Cutlass
By Mr. K
3 - Snare, Cutlass,
and the Vengeance of Ms. Abigail Smith
1.
She counted two more cannibals.
They were from out of town, if their license plates were to be believed. They came from the vineyard and manor country of the neighboring state. They had driven, maybe, three to five hours to come to this little event. She wondered, for a moment, what a one-percenter-crime-cult road trip looked like. She pictured the back seat of a limo, its floor littered with champagne bottles and empty corn ship packets.
“It looks like the cannibals are coming from all over.”
Cannibals. She thought the word made sense; they proposed to feast on a human body. From everything that she had seen of them, this cult was about more than crime. They trafficked humans and they made money from crime, but there was something more. There was this ritual of feasting. There was this … something that they did with people, with women, that fell into their clutches. The victims would disappear unless she could free them first. There was always what they called The Offering.
“It looks like I hit paydirt. Some nights, it pays to be superheroine.”
“You’re my super purple, baby.”
“I have to thank you for getting me this far. Your intelligence worked.”
She had been tracking this cult for over a month, in addition to her other projects, and it was clear that one of their big priorities was the using of human fodder for this Offering business. Human sexual fodder. She had identified one of their feeding grounds, breaking up a coven of this group they called RYONA and freeing 12 women and men. The captors were able to melt away, but the captives were freed.
“Cannibals from all over.”
“I love it when you call them ‘cannibals,’ Purple Babe,” Chelsea said in her ear piece. “Purple.” “My Purple One.” “Super-Purple.” She always used some pet name rooted around the costume that Snare wore in her superheroine persona. When she was in her secret identity, her normal-girl persona – Jeanie – Chelsea would give her pet names and descriptions based on her ice-blond hair, her blue eyes, or her figure. “Curves,” she would say. She slapped her butt in the bathroom and called her “Curves” more than once. “How’s Curves this morning?” Here, on the rooftop, in her super suit, and watching organized criminals arrive by the bucket full, she was “My Purple Baby.”
The costume. She had to thank Chelsea for the new costume, also. Like her original one, it was second-skin purple. Tight and glossy, it had the look of reptile skin and the feeling that reminded her of a wet suit. It plunged with an open V of exposed skin from her shoulders to her waist. This one, though, had sensors running throughout. Tiny imperceptible sensors and lines ran through the material. Now, Chelsea could monitor her vitals, and her reactions to her environment. It was also much more durable – no more coming back from a mission in tatters.
She still wore purple high-heeled boots that hugged her muscular calves. She still carried kali sticks and the length of rope that she used to execute her martial art of hojojitsu. She still drove the same powerful motorcycle. Chelsea hadn’t changed the way she did things; she just made it more high-tech. Snare spoke, again, into the icy air. The tiny microphone that Chelsea had given her picked up her words.
“That’s two more from out of state. Hang on, I’m going to look though the skylight again. I’m going to look down into the room.”
Still squatting, moving on high heels as smoothly as though she were on bare feet, she shifted and looked down into the warm light of the room below her. There were red tapestries trimmed in gold. There were long tables and there was crystal. She could see rare wine and caviar. She could see suits and bodyguards.
“The head count is exactly what you said should be, so far,” she said into the mic. She had learned to trust Chelsea. They had met in the most untrustworthy of places, where superheroines, thugs, mercenaries, and constant danger interlock, but she trusted her. Chelsea had worked her way into her life, then into her secret life, and now both were in her hands - her warm, technically-skilled hands.
Chelsea’s voice crackled in her ear.
“What are you seeing?” Chelsea asked from miles away.
Just as she said that, two women in red tuxedoes pulled open the two ornate golden doors at the far end of the room. There was a pause, before the grand entrance, but Snare knew that the party had now truly begun. People in designer clothes stood up from plush seats, uncrossed stockinged legs, and raised glasses in salute. A tall, muscular woman, all adorned in tattoos and wearing a blood-red dress was entering the room. The dress was like a grape skin, hugging thick muscle and stopping at midthigh. Already tall, she wore jet-black stiletto heels.
She was preceded by a woman on a leash. The people applauded as they entered the room.
“A big bitch just came into the room and they’re all happy to see her.”
Something clicked for her.
“This must be that Nikko chick that you told me about, Chelsea.”
“Yes.”
“They have a woman in captivity. She’s on a leash. Nikko is walking her like a dog.”
Chelsea paused, then spoke slowly.
“Describe her.”
“Dark purple and black costume. High heels. She’s a redhead.”
“She’s Cutlass. I knew that they captured someone, but it wasn’t clear. It wasn’t clear in my intelligence OK. It was Cutlass that they kept. She’s a heroine like you, only where you use science for your enhancements, she uses magic. She’s a witch.”
“I see,” Snare whispered.
“They have been holding her for a few days. Some witches up north got hold of her daughter.”
“They have her crawling. They have her on a leash.”
Cutlass crawled. Cutlass crawled on all fours like a dog. With a tight-fitting collar around her neck and long leather leash joining her to Nikko’s fist, Cutlass crawled for the cheering crowd. With her red hair swept down one side of her face, she crawled her way out into the center of the room.
Snare could see the lips of the captors moving. She could read them.
“Up, girl, up.”
“Look at our little piggy!”
“Oink, oink, little piggy!”
“She’s got that bitch on leash! Yes!”
“Get that tribute in here!”
The captive redhead stopped in the middle of the room when the captor yanked her leash. She stayed there, on all fours, panting. Her head was bowed, red hair tumbled down, touching the floor. Another woman in red came forward; she held a purple bowl with both hands. Unlike the others, she wore white gloves and walked with a precision that had to been practiced over and over in those high heels.
“One of them is bringing in a bowl.”
“Ok, that’s probably a dog bowl.”
Snare looked a bit closer.
“What do we have here? It is. It’s purple dog bowl with BITCH on it. It has BITCH written on it.”
“Make’s sense. These people are very good at preparing for their next ‘guest’ as they call them. That was created especially for Cutlass. What does it look like is in….”
“Milk, maybe?”
“It’s cum. It’s full of semen … probably brimming with it.” Chelsea repeated her words as the woman sat the bowl down in front of Cutlass. “It’s cum. It’s full of semen.”
Snare watched as the captive tilted her head and looked at the offering that had been placed in front of her. Through the glass, Snare could feel the vibrating chants of the crowd. Nikko, the tall, powerful woman in red, snapped her fingers and pointed at the bowl. With her hair partially tumbling in her way, Cutlass leaned forward and snaked her tongue out. The tip grazed the surface of the cum as if testing it. Pink and slowly arching, it returned to her full, pouty mouth – she had thick, curved lips – and slipped inside.
