Cutlass
By Mr. K
1. First
Meeting
The description had been perfect. 5-feet-10 -inches.
She stood 5- feet-10- inches on the high-heels of her purple boots. Those boots
were tight and slick, conforming themselves to the thickness of her calves as
though they had been poured on to her body. The black stockings were the same –
a slick second skin that conformed to the thick muscular form of her thighs as
though they were little more than liquid that had been poured over her legs.
Thick legs.
“Just like they said.”
Her body suit was akin to a bathing suit. It
conformed to her wide bust, her narrow waist, the sharp, dense musculature of
her arms and upper body. It was the same
purple as her boots and it glistened in the same way – slick and skin-tight.
Her lips were painted a shocking red that seemed
determined to match the brilliant red of her hair. They were full and had that
quality that some call “pouty.” It was
as though they were prepared for a kiss – not pursed, but full and moist.
A wild wave of crimson flowed from her head almost
to her waist. It was thick and it seemed to almost glow. Even in the
semi-darkness, it was clear that she was a redhead. A bang fell across the
black mask that obscured half her face. She had a slightly upturned nose and
high cheek bones.
The description they’d been given was perfect. This
was Cutlass.
“Do you remember which one this is?” asked the older
woman. She smiled gently and indicated the redheaded heroine in purple and
black. She then made the same gesture to indicate the lush blond who lay beaten
on the floor.
“And which one this is?”
When she spoke, she spoke to younger woman who stood
just behind her. The younger woman nodded and smiled, pointing at the
redhead.
“This is Cutlass. She’s the mother,” said the
younger woman pointing at the redhead who stood like a statue staring off into
the darkness. “She’s her step-mother.”
When she said “her” she pointed at a voluptuous
blond who lay unconscious on the library floor. The blond was built like the
redhead, busty, thick, curvaceous, and muscular. Her costume was the inverse of
the redhead’s – black boots, purple tights and a black body suit. Her lips were
the same vivid red. Her eyes were closed behind her mask and she lay in the
broken shambles of a shattered bookshelf.
“Very good,” said the older woman. She smiled and
let her hands rest on her wide hips. The older woman wore canvas sneakers, dark
jeans, and slightly shapeless black sweater.
“Dagger, the daughter, is the one that I beat. She’s
the bitch on the floor,” said the younger of the two women. The younger woman
wore a sorority t-shirt and jeans. The denim of her pants was tucked into worn,
brown riding boots.
“And you chose to explore your powers by using them
as violently as you could,” quipped the older woman.
The two women, younger and older, mother and
daughter, smiled at each other. For a moment, they were quiet and each knew
that the other was recalling how the young apprentice, the girl in the riding
boots, had beaten the superheroine called Dagger.
“It was beautiful. She never saw it coming,” the
grey-haired mother finally said. Remembering how the superheroines had entered
the darkness of the closed library thinking that they were coming to rescue a
magic user who was being held, manipulated, and trained as a psychic weapon.
They both chuckled at the same time when they recalled the blond,
large-breasted Dagger being confronted by the lithe sorority girl.
“I’m here to help you,” Dagger said. Her face became
a mask of confusion as the girl smiled. “See if you can help yourself, Dagger.”
That was when
the girl snapped her fingers and Dagger felt her body stiffen. Her hands came
to her throat as her eyes widened. She made soft choking sounds.
“Feel the leash, Taylor? Feel the energy collar and
the leash? You and your step-mom, Tina, aren’t the only magic-users in town,
bimbo.”
She loved using Dagger’s real name. She raised a
finger, waved it to the right. Dagger felt her boots leave the floor as a
powerful force yanked her through the air. A table shattered loudly as she was
smashed down into it. Before she could comprehend what was happening, she was
yanked through air again.
“I love the way she moaned,” the girl laughed as she
and her mother recollected the battering.
She recounted how she lifted Dagger in the air with her powers. She
suspended her there, forcing her body to arch.
“I wanted to see those big tits thrust up and that
muscular body all tense,” she recounted for her mom as they stood together when
it was all over.
She got her wish, the blond in purple and black
screamed in agony before being slammed down on one of the abandoned library’s
empty bookshelves. Now, the blond heroine named Dagger lay in the wreckage of
the bookshelf. She was on her side, one thick leg out straight while the other
was bent at the knee and cocked back. One hand was nestled in her hair, the
other rested on her hip.
“You enjoyed the violence, I know, but let’s
consider how I dealt with costumed mom over here,” said the mother.
