you choose.

It was a joy to watch Dark Moon, almost a year before we had Cutlass, wake up in nothing but her boots. Her body was splattered in cum and mother’s milk, and she was our new puppet.

Cutlass was a fun, little floppy doll. I made her body loose and yielding, allowing Karen to slide her one muscular leg, then another back into the wet stockings. I was working on body suit, pouring her curves and her lean, steely muscle back into the second skin. For a moment, her eyes rolled up at me.

“I want you to relax, Cutlass. We could have killed you. Instead, you will have a gift. Great, huh? A whole new set of powers. All you will have to do is drink.”

I looked down to see that Remy was done with fastening the boots on her. Her calves were thick and strong. They curved out the leather of the boots in perfect tear drops.

“Ready?” I asked.

Both nodded.

I looked down at the woman we had just ravaged.

“Cutlass, get up and walk to the next room.”

We moved back to allow her passage. Cutlass swung her legs around, sat up straight, and peered off into the distance for a moment. I could taste just a hint of defiance left in her, and it gave me a tingle. It was harsh, and tangy. It was an angry little spice that needed to be drowned out with mother’s milk.

“She’s still resisting,” said Karen. It was true. Part of her still struggled. “She has to be naked again. There has to be a serious breaking down here. She can’t have that costume. I need to see her in just boots. I need to see her broken down!”

She moved first, and we fell in behind her, taking her cue, undressing Tina again. We did it at a furious pace this time, mirroring Karen’s anger. How dare this bitch not be totally broken down?  It wasn’t enough that she had escaped once after we brought her back here, trying her best to swim away, but not her mind wasn’t fully ours.

There was a blizzard of hands, our hands, and soon Tina was in nothing but her mask and boots.

“Get on your knees! Get on your knees, piggy!”

Tina sucked air through her teeth. I saw the muscles in her legs and torso tense, and then relax as she sank to her knees. I reached down and placed my hand on the firm curve of her ass, her bare ass.

"Before you get your new costume, you need to understand what you are. You have to be broken down. Only then can you understand that you are something new. I want to feel no resistance in you. I have some things here for you. This should help."

She wore only her mask, her boots. She was on her knees. She could only watch and wait as we started the next stage in her evolution.

Karen grabbed the back of her neck and thrust her forward. The captive heroine sprawled to the floor, flat out, her breasts spreading out to the sides.  She couldn't resist as I grabbed her red hair and yanked. I pulled her up to all fours again, and returned my hand to her ass. It was warm and tautly muscular.

Karen put a foot in the small of her back and forced her back down into a wide, naked X on the floor. My fingers found the hair again, and I pulled her up to her knees.

We continued that way for a few moments more, then I stopped her in that doggie position, my fingers starting to creep and search.  The lips were thick and moist. A mini convulsion ran through Tina, and a trickle of superheroine pussy juice ran out of her. Simpering little moans, rippled with my probing, from my searching between her thighs.

Tina started to pant as I reached between her thighs and spread the quivering, damp lips of her cunt. She had a gorgeous cunt, with thick, long lips, but they were just a stopover; it was her asshole that I really wanted. I used my left hand to spread her ass cheeks.

“Toys, Karen.”

Karen was already passing me the butt plug. It was long and diamond-shaped, a thick plug of rubber joined to a sweeping tail of coarse horse hair. It glistened with a lube that our benefactor had created for us. Happily, I took the tail butt plug in my hand, then looked back to the tight star of Tina's asshole.

The prisoner bit her lower lip, and she whined as I nudged the plug against her anus, opening it slowly. She let out a girlish squeal as her hole opened wide and accepted the pony tail butt plug. Her fingernails dug at the floor as I settled back to look at my work. The woman had a tail now.

"You're a pony girl now."

I sat back on my haunches, and smiled from ear to ear as Karen stood up, stretched out one long leg, and had a seat on Tina’s superheroine back. There was a shudder in Tina, then she braced her body. A wave of humiliation swept away the kernels of resistance that were left.

“Ride me around,” Karen said.