A trail of white goo followed Cutlass’ tongue on its mission. It clung to it and lingered, attaching itself to her lips. For a moment, a string of glistening white hung between the woman ‘s mouth and the brimming bowl of cum. She swallowed. Snare watched as Cutlass leaned forward some more, this time opening her mouth wide. Her lips were painted a lurid red, and they formed a gleaming circle as she opened wide and sank her face into the meal. They disappeared as Cutlass, sank them into the cum.
“She’s feeding from the bowl, right?”
Snare paused for a moment, then answered. “Yes.”
She could see how Cutlass swallowed, then opened again, and captured more in her mouth. She would rear back with the streamers of jism overflowing her lips and dribbling from her chin like stalactites. It fell in zigzag patterns and gobs on her wide bust. She continued, taking one mouthful after another, until someone – an unseen someone gave a command. The woman with the white gloves glided in from the shadows. In one smooth movement, she knelt, picked up the dog bowl, and exited. Cutlass remained on all fours, her head down. White viscous goo continued to drip and drop from her face. It clung to her red hair and formed a puddle beneath her face.
“Next!” said Nikko.
Almost immediately, a group of the revelers came forward from different places in the room. For a moment, Snare thought that there was sort of modeling casting call in the middle of the room. Tall, and dark with brooding expressions and powerful builds, some of the people in their tuxedos formed a circle around Cutlass.
“Ok,” said Snare. “There are some breaking away from the group.” She noticed something and cocked an eyebrow. “They each have some sort if red lapel pin that the others don’t wear.”
“Tell me more,” said Chelsea. “I’m pretty sure that these are the ones they call Scorpions. They take an herb that I have yet to identify, but it enhances their sex drive. The never have any release until the time of The Offering. Let me explain ….”
“There are several of them …. One, two, three, four …There are five of them coming forward towards her. All men.”
She realized that one of the broad-shouldered, tuxedoed scorpions had the curvature of breasts and wider hips. Like the others, her hair was slicked back and glistened in the candle light.
“No. One is a woman.”
“And do they each have a coin in their hands?”
Snare used her mask optics to zoom in, going right to the fingers of a gigantic muscle-bound man. She saw an octagonal black-and-gold coin tumbling between his fingers. She checked another and another. The woman was deftly flipping hers.
“Yes. I see the coins. What are they?”
“The coven says that it shows the worth of their sacrifice. They have no sexual release as a service to a hedonistic cult that is all about release and impulse. Now, they get their chance. Is Cutlass … her name is Tina … still in the middle of the room? Is she on the symbol?”
She was. On all fours, still leashed and collared, she was right in the middle of a giant, swirling ouroboros. She shifted a bit, giving Snare a better glimpse of her large bust. She was busty, and the expanse of her beasts were covered in semen. Nikko, her handler, reached down and swept some of her hair from one side to the other. It was as if she wanted Snare to see the full pouty mouth and the delicate features of her face.
“You said her name is ‘Tina?’”
“Yes.”
“She’s a beauty. No offense, babe.”
The other woman chuckled on the other end of the communicator.
“None taken, lover. I’ve seen her. She’s a dish. She’s in bit a of pickle, though. Don’t do anything yet.”
Snare looked at the handler’s mouth as she spoke. She could read Nikko’s lips.
“Dirty little whore, is going to get fucked, isn’t she? Dirty slut whore. Piggy is going to take cock after cock, isn’t she?”
She reached down and grabbed a handful of the submissive woman’s hair. She grabbed it on the very top of Tina’s head. It was thick and red and it filled her fist and ran between her fingers. Tina – Cutlass – nodded in the affirmative as the captor guided her head. She spoke, locks of her hair falling across her eyes. “Yes, ma’am,” she gasped.
“Say, ‘I’m going to get fucked now.’” Snare read their lips.
“I’m … going … to get fucked now.”
She could see how Nikko looked with relish at the gap that had been torn out of the crotch of Tina’s costume. Her pussy was swollen, and the lips jutted out. Dangled in the warm chamber air. They dripped. They glistened and they dripped.
The woman Scorpio had silently glided up behind Nikko.
“I have a coin for her!” she laughed. Nikko nodded and smiled. She moved a bit to the side, letting the woman have full access to the drooling pinkness of Cutlass’s pussy.
“Coin slot,” the woman in the suit grinned. She knelt behind Cutlass, taking both knees, and sent the long fingers of her left hand to the red-haired heroine’s pussy lips. Tina moaned and bit her lower lip as the woman used her thumb to peel back one of her thick pussy lips. She let her index finger move the other aside. She smiled warmly as she looked at the juicy gloss that covered her pink folds. Tina’s pussy gaped.
“She’s putting the coin in her,” said Snare as she watched the elegant woman slowly press the gold-and-black token into the gaping space between Tina’s thighs. The woman’s smile grew broader as she moved her arm this way and that.
“Feel all of the ridges and the designs on that coin, bitch?” the woman hissed. Tina responded by whimpering and clawing at the floor with one gloved hand.
Finally, the woman nodded and chuckled. She withdrew her empty hand, then pressed her index finger in again, making sure the coin was deep in Cutlass’s pussy.
“I can’t drill you with a cock like my friend here,” she woman laughed nodding at Nikko. “But your gonna get fucked by me!”
Snare watched as the woman took hold of Tina’s hips and flipped her on to her back. She did it effortlessly, as though the heroine were piece of cheaply-made furniture. Large-breasted and curvy in her black-and-purple outfit, Tina watched as the woman stripped away her own pants. Like Tina, she had muscular thighs and deeply defined calves. The woman worked deftly, making herself partially nude from the waist down, then putting her black, leather boots back on. She took a step toward the prone heroine -Tina on her leash – and hooked her thumbs into the elastic of her skimpy black underwear. She stripped her panties down. She was shaven. Her clit was massive – long and swollen.
“The woman’s going to take her,” Snare said into her communicator.
“You need to wait, babe. We have to have you drop in a pivotal moment.”
“I hear you.”
The woman took a wide stance, towering over Cutlass, and knelt down. Cutlass’ lips were already drooping open, and her eyes widened as the woman gracefully shoved her panties into the redhead’s cum-splattered mouth. The woman jammed it in, then pushed it and stuffed it.
“Nice and moist,” the woman laughed. She grabbed Cutlass’ booted left ankle and pulled her leg up. She pushed it forward, yanked, and adjusted the heroine so that her clit was aimed towards Tina’s. The woman settled down, letting her sex mash itself against the cunt of the captive woman. She rotated her hips, and Cutlass took a deep inhalation. Her big breasts heaved and her hands formed fists as the dominant woman rubbed her nether lips against the captive pussy.
The stylish cultist gripped the muscle in Tina’s right leg, digging her fingers into the striations, closing her eyes and biting her lower lip as she made another circle with her hips. She made another, and another, her back shuddering, shoulders rising and falling. Soon, she found a rhythm. She clutched Tina’s thick leg as though it were the neck of an animal that she was riding, or a beast that she was trying to control. She drew another circle, and another, and another. She stopped and made a back-and-forth motion this time; she rubbed her pussy back and forth on Cutlass’ -Tina’s – soaking sex. The woman would pull the curvy leg to her and bite the muscles of the booted calf. Those muscles would tense and flex as the woman used her cunt to rape the superheroine witch.