She gestured with her head at Cutlass.
“Her name is Tina, by the way. The mother is Tina
and the step-daughter is Taylor. Mom and daughter magic-users, just like us.”
“I know that, mom. I said that, mom.” Eye roll.
The grey-haired woman recounted how she simply
waited in the shadows, watching as her own daughter flung Dagger around like a
rag doll. Just as she expected, the red-haired, curvaceous Cutlass appeared in
the doorway. Before the heroine magic-user could move to assist her daughter,
the mom in the shapeless black sweater stepped forward and uttered four words.
“Stiff as a board.” She said the words in crisp,
casual snap. “Stiff as a board.”
That was how Cutlass came to be a statue. Four words
and she was defeated. Helpless. Her thighs squeezed together and her arms
locked at her sides. Her back became straight as a ramrod. She stood at
attention staring off into the distance. She watched as her daughter was
beaten, and she waited.
“You can’t move. You can hear me, and you will do
what I demand when I demand it, but until then you are a statue.” The older
woman told the superheroine after uttering those four words. It was only
moments after she walked into the room, but the redheaded heroine called
Cutlass was already defeated.
Now, the blond Dagger lay unconscious in her
skin-tight PVC purple-and-black costume. Cutlass, in her purple-and-black PVC
costume, stood stock-still. The mature woman with the gentle voice began
explaining things to her captive.
“So, my daughter and I came here tonight to get that
book,” the grey-haired mother in the frumpish clothes pointed at a tome that
sat by itself on a table. “You see, there was a letter that a magic-user from
our town way up north tucked in that books decades ago. It sat there, all of
this time, waiting for the heirs of the coven to come and find it. When
libraries close, orphans get left behind. Just as planned, decades ago, this
was one of them. We road-tripped down here to get it. Nice little trip.”
“Yeah, it was a nice trip. Singing to the radio and
all,” the daughter chimed in as she grabbed Dagger by her hair and dragged her
across the floor to one of the circular study tables. She stopped, dragged,
stopped, readjusted her and – with one hand in her crotch and one around her
throat - flung her up on the table. She stretched the large-breasted blond out
spread-eagle, making sure to let her head hang over the edge. Her long blond
hair swayed.
“So, we detected your magic, your power, in the city
as we entered it. We decided to meet you two. We had heard about you, your
daughter here, and those two sisters of yours. We want to meet all of you. We
decided to ambush you, do what we wanted with you – witches who became
superheroines – and then take our little letter home with us. Also, we sent
word to some friends of ours. They want to meet you also.”
She walked to Cutlass as the sound of her daughter
tearing out the crotch of Dagger’s costume filled the air. One magical mother
pressed herself close enough that her breasts mashed against the contours of
the other mother’s frozen body.
“I like this,” the mother smiled. She pressed
herself in deeper and her hands came around to clutch Cutlass’s backside. She
squeezed her buttocks. She dug her fingers in the firm muscle of the helpless
woman’s ass.
“Nice thick ass. I like that thick ass. And these
thighs. Muscle. Legs like a race horse. MMMM.”
She was kneading her way down Cutlass’s legs. She
bit her lower lip and sucked air through her teeth as she felt the solid muscle
beneath the skintight costume.
“You got something good going back there?” she
called over her shoulder to her daughter. The only response was a grunt, a
grunt and the succulent, sopping slapsuckslapsuck of an excited cunt.
“Mom! She is so fucking juicy!”
The mother glanced. Dagger was on a table, on her
back. Her knees were propped up, jutted towards the ceiling. Her arms were
flung wide and she moaned. With her eyes shut in a vault of unconsciousness,
she moaned. The mother could see her daughter’s arm working, pumping, in the
semi-darkness. She could see that her fist has disappeared up into the blond
heroine.
“She’s fisting your step-daughter,” she whispered to
Cutlass. “She loves to fist. She already
has a whole fist in her. Me, I take a more subtle approach.”
The woman stood, lifted her shapeless wool sweater,
and pulled down her bra with one motion. Her body seemed to deny her age and
the dowdiness of her presentation. Her body was lean and lush. Her breasts were
swollen.
“Come drink. My tits are always up with milk and …
come drink, puppet.”
The muscular woman in purple and black did as told.
She came to life, striding on high heels to her captor and lowering her mouth
to the swollen pink nipple. The red symmetry of her mouth formed a seal around
the hard nipple and she began to suck. Her eyes slid shut and she rolled her
tongue in a circle on the other woman’s flesh. A smile crept across the
dominant mother’s mouth as she felt her milk pulsing and leaving her swollen
breasts.