She did. Tina, Cutlass, opened her mouth, took a gulp of air, and started into her new job. For minutes upon minutes, building to an hour, with her breasts swaying and her long hair waving, she carried Karen around. We had some drinks and sat back as our new whore was broken down, bit by bit. We watched, and listened as she released a pathetic, girlish wimper.

“What? Is she in pain? Is she tired?”

Karen had a riding crop. It was leather and had been clenched in her teeth, but she switched it to her right hand and sent it slashing back to the ass of her mount. The tip of the crop sang out sharply against the flesh of the woman. Muscle stood out in her shoulders and arms as she beat Cutlass.

"Pony! Girls! Don't! Get! Tired!"

With her powers drained, the hour of humiliating crawling was showing in the defined muscle of the weakening woman. When Karen finally signaled for Cutlass to stop, the beaten woman let out a huff and sank, her face to the floor. Her body stretched out, creating a curvy, beaten landscape.  Her rider stood as she sank.

Karen stretched for a moment, and paused. There was long, oozing moment as Karen considered the downed women. She played with her crop and smiled as she watched Tina breath on the floor.

“You are truly beautiful, whore.”

She stepped up on to Tina’s back. Standing on the captive woman, she squatted, applying her weight. She smiled and stood up, shifting her weight and enjoying the feeling of a woman beneath her feet.

"Gonna' ride her?" she asked, looking at me. She was shifting herself and walking from one end of Tina to the other. She trampled the heroine in black boots, grinding her heel on the matted hair, on the muscular ass, on the thickness of her conditioned thighs. She walked on Cutlass, pressing down and smiling gleefully.

"I have something else for her," I said.

Karen was kneeling now, balancing on Tina's lower back, and dragging the tip of her riding crop between the thighs and across the lips of the swollen cunt. I sensed Cutlass, and could feel no more resistance.

"I want to have her drink from Mother, then use her against her sisters," I said . “It’s time to have her drink. Come on. It’s time to give her a new identity. I think she’s properly broken.”

Karen nodded, and bent down to tend to her pet. There was a mild, wet popping noise as the tail came free of Cutlass’s asshole. The woman could offer no resistance as Karen redressed her one more time. She was a nothing but a doll at that point.

“Now,” I said. “Go to the next room and drink.”

Cutlass stood. Without struggle, now, with her will broken, she stood.  Giving a fleeting thought to her sisters and their defeat, she stood and then walked to the next room.

I would never know how old Earth Mother was in human years. I tried to discern it sometimes, but usually gave myself over to how irrelevant the question was; she was Earth Mother, and she had the milk.

She had greying temples, but perfect, sleek, youthful skin. There was the hint of a crow’s foot here or there, but she was simply Earth Mother.

Over Cutlass’s shoulder, I could see Earth Mother. She was spread out on the bed, her bed, in one of her loose, flouncy blouses. She wore baggy, sumptuous North African pants, a blouse to match, and a cloud of incense surrounded her. It was really as if she sort of materialized from the thick bed spread, the wall hangings and, the ornate throws of the room. She smiled, and put her book aside.

“Ah! Hello,” she said warmly. “The boots, the fishnets, that sturdy, sexy build … you must be Cutlass! I’m so glad you could come. I’ve wanted to feed you for so long. Come here, honey.”

She beaconed. Cutlass, her hair still wet, her body under control, hesitated for only a split second, then walked to the bed. Her boots were silent against the carpet. Her mind was flooded with thoughts of how she no longer wanted to resist, of how she no longer felt herself battling against my grip on her with the real expectation that she might win. She didn’t understand, but she didn’t care.

Now, she stood in front of the bed.

Earth Mother crept her fingers up to the edge of her blouse, and pulled slowly. Two firm, pendulous breasts announced themselves in the cool air of the room. There was the tug, and the firm bounce as they rose free of her clothes. As always, they were ripe and full of milk.

Earth Mother took hold of Cutlass, pulling her on to the bed with her, and grasping her close. Her hold was superhumanly strong, but she seemed to gentle in the way she The heroine’s mind went blank when the other woman touched her, and she sighed as Earth Mother cradled her close.