Tina felt the slick pressure of the other woman’s pussy lips mash and slither against her own. She felt the swollen labia fit itself against her nether lip, giving a long, violent kiss – one cunt to another. Juice pumped out of the gorgeous villain as the English of her pussy became faster and slicker against Tina’s. Tina – the powerful heroine called Cutlass – squeezed her eyes shut and screamed against the mass of wet panties that had been shoved into her mouth. She pushed her tongue against thick, sodden silk and felt her ass cheeks clench as a massive spasm swept her cunt.
Tina spurted. Juice shot up out of her of like an open spigot. It soaked her costume’s slick black and purple material. It drenched the thighs of her rapist. It ran down in rivulets between her breasts.
“Oh, shit! Oh, God!” the woman exclaimed as she sucked the orgasm from between her victim’s thighs. In the midst of her cumming – eyes closed and body rocking – she shifted and thrust herself forward. Her clit collided with Tina’s. A new wave of muffled screams erupted from the captive as her eye widened and her pussy spewed again. Juice squirted between the two of them as the newest orgasm rushed to overtake the first.
“Don’t hog her,” laughed another cult member. The woman was in a world of her own, convulsing with yet another climax.
“Uhhhhhh … Dirty … whore … slut … pig …. Uhhhh. Dirty piggy slut.”
Dripping and panting, the woman practically fell off of Tina. She shifted to one side, looking down and beaming at the juice that was running down her thighs. Moving with the urgency of a woman who did not want to waste a drop of something precious, she moved back to the Tina’s prone form. Also twitching and convulsing with climax, Tina lay helpless, knees up and legs spread, as the woman stood over her face. The woman put her fingers between her own thighs and began frantically rubbing her drooling sex. She gushed, wetting Tina’s face with a rush of her own brine.
Tina shut her eyes and thrashed her head from side to side. The other woman’s pussy was raining on her face.
“Oh, that was so … Yes,” laughed the woman. She took a deep sniff of her own fingers, tasted them, and looked down at Tina.
“Give me my panties, bitch!”
She reached down, pinched the wet underwear, and yanked it from Tina’s mouth. She slapped her and stood to walk away, still bare and wet from the waist down. Her black boots gleamed with wetness.
“Next,” she called. “Someone, get me some wine.”
Snare watched as a man knelt beside Cutlass next, his muscular limbs and thick neck still bulging and straining against the fabric of his dark designer suit. He grabbed her effortlessly and flipped her around like a toy. Again, she was on all fours.
“The bitch put a coin in her and now some muscle bro is doing the same,” said Snare.
“Those coins are symbols of their status and their pent-up penance. They are now saying that she will receive the payment. What is going on now?”
By now, the big man was standing up from behind captive Cutlass, and another man, lean and rangy, was kneeling behind her. Cutlass was panting, clenching her teeth and rearing her head back as this one, in his perfectly-tailored suit, set his coin in her sopping folds and pushed with his thumb. He also nodded and grinned as the coin disappeared into her sex. Tina’s wet thighs shuddered.
“It’s like they’re filling her up with these coins. I need to get down there.”
“All of them are going to fuck Cutlass. You won’t really be able to help her, Purple Jeanie. You’re not going to be able to help yourself.”
“What are you talking about?”
There was a long pause as Snare watched the man’s long cock disappear in Cutlass. Her back arched like a cat’s – curving high and dipping into a low scoop. Her muscles flexed and she screamed.
“Do you remember when I showed up at the workshop late one night? I came in at the middle of the night?”
The Shop. That was what they called the warehouse loft in which Chelsea put together her gadgets, and gathered her intelligence. It was where Snare honed her skills and Chelsea prepared her for her next mission. Snare – Jeanie – send her mind back weeks to a night when Chelsea came stumbling in past midnight. She was wearing her usual jeans and leather jacket. Her auburn hair was down past her shoulders and her lips practically glowed with their raspberry red.
“Sorry,” she said that night. “Lost track of time.”
Snare thought nothing of it at the time. Now, she simply said the word “yes.” There was a chill and a tightness in her chest.
“Well, this cult … the people that you are watching … They kidnapped me. They caught me coming out of The One-Eyed Cat. They really got me. Chloroform. Bag over my head. They did it in classic style. They took me somewhere … I don’t know where… and they ….”
She paused, and Snare knew that she was swallowing hard and gasping deeply at the recollection of something. It was big and dark and loomed over her.
”They altered me, baby. They didn’t just torture me or something. They did something to my mind. I’m … I’m a puppet. They are controlling me to do this. I’m going send a signal into you. It’s called The Frequency.”
Without a pause, there was a sudden high-pitched whine that screamed its way through Snare’s body. The shock and confusion that were bouncing about in her mind had nowhere to go as a sudden surge of pain swept her. Crouching on the roof, she was paralyzed. She made the stifled cry of the suddenly-shocked, her eyes wide in the darkness.
“I’m sending it through your earpiece and through the sensors in your costume. You’re helpless. I’m delivering you to them. Here. This is called The Grip. You’ll see why.”
Snare felt her muscles stiffen - her arms tensing, the thick, conditioned muscles in her legs tensing, her abs straining and tensing. It felt as though something – something like a human hand – was seizing her throat. Her eyes widened more, and she wanted to reach up as though trying to pry it away. She had lost control of her hands, her arms, her fingers, and they stopped midway up her chest. The invisible force choked her, and soon was it was joined by another that took hold and wrenched her breasts. It was as though a violent predator were manhandling her. Another seemed to grip her entire pussy, crushing her mound.
“My job was to deliver you and paralyze you. You should be feeling their power seizing you about now, babe. I’m sorry. They got control of me a while ago, and I have to bring you to them. Don’t fight them. I fought them and it nearly killed me. Just fall. You can feel them pulling you through the glass on that ceiling, right? I know you can. Just fall for them. Your genetically enhanced body will be fine from the fall, and they will take you captive. Sorry, babe.”
Snare made a desperate choking sound, her eyelids fluttered, and she toppled to one side. She felt the pane of glass against her body for a moment, trying to resist, then the piercing shattering sound of that skylight giving way. She felt herself tumble. She felt the rushing helplessness of a drop through empty space.
Her mind was rushing to take it all in – the cold air giving way to the embracing warmth of the room, the pain, the betrayal, the helplessness, and the sound of breaking glass mixing with the applause of the cult.