“I have control of your body, but this will end up
in your system, in your blood. Now, I can control your mind. I own you once
you’ve had my milk.”
She looked down. Cutlass’s cheeks had the hollow
curves of a woman who was sucking a nipple with fierce concentration. Her eyes
were closed behind her mask and her gloved hands encircled the engorged tit.
She squeezed and kneaded.
“Keep drinking.”
The red-headed superheroine step-mother made a
gulping sound and squeezed the other woman’s swollen breast harder. As she
switched from one nipple to the other, she heard the young woman who was having
her daughter exult. Taylor gave deep, guttural moan.
“She spurted mom!” the girl cheered.
The mother looked over to where her daughter was
penetrating Dagger. She could see juice droplets clinging to her daughter’s
face.
“You do love
that, don’t you?” the breast-feeding mother laughed. She twined her fingers
into Cutlass’ hair as she looked at the scene of her daughter and the captive
blond. Dagger was as big-breasted as her step-mother. Her hair was thick and
poured off the table, flirting with the floor. Her breasts were like two huge
domes in the semi-darkness of the room.
The mother took hold of the hair on top of Cutlass’
head and eased her back.
“Isn’t it great having a daughter?” the mother
laughed. Tina could only look drowsily at her, panting, swallowing the last of
her milk.
“Shall we
reunite them?” she asked, watching milk trickle from the corner of Cutlass’ mouth.
“Absolutely, mom!”
“Ready to try?”
“Ready.”
“You start.”
The girl stood up from where she was devouring
Taylor and raised her hands. Pussy juice glossed her face.
“Light as a feather.”
The mother chimed in, raising her hands and closing
her eyes.
“Stiff a board.”
“Light as a feather.”
“Stiff as a board.”
“Light as feather.”
“Stiff as a board.”
Tina, the superheroine called Cutlass, was rigid
again. Her body locked. There was a rushing, a heat in her body as though an
electric charge had been run through her. A scream tried to birth itself in
her, but it was stifled by the rigidity of her muscles. It would never get past
her clamped lips.
As if pulled by wires from above, her boots left the
floor. She began to drift upwards. It was an inch, then another, then another.
Soon, she hovered in midair. The mother’s face grew into a mask of
concentration as she maneuvered her hands. She shifted them as if turning
something, as if manipulating an unseen tool or device. As she moved her hands,
Cutlass rotated in space.
Her hair poured down in a wave, giving in to
gravity, but the rest of her stayed stiff and straight. She was a curvy,
costumed object that floated from one side of the room to the other, rotated,
and came to rest on the table beside her daughter.
“We did it, baby! You and mommy! We did it
together!”
“First time! Whoot! Hang on!”
The daughter galloped to where Tina – Cutlass - had
come to rest. The heroine called Cutlass was laid out next to her daughter on
the table, her head by the younger woman’s booted feet. The half-light was
enough for her to see the puddle that had formed around the beaten blond
heroine. It was a musky lake that had
poured out of her, then spread and crept until is practically covered the
table. Her pussy had gushed and gushed when the daughter had fist-fucked her
and eaten her. Now, it glistened in the moonlight.
The daughter grabbed a handful of Tina’s – Cutlass’s
hair – and wrapped it once around her fist. She wiped it left to right, then
right to left, smiling as the hair grew heavily and damp with her daughter’s
pussy juice. Cutlass’s head swayed with the girl’s motion; she was a doll.
“There you go,” she laughed.
The mother leaned over them, her breasts bare. She
pursed her lips and squeezed her breasts, letting jets of milk shoot forth. A
stream landed on Tina’s legs and Taylor’s face. It ran down the unconscious
blonde girl’s cheeks and beaded on her lipstick. Another did the same, then
another beaded and rolled down the younger heroine’s breasts. She laughed as
she changed position, shooting a spray into Cutlass’ face. It covered her eyes
in runny pools and trickled back into her hair. She doused the woman’s features
again, and again. also spraying Dagger’s boots, and thighs.
“There we go,” she said, tucking her breasts back
into her bra and pulling her sweater down.
“Let’s leave them this way – let it sink in. Want to
go for waffles?”
The daughter giggled and laughed, clapping her hands
and bouncing I place.
“Yes, mommy! We’ll find an all-night place!”
They headed for the door, picking up the
long-forgotten letter and blowing a kiss as they left.
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