“So beautiful. Look at how beautiful you are. You remind me of Night Star. I fed her also.”

It was true. Night Star was also curvy. Stacked. She was a redhead with a large, wide bust and shapely muscular legs. She wore an all-in-one, footed cat suit, black and sparely sprinkled with a broad constellation of sparkles. I could tell from the look on her face that Cutlass knew Night Star, and somehow she knew of Night Star’s captivity to us.

We dragged Night Star by her hair. It was red and thick, and there was so much of it. We all sort of vied for position to get a good grip on that fragrant carpet of red twisting it in our fingers and doubling it over in our fists. Once we did, each of us, we would twist the portion that we got into a knot and lean into our task.

Built like an hourglass, an exaggerated hourglass with a narrow waist, wide hips and a wide bust, she lay face-down and allowed us to drag her like an object. Her arms made only the meekest, faltering gestures to save herself. Once we had her at the foot of the bed, we released her.

Earth Mother sat up and pushed Night Star’s hair back.

“So beautiful,” she cooed as one of us wrapped arms beneath her breasts, pressing them up. Another kept hold of that hair pulling her head upright. Someone, Karen I think, got hold of one f her gymnast-thick thighs and lifted her leg. We hoisted her on to the bed.

“They beat you,” Mother smiled.

“They beat me and … broke me down. They coiled … They made chains and wires and ropes come from all sides, wrap around my neck from different sides. They yanked me back, smashed me into … walls, furniture. One would pull me left, slam me against the wall. Another pulled the other way, next. Then backwards. I … grabbed at it … at the coils, but … They dragged me. They …dragged me across the room. Then they yanked me from side to side.”

Mother brushed red hair from Night Star’s forehead, kissing the darkness of the mask across her forehead.

“So hard on you…. Tell me more, baby.”

Night Star looked up with her with large, blue eyes.

“They finally let me go, then dropped me. They wrapped one of the coils around my waist. It was coming down from the ceiling, and it pulled me up … held me horizontal, and pulled me up coiling around and around like I was a giant yo yo. Rolled me down, then up … then down ….”

As I recalled it, I got new ideas for what to do with Cutlass.

“They made a puppet …They affixed cables … some thick, some thin … to my limbs, my head, my fingertips. The cords came down from above, and they moved me around … walked me around. Made me dance ballet. They made me squat down and finger myself through my costume….”

With her arms crossed across Cutlass’ back, she pressed the captive’s face to the pink expanse of her mouth. With her damp, black leather boots and body suit standing out against the white bed spread, she lay helplessly in the Earth Mother’s arms.

“Shhhhh…It’s going to be ok, beautiful.”

When the first kiss came, it came suddenly and hungrily.  Earth Mother had full, thick lips that seemed to capture the captive’s. She sucked Tina’s lips and licked them, making sure to leave then slick with her spit.

“You taste so good, Cutlass.”

The whole time Tina no longer attempted to struggle. She squirmed and shifted her legs. She moaned and moved her hips, nor as if trying to shift away, but as if her pussy was throbbing and her body was seeking something to fill it. She could only accept the woman’s mouth and wait for what came next.

Earth Mother cupped one of her own breasts and squeezed, working it, letting the milk spurt in its little streams across Tina’s face. The beaten woman’s lips worked slightly, stimulated by the trickle of milk. The hand, the fingers, worked and pulsed, and tiny rivulets of milk ran across the relief of the captive’s face.

“There we go,” whispered Earth Mother.

In one motion, she pulled Tina’s head up and stuffed a nipple into her mouth. A tremble rocked both of them, then Cutlass’s eyes slid shut. The slow working of the woman’s mouth, and the gentle sucking sound started right away. I could hear the softest sucking sounds coming from her.

“There we go.”

A trickle ran down her chin, and the red, lipstick circle of a superheroine mouth nursed from Earth Mother.

Cutlass drank Earthmother’s milk.

Her eyes rolled up in her head.

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