She felt a split second of falling, then the blinding pain of striking the marble floor. Now, she understood the idea of “seeing stars.” Her body rebelled for a moment, shuddering and spasming as she lay on the unforgiving stone. She heard herself moan. The resilience of her body, her engineering made the pain little more than a bad fall down the stairs, so she groan and she arched against the pain, but there was little more. There was a split second of trying to push against the floor, and then they had her.
There was a sudden flurry of grabbing hands surrounding her prone form. Male hands. They were big and they were rough, handling her as though she were a piece of machinery that needed proper fixing - as though she were a stubborn thing in need of repair. They took hold of her body, and the image of a butcher flashed into her head. Images of her local butcher handling a carcass flashed in her head. She imagined a massive man picking up and slamming down a woman-sized side of meat. She imagined him kneading and commanding her as though it were just that. Helpless meat. That was her now.
Hands grabbed each ankle and forced her legs apart while two more grabbed her hips. They raised her ass off the floor while someone unbuckled her belt and pulled it away from her narrow waist. Another was taking her fighting sticks from her thigh. Her weapons were gone. Another set of hands fumbled past the other just to take hold of her buttocks and squeeze them. Crush them. The firm muscles rebelled, tightening, in his grasp.
“Here’s the bitch! Right on time!”
“Get her! Get her!”
One hand was locked around her throat, and another dug at her mound. That one, the one that was rummaging between her thighs, used thick fingers to easily find the outline of her clit. It pressed and pinched through the grape-skin material of her costume. A thick thumb dug and pressed against the long bud. She winced and she moaned, her eyes squinted closed.
She heard their voices. “There she is! Right on time!”
“Show time!”
“Strap her up!”
“Get the cock on her!” she heard one say, and almost immediately her narrow waist was encircled by a new belt. It didn’t fit snuggly and conform neatly to the curves of her hips and waist like the one that held her weapons. It was slightly too tight, and she cringed as it was drawn hard against her. The strap was cinched up between her thighs. She felt a strap pull sharply against her ass and she heard buckles clink closed.
“Like that?”
One of them asked her the question sharply as he grabbed her hair and raised her head up.
“Do you like that, bitch?”
“Get a collar on her! Get collars on both of them!”
As he spoke, two hands pulled the costume away from her breasts. Big fingers fit themselves between her flesh of her breasts and the second-skin of her purple costume. They paused, resting for a moment as if they were trying to sop up the heat of her skin. The fingers worked for a moment, squeezing her large breasts with cruel, steel-like fingers. They were rough and they were strong as they groped her again and again and finally he pulled the slick fabric away.
She heard Chelsea’s voice in her ear piece again.
“They’re all over you now, aren’t they? That’s how they handled me also. They must be playing with your pussy, squeezing your tits. You must feel totally helpless. I know I did. You’re like a toy. I remember one really needed to have his fingers in my mouth. He tried to push them all the way to the back of my throat.”
As she listened to her betrayer, Snare gagged on the fingers that were forcing their way into her mouth. Chelsea’s voice ceased as their voices grew in her head.
“Big tits! Nice, big tits.”
“Look at that body! Whew!”
“Here we go!”
The one that had her hair lifted her head higher. This was so she could look down the relief of her own body. She saw her own bare breasts, hard nipples jutting at the ceiling. She saw the taut creases of her tight abs, the dip of her navel still covered in her purple sheath. She saw the defined muscles of her thighs and calves of her legs gripped by the men. They sank their fingers into the sinew of her legs.
And saw what they had affixed to her.
There was a thick belt girdling her waist and crotch. It was leather, she assumed, and glossy. She felt a groan well out of her, around the fingers that were raping her mouth, as they tightened it.
“Make sure it’s nice and tight.”
Something thick and purple sprouted from the center of the belt. It was long and curved – a grape-colored shaft that corkscrewing its way up from her body. It looked like a cock, yes, but it had the lands and grooves of a screw or the rifling of a gun. It had twisting ridges and bumps. It was almost as long as her forearm and was topped with a thick, wide mushroom tip.
“They probably have a dildo strapped on you right now,” said the voice of her former ally in her ear. “They want you to see it.” Snare said nothing. The fingers were gone now, and she seethed through her teeth. A new direction seemed to come over the group. With the same intensity that they had ministered to her crotch, they focused on her neck. There was the sudden thick pressure, the wrapped-around tightness, of a metal band around her throat. She winced as it was clamped shut. She heard some sort of computerized technology whine itself to life just behind her ear.
“Get up on your knees!”
Now, the fist that held her hair was pulling and lifting. She cringed and sucked air hard through her teeth.
“Get up on your knees and get behind the cow.”
Multiple hands twisted and yanked her body, moving her like an object into position behind Tina – Cutlass. Someone bit her breasts. Someone clutched and squeezed her buttocks with powerful hands. The voice crackled in her ear again.
“They’re probably all over you right now,” said the voice in her ear. “Biting, grabbing, sucking …. They probably haven’t actually fucked you yet, but they are all over you.”
Snare could feel all of them, but she was most focused on the superheroine who was already in their hands. The redheaded Cutlass – the captive Tina - was on all fours, her head down, her long hair touching the floor. She was panting, her back rising and falling with deep gulps of air. Several of the cult members gathered around her.
“Hey, piggy. I’m just going to get you ready for the show, okay?”
The man who spoke punctuated his words by slapping her ass. Cutlass moaned. Her head stayed bowed. One of the captors reached down, and slid his hands between her thick thighs. One palm turned outward, one turned the other way. They pushed, moving her thighs apart. Snare could see where they had cut a space in her costume. Dark, meaty lips hung down.
Once her legs were properly spread, the dominator took a moment to making sure to slap up into her swollen lips with a massive open palm. Another hand, a female one, took vicious hold of Snare’s throat. Even with the collar on, Snare could feel the long, sharply manicured nails against her skin. The one that had her hair and twisted harder as another pair of hands grabbed both her buttocks. They all worked to position her behind Cutlass.
The strap-on was aimed at Cutlass’s gushing pussy.
“Rape her,” a male voice snarled in her ear. The massive hand that had hold of her hair twisted it tighter and yanked her head back.
“Fucking rape her. Do you understand?”
She was silent. She was silent, until Tina’s body tensed and shook with the surging energy. She was silent until she watched Tina, in her black-and-purple skinsuit, collapse into a gushing heap. She could see the other captive’s pussy lips jerk and quiver. She could her thighs twitch and tremble. She also had a collar.
“The collar gives pain!” a man yelled into her ear. “It gives a surge through the whole body. It goes right to your cunt.You resist, she suffers. The same for you if she resists.”
He shocked her again. Tina screamed and clawed at her throat with one hand and her mound with the other.
“Alright!” Snare yelled. She panted, licked her lips, and then said it again. “Alright!”
“Alright, what?” asked the man who had hold of her hair.
“Alright. I’ll rape her.”
“Say it again.”
She was a panting in her pause. The one who had hold of her throat shook her. Hands crushed and twisted her breasts.
“Say it!”
“I’ll rape her, ok?” She finally gasped. “I’ll rape her. You don’t need to use the collar.”
She reached out. Snare reached out. Her hands came to Cutlass’ hips. For a moment, she looked at her gloves against Cutlass’ body suit and stockings. She looked at the lighter, metallic hue of her purple against the dark, deep midnight of the other woman’s costume. She felt the muscular thickness of the redhead’s hips and thighs.
A set of hands grabbed and re-grabbed her hair, making it a point to twist it into a thick knot. Another clutched her buttocks and squeezed. A female mouth was on her right nipple, sucking fiercely. Snare, though, focused on what she had been ordered to do. She pushed her hips forward and flexed the muscles of her thighs. Her head was held in place, but she was able to glance down and watch as the thick mass of her strap-on disappeared into Cutlass’s pussy.
Tina took a deep gasping pull of air and squeezed her eyes shut as the massive tool slowly slid its way into her. Her scream peeled its way out of her as a high-pitched mewl instead of an explosion. It came with the smooth tempo of the big thing that was entering her and moving about. It took her over from the inside, inch by inch. Her hands formed tight fists against the stone of the floor.
More juice poured down her leg.
One captive fucked the other. Snare pushed into her until her costumed crotch was flush up against Cutlass’s buttocks. Cutlass screamed and spurted. Snare’s purple costume was soaked and glistening.
“Grab her hair. Pull her hair. Really bury yourself in that pussy,” said the cultist that had hold of her hair. He shook her head to emphasize his point. She was already taking hold of Tina’s hair with her right hand as Chelsea spoke into her mic.
“Just do as they say, babe. You’ve had to work under pressure before and it worked out, right? You’ve been used as a sex toy”
Snare drew back her hips and thrust again, this time pulling back on Cutlass’s hair as though it were the reigns of an animal. Cutlass screamed. It was higher and more like a shriek this time. Her sculpted muscles tremored and she slapped the floor.
“You’ve been down this road,” Chelsea whispered in her ear as Snare rotated her hips and remembered.
Snare awoke on the floor of the limo. She knew immediately that they had beaten her for now, and that she was a captive. She could feel her body tightly hog-tied. It wasn’t clear what they had used, but her ankles were joined together, her wrists were joined together, and they were joined to each other. They had stuffed a thick rubber cock into her mouth and taped it in place.
Designer Italian shoes. Cowboy boots. High-end sneakers. The men in the limo rested their feet on her sides, her thighs, her breasts as the smoked cigars and drank. Some had whiskey. Some had beer. All of them laughed and joked they headed towards the dock.
“This super bitch is gonna’ suck every cock in the house!”
One of them ground his heel against her thigh.
“All the bros here are really glad to meet you,” he laughed. He began unzipping his tailored trousers.
Present to where she was right here and now, Snare felt more hands twist her hair, grab her throat, clutch her breasts, all of them urging her forward. All of them made her thrust. It didn’t anger her that she did as told, pumping her hips faster and letting them use her body. It didn’t anger her that she had been betrayed and captured. It angered her that she was raping Cutlass. It angered her that she groaned as she did it. It angered her when she heard herself suck air between her teeth.
“Let her know your name, bitch.”
“I’m … I’m Snare.”
“And you’re raping her.”
“I’m Snare and I’m raping you.”
“You! Redheaded cunt! Welcome her to your cunt!”
“I’m …” Tina swallowed and took and deep breath. “I’m Cutlass. Welcome …. Welcome … to my cunt.”
She punctuated it with a scream. She mewled and bit down on some hair that had wandered into her mouth.
“Frig her clit!”
With her right hand, Snare reached into the heat between them. She pressed gloved fingers up against what felt like a long, swollen bud. She began making circles with her forefinger and her middle finger. She felt it roll and squirm with a juicy resilience as she pressed and rubbed. It was almost as if her clit was springing to life as her owner was being fucked. Guess I’m not the only one getting betrayed tonight, Snare thought.
Juice ran between her fingers.
The thickness and the texture of that dildo - its curvature and it ridges - hit her in all of the places it was meant designed to. She shuddered, every now and then looking over her shoulder. Through a veil of red hair, she could see the newly-captured superheroine. The girl wore purple also. It was a different shade, but also skin-shear. She had the same sort of sleek, muscular fitness as Cutlass. She had the abs and the cut firmness. She was a blond with large breasts.
“I got something special for this Snare bitch.”
Cutlass heard what could only have been a gun coming out of a holster. Her head was forward and towards the floor again, her face hidden behind waves of red hair, but she knew the sound.
“Magic is great, high-tech is great, but nothing beats a Barretta.”
Biting her lower lip, Tina swiveled her head around to see the long, black automatic in the hand of one of the stylish men. He brought it up to Snare’s face as the hands tuned her head to meet it. The muzzle of the gun hovered at her mouth.
“Open,” he snarled. “Open and fucking give my gun head. Suck it. Suck it while you fuck her.”
Her eyes were squinted, but Cutlass watched as Snare, the captive woman who was being made to fuck her, opened her lush mouth to accept the muzzle of a gun. He could have jammed it in, but instead eased it into the open pinkness of her mouth. As if she knew that he wanted it to be as pornographic as possible, she edged her tongue out, inviting the cold edges of the gun.
“Keep up the fucking, bitch! Keep it up!”
She did, her muscular thighs pumping, her buttocks clenching, as she plunged the strap-on in and out of Tina. At the same time, she started a rhythm with her neck and head. Her lips sealed themselves around the gun, and she dragged her mouth from the trigger guard to the bore and back again. Cutlass looked up to see the throng of captors. They drank and they golf clapped. They touched themselves through designer clothes. They pointed out this detail and that.
“Ok, now pull out of her pussy nice and slow. I got something else for you.”
With a gun still in her mouth, Snare did as she was told. With a shock collar on, with hands gripping her throat, and a crowd cheering, she edged her way back. A final spurt of Tina’s pussy juice ushered the dildo out. Tina moaned as she felt new hands on her. Supernaturally powerful, they tore a wider gap in her costume’s crotch. Now, her whole ass was free and exposed in the incensed air of the room. Hands, some male, some female, grabbed her ass cheeks from either said and pulled them apart.
“You know what I want to see? You know what?”
Neither heroine knew who was speaking, but they both heard someone work saliva up in his mouth. There was the sound of man spitting, and Tina felt a gob of something warm and thick crash into the starfish of her anus. There was another one, loud and deep, and then another gob of spit landed in the crease of her ass. There was another, and another right after it. One gob of spit overran the other, filling her ass with saliva. She could feel the spit of her captors oozing down the cleft of her ass.
“There we go!”
Palms crashed into each other vigorously. Wine glasses and cigars excused themselves as their owners sat them down to cheer and applaud.
“Spit on her asshole! Get that fucking pig good and wet!” It was a slender woman in a skin-tight red dress. She had grey-white hair that seemed to glow even in the subdued light of the room. She had a British accent and she raised a glass of whiskey as her voice rose above the others.
“Fuck her in the ass! Do it!”
Cutlass looked up at her. Cutlass knew her. She sent her mind back to recall her original captivity in the hands of the mature woman in the red dress.
“Pay her back for what she did to my girls! To my school!”
She knew this woman.
Abigail Smith.
As another man pulled her cheeks apart and spat hard into her ass, she remembered her first meeting with Ms. Abigail Smith and her School for Questionable Girls. Trails of saliva were oozing down on to her pink-brown pussy lips. A female member saw the glistening cunt, and now the woman was vigorously rubbing them in circles. Tina feel the harsh ripples rising in her, and she could hear the juicy, wet smacking sounds of her own cunt, but her eyes were fixed on the sinewy, grey-haired woman.
Ms. Abigail Smith.
She remembered.
Her costume was more like a dance leotard then – a glossy, skin-tight body stocking. Still purple, it had black stripes up the legs and arms. It had a night black collar and a black stripe that ran down her back. She wore the liquid leather black boots and her mask was a purple stripe across her eyes. That was what she was wearing when Ms. Abigail Smith captured her.
She remembered Ms. Abigail Smith.
The older woman clapped her hands and six more girls came from the shadows. They weren’t girls, of course. They were women. They were grown women, muscular and solid in jet-black catsuits. One had a cute little pixie haircut, while another wore her blonde hair long, thick, and unkempt. There was a redhead with a long, ropy braid. There was a chestnut girl with an afro, and another with pigtails. They all wore those slick, black catsuits, and they all came out clutching bo staffs. Each wore a simple medallion of dull metal.
They surrounded her in the marble foyer of the house. Their stocking feet were silent against the stone floor.
Ms. Abigail Smith stood at the top of the winding stairwell, her arms crossed.
“Did you really come to my school and expect to stop my girls and me? The two of you?”
She gestured at the floor in front of her. On her side, still conscious, Taylor- Dagger – had already been captured. Beaten and captured. Her mask was gone. She was still in her skin-tight costume and boots, but on her face, she wore a bride’s scold gag. It was the classic medieval humiliation gag. A metal band tightly covered her mouth and ran around the back of her head. That was joined to a steel triangle that formed and inverted V around her nose. Another metal band ran from front to back, linking it all together with an arc if steel that tightly ran over her head. Her ankles were in cuffs, pinned together. Her wrists were in cuffs, pinned together. Both sets of cuffs were joined to a metal bar that ran between them up the length of her body and up to her neck. It wrapped her throat in a thick, metal collar. Her big breasts were squeezed tightly on either side of the bar. Her thighs were pressed together and pressed against the metal.
“Everything that I’ve used to bind her came from medieval witch hunters. They are imbued with their powers, and that is why they neutralize her powers. The same goes for the medallions that my girls wear. That is why you are so very weak. Beat her! Punish her! Sticks!”
There was flurry of motion. The first girl snapped the end of her stick up, burying it between Tina’s thighs. Her body stiffened with pain as another stick crashed in the base of her skull and another snapped across her breasts. One girl jammed the end of her stick into one thigh, as another girl did the same to the other. Cutlass moaned and fell to her knees. A stick crashed into the muscles of her upper back. Another swung up from behind, again, punishing her crotch.
“Hands!” commanded Abigail Smith. The women dropped their staffs and deftly laid into her with clenched fists and open palms. One grabbed her by the hair holding her upright on her knees, rearing her back so that her body was yielded up for a proper assault. They punched her in each breast. Another crashed a fist across her face and another knelt down so that she could dig a punch in to Tina’s abs. The one that hit her in face hauled back and hit her again and again and over again. At first, it seemed as though they would crowd each other in their efforts to get in close and beat her. They worked together, though, being brutally patient as one woman, then the other took her turn and digging punches into Tina.
Soon, they let her crumble to the floor. Now, more of them could set upon the redhead in the purple second skin. She could hear herself moan as one punched her face over and over. The woman in black would grasp her chin over and over as though she were a disobedient child, then punish her with sharp punches and slaps.
Two others were wrenching and twisting her breasts.
“Feet!” commanded Abigail Smith. “Get some good ones in!”
Again, Cutlass was hoisted up by her hair. The hands released, and almost immediately a crescent kick snapped across her face. There was a blur of pain, then Tina caught sight of the small powerful woman who was doing the kicking. She was muscular and short, with straw-colored hair cut into a neat little bob. Her face was a mask of intensity as she snapped yet another inside to outside kick across Tina’s face. Tina could see that she took a classic Japanese stance, and she could feel the power of years of practice.
The blurring and the pain took control of her senses yet again as the woman followed up with a blindingly fast outside to inside crescent kick. Ms. Abigail Smith nudged Taylor – Dagger - with the toe of her shiny high-heeled shoe. Bound and gagged with the witch’s scold, Taylor slightly raised her head, but could do little else.
“Look at how they beat your whore step-mother. Isn’t that juicy?”
There was a moment, distilled in her vision, of Cutlass, her superheroine stepmother, in her shiny high-heeled boots and her body-slick second skin being kicked in the face. Her head snapped back. She heard Cutlass give out a throaty, guttural groan as she was struck and tumbled to her left. She saw another woman, a tall, well-muscled blond, launch herself forward into a hand spring. She planted both palms on the floor and arched her long body in a wave of power and precision. She sent both long stockinged legs in a crashing wave that planted both stocking feet into Tina’s face. Backwards and upside down she delivered a capoeira kick that sent Cutlass tumbling in the other direction.
Taylor could see the thick, red lips of her stepmother’s mouth open in a painful circle. She could see her eyes squeezed closed and her chin jutted up towards the ceiling as her head was driven back.
Another woman had already moved in behind Tina, slashing a powerful Muy Thai kick into the backs of her muscular legs. Dagger heard the crisp, slapping sound of the leg-weapon striking home on her stepmother. Cutlass’ legs buckled.
A girl with two long braids leapt straight towards the redhead, who was now on her knees. She shot out a textbook front kick, plowing the ball of her foot into Tina’s midsection, into her diaphragm. The air rushed out of her, and Cutlass doubled over. Her hair tumbled forward in a wave.
Another girl, a lean Latina, took her turn, dropping an axe kick into the middle of Tina’s back. Another girl – Taylor would remember the girl’s white-blonde hair and thick thighs – laid a kick into Tina’s ribs. She hauled back, and laid in another, and another, and another. The axe kicks from the ravaging Latina continued to fall like rain on Cutlass’ back. Tina’s body would convulse each time she absorbed a kick.
“Get her up!” Ms. Abigail Smith called down.
They did as told, using her hair, again to lift her up.
“Finish her off! Don’t kill her, but … destroy her.”
Hands grabbed her throat again, clamping shut and squeezing off her air. She made short chirping noise as the last of her wind died in her chest. Two more grabbed her wrists and pinned them behind her back. A single powerful hand held both of her hands together at the small of her back. It was a crushing vise-like grip that held her wrists captive just above the curve of her ass. The captor’s other hand paused for a moment, then fiercely attached itself to Tina’s right butt cheek. The powerful fingers dug themselves into the firm contours.
“Oh, that’s an ass!” the woman extoled. “Fit little shelf!”
She moved her hand left a bit and clenched even harder, now squeezing both hemispheres of the captive’s purple-swathed backside. The fabric was skintight and seemed to offer up the tight, firm muscles of Tina’s ass. The woman crushed Tina’s wrists at the same time that she dug her fingers into her flesh. Tina – Cutlass – could hear the woman’s rasping breath.
Another was in front of her. She was a freckled redhead with wide hips and breasts as large as Tina’s. Her face was a mask of passion and joy as she leant a hand to the grips that were crushing Tina’s throat. Not needed to join its partner, the other hand was free to jam itself between the heroine’s thighs. It sought the thick outline of Cutlass’s lips. Her fingers were strong and worked furiously to get hold her mound.
“There!”
Once she found it, once her felt the quivering contours of the labia, she gathered Tina’s pussy in her hand. She squeezed it. She crushed it in her fist, making sure to jam a fingertip up against her clit.
“There it is!”
She pressed it, rolled it, and rubbed it as if she wanted the long bud to come off in her palm. Tina’s face reddened. Her body shook. As hands reached in from either side, taking hold of her breasts, twisting and wrenching them, Taylor watched from her bondage perch.
Taylor watched as her stepmother’s eyes closed, and she was allowed to sink to the floor.
They stepped back to look at their work. She was on her back. Her eyes with their purple-shaded lids, were closed and her mouth was pursed open. One leg was propped up, one spread off to the side. Her arms were spread wide.
Taylor watched and one of them took hold Cutlass’ left leg, and one grabbed her right. One scooped an arm around her waist, pulling Cutlass up against her body and onto her shoulder. The ones with her legs did the same, pulling them up onto their shoulders. One was seized by a moment of ravenous glee. She dug red nails into Tina’s thigh, opened her raspberry mouth, and bit into the thick muscle of Tina’s left leg. Taylor could see her jaw clench and flex as she bit her captive through the material of her body suit.
Two others were threading their arms below Cutlass’ shoulders, wrapping their arms around each other’s shoulders, and lifting her up. Tina’s arms hung free and her head sagged back. Stocking feet silent against the floor, the women whooped and cheered as they carried off the unconscious woman in the purple skinsuit. Tina.
“Put her in a gibbet!” laughed Ms. Abigail Smith.
Dagger watched as they carried her stepmother on their shoulders like a trophy.
And now, months later, Ms. Abigail Smith watched them prepare her ass for fucking.
“Lemme give her some of this!” laughed a man.
“You sure you want to use some now, bro?”
“Just a bit.” With that, he groaned and Tina felt a hot jet of viscous liquid splash itself into her ass. Two eager fingers massaged the wetness around between her cheeks. A thumb – a male thumb with a manicured nail – slipped into her asshole. Slick and sausage-thick, it opened her up and filled her tight hole, stretching it. He must have seen how she squeezed her eyes shut and tensed her mouth. He took a few strokes, fucking Tina’s ass with his thumb. She gave a pained whimper.
She looked again at Ms Abigail Smith, at the way she gloated and laughed.
Cutlass heard herself panting, moaning. She looked up at the people in the room all of them were joining her in glee and satisfaction of watching the heroines.
“This is where you go next, blondie,” the man said to Snare.
He pulled his thumb free with a slick little pop.
“Rape her in the ass. Do it!”
Snare felt them twist and yank her hair again. She felt them guiding her forward.
“Say that you understand me. Say ‘yessir!’”
Her mouth was free of the gun, and a hand gripped her face as though she were a disobedient child.
“Yes, sir.”
She looked up at the audience again, her eyes locking directly on to those of Ms. Abigail Smith.
This bitch again.
The grey-haired woman raised a glass to the captive blonde, Snare. She raised her glass as Snare was being forced to fuck Cutlass.
“Hello, sweety! Miss me?”
She took a sip.
“Looks like I have you again, sweety.”
They used layers and layers and twisted lengths of narrow chains to bind her. She wasn’t awake to struggle as one woman made a loop of metal, wrapping it below her big breasts cinching it tightly with pad lock. Snare would have fought her, wrapping the chain around the woman’s own neck and strangling her, if she hadn’t been knocked out by the gas. She would have used her own rope, her own fighting sticks, her own twirling barrage of kicks and strikes that defeated these bitches when she fought them in the parking garage. This time, though, when she confronted them here at Ms. Abigail Smith’s mansion, they quickly donned gas masks and watched as the room was quickly flooded with thick, green mist. They clapped their hands and did little victory dances as she collapsed to her knees, clutching her throat. She squinted and gagged, finally ending up on all fours, finally, slumping to the floor on one side.
Now, Snare was unconscious and they were joyously wrapping narrow lengths of chain around and around and around. They wrapped them just below her breasts, pinning her arms to her sides. They wrapped them around and around her wrists, lashing them to her ankles in their purple boots. They yanked them tightly. They lashed her athlete’s thighs together with layer after layer of tiny links. All of it was padlocked.
As she slept, they crammed a dildo into her mouth and strapped it in place. It was thick and it was black. The cock’s leather strap with its silver buckle was cinched tightly at the back of her head.
The women took turns with Snare’s sleeping body. One named Kimberly rolled Snare on to her on to her back, pulling all of that blond hair to one side.
“I love this costume.”
She ran her hands over the slick, purple, second-skin material. It had the pattern of metallic reptile skin, and was higher-tech than what she had first assumed. She slid her hand over the plunging open V of the front of the captive’s costume. Her fingers crawled along the half-exposed hemispheres of Snare’s breasts.
“Love it.”
She curled her fingers under the material, then pulled it aside. She exposed one of Snare’s breasts, then the other. If she had been awake, and not gassed into a world of sleep, Snare would have struggled and fought. Still knocked out, she could only lie there, chained and hogtied, as Kimberly settled in on one side of her and an athletic girl with pink hair knelt down on the other. Almost simultaneously, Snare’s big pink-brown nipples disappeared into their mouths. The one the right, the girl with the pink hair, closed her eyes and took a deep inhalation of Snare’s skin and she began sucking. Kimberly was squeezing the other tit at the same time, trying to force as much of it as she could into her mouth.
The girls in black body suits lined up on one side or the other. They waited their turns. Soon, the first two woman had had their fill, and two more women took their places. A lean California blonde took Kimberly’s place, and an Asian beauty replaced the girl with the pink hair.
Groaning, eyes fluttering, Snare awoke to the feeling of women fiercely sucking her nipples. To be accurate, one was sucking. One was biting and chewing. She wasn’t going hard enough to break the skin, but she seemed as though she wanted to devour the mound as opposed to simply suck from it. Snare would have screamed out, but her mouth was jammed with a thick, rubber dildo.
Her eyes were wide and she gave a guttural groan. The two women moved soon, and two more took their places. As they started their own relationships with her breasts, she looked up to see Ms. Abigail Smith standing at the top of the stairs.
“You really ought not break into other people’s homes, love.”
She beamed as another set of girls took their turn.
Last time, she as able to turn the tables on this bitch. Now, she did as told. Snare slid forward, muscular legs flexing, but then sudden palm grabbed her just below the breasts.
“Wait. Before you drill her, get yourself good and lubed up. Use her ass to get wet, then drill her ass.”
There was another male groan and a long, thick steam of white arced over Snare’s shoulder and laid itself in a crevasse of Cutlass’ ass.
“Now, take that strap-on that you are wearing and lay it in her ass like a hotdog in a bun. Just get that cum and spit all over that cock.”
Snare rose up a bit, taking hold of the dildo that she wore, and angling it up so that it was squeezed itself between Tina’s butt cheeks. Cum mingled with saliva oozed over the length of the cock, running its way across the thick veins and the mushroom tip. Cutlass simpered, as Snare pumped her hips, sliding the toy up and down. It became slicker and wetter, and finally glistened in Cutlass’ ass.
“Good and juicy,” a captor laughed.
“Ok … Now, fuck her. Rape her up the ass.”
“Yessir.”
Snare adjusted herself again, the head of the big cock pressing against the pucker of her asshole. She pressed forward, and the asshole gaped as the wide tip spread Cutlass’ asshole open. Tina’s scream echoed through the chamber. She slapped the floor with an open palm and the crowd began to froth. They raised fists in the air and Ms. Abigail Smith screamed above them all.
“Do it! Fuck her!”
Snare took hold of Cutlass’s hips, pulled herself back, then drove forward again. The tight passage did its best to yawn open for the sudden thrusting of the cock. She grunted with exertion as Cutlass mewled and bit down on her full lower lip. Her muscles tremored as Snare rotated her hips, pulled back, and buried herself deeper in Cutlass’ ass.
“There we go! Those are the two bitches that destroyed my world. Destroyed my school. I’m rebuilding it now, and … look at you two! We’re forcing you to rape her! I love it! The whole idea is coming to fruition; we captured who we wanted to, and we used you as we wanted to, and we are feeding off of your energy. I am having my revenge.”
Snare gave another deep thrust, and felt Cutlass’ body tense, and shudder. This scream came from deeper, and deeper still. Her body seemed to fold in itself. The curvy redhead slumped forward to the floor, even as Snare continued to pump. The big muscles in her thighs shook, and Snare continued to thrust.
The crowd continued cheering, and this loudest one called out.
“Ms. Smith! What are your thoughts?”
The crowd went silent almost immediately.
“Ms. Abigail Smith, ma’am, when they’ve fucked for long enough, and the humiliation is complete, shall we execute them, or start them all over again?”
Snare looked up to see whether the old woman held up a thumb, or turned it down. Something told her that they were doing this as though she were a Roman Emperor. When she looked up, before she could see Smith, a hot stream of cum splashed across her eyes. Her hands came to her face and the stinging wrenched a scream out of her. Her mouth was open for the next shot of cum from the next cultist.
Pineapple. The word ran through her mind as the white stream collided with her tongue and began to ooze to the back of her throat. He’s been eating pineapple.
She was blind, and still joined with Cutlass, the strap-on in her ass. She could hear the redheaded heroine gasp and groan. Even blind, she could tell that someone had wrenched her head back by her hair and shot a load of cum on her face. There was another right after him, and then another.
A voice called out.
“Their fates have been decided!”
2.
Nikko tossed Cutlass in the garbage. When the game was done – when they were satisfied with the show that Snare had been forced to perform with Cutlass, and the two women had been dowsed in cum – they gave Cutlass to the muscular cock-woman.
“Do with her as you will. Your service has been much, much appreciated.”
She took a deep and dramatic bow. She then effortlessly scooped up Tina, running her arm around the heroine mother’s waist, lifting her, and delivering her to her own shoulder. With long, red hair sweeping down, Tina swayed and bounced as Nikko strode away with her.
It was hours later, in the stillness of the same cold night, that Nikko stood on a rooftop on the other side of town. She looked down in the empty shadows of the alley below. This was a commercial part of town, swank and full of places for the well-to-do to spend their money. This rooftop was on a street full of high-end eateries and bistros.
She chuckled.
No matter how swank the restaurant, she mused, their garbage still smells like defeat and humiliation. She pondered that as she reached down, took Cutlass by the throat, and picked her up. Tina made tiny chirping gasps, but couldn’t resist as Nikko lifted her with one hand and dangled her over the edge.
“We are keeping you alive so that we can continue they game. See you soon.”
She pulled Tina in quickly, shoving her tongue into the beaten woman’s mouth. She closed her eyes and drank from Cutlass for a brief moment. Her mouth a hot and still had a slick of cum in it. A stream of spit and jism clung between them as she thrust Tina back away from her, dangled her again, and released her.
Tina, the superheroine called Cutlass fell – tumbling with her legs over her head - and landed in a world of entrails, trash, and refuse. She blacked out as the garbage folded over her face.
3.
Snare stood in chains. They had removed the strap-on cock and replaced it with a chastity belt. It was painfully tight and sat high on her hips. Snare had been unconscious when they clamped it on her, spread her legs and wrapped and sealed and locked her into it. Now, she stood before her new owner, captive and throbbing. It clutched her pussy in a steel fist. A thick chain joined the to the bare stone of the wall. Only a few feet long, it held her close to the corner.
When she moved a bit, squirmed this way or that, she could feel something deeply ensconced in her ass. She could also feel something was wedged deep up in her sex.
Heavy silver cuffs linked her wrists together in front of her.
Her own rope had been fashioned into a noose. The loop was tight around her neck. The other end was joined to a metal loop that hung from one of the overhead beams. She could feel the familiar texture of the fibers, and she choked each time she tried to move. A bride’s scold made of gleaming silver metal was locked on her head. A thick band ran across her mouth and locked at the back of her head. A steel A arched its way over her nose, and a band stretched up from its apex, running to the back of her head where it joined the gag band.
Her breasts were exposed.
“Hello, little bitch. You got away from me last time.”
Ms. Abigail Smith reached forward and pinched Snare’s right nipple between her thumb and forefinger.
“We have some catching up to do.”
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