GOLD

Fetish

Written by Mr. K

GOLD:The Fetish III


She spat water, coughing it up from her tortured lungs. She coughed over and over. She panted. She gasped for air, her breasts heaving.

“That’s right, Gold. Air. I revived you. You know, I’m finding timing is everything in this villain biz. I timed your capture just right. I waited until I figured your lungs had just started to take you to unconsciousnes, and I brought you back from death’s door to play with you some more. It was great watching you drown ... or almost drown, I guess. And now you look so sexy with your blond hair slicked back ... that wet look to your costume.”

There was no way she could follow her impulse to reach up and wipe water from her face; I had her arms pinned to her sides with heavy, black chains. The same steel cut sharply against the thick, shapely muscles of her calves and thighs. She slowly squirmed in those chains, groaned, and rocked her head from side to side.

“You have ... more ... comic book panels ... for me?” she gasped.

“Yes.”

“From heroine ... comics?”

“Yes.” I was hard again.

“Those women ... you liked them .... as a boy?”

I was nodding, so aroused I could barely speak.

She continued speaking around her lack of air, her exhaustion. “You like ... chained women ... “

“And with the power that Rak...”

Gold’s eyes seemed to light up as I began to say his name.

“You’re one ... of his minions? You don’t need to ...”

Her head sank back. She was still weak.

“You can tell him that I ... surrender. To ... save ... the others. I surrender. He doesn’t. ... doesn’t need to beat me this way.”

“He knows. He wants me to play with you, and make you suffer before he takes you.”

“So ... he gets another woman. He collects us. We’re his women. Tell me ...” She looked at me as her gasping slowed. “Ever had one of your own?”

This time the rage was black and red in my head. I heard myself screaming like a child gone mad and I leapt up to her face, straddled her, and used my right hand to cram my hardness between those moist, full lips while my left held her head in place. I took her off-guard. The strain in her eyes as her mouth widened to accept my girth was precious.

“Ever had one of these!?!” I screamed.

I shoved my cock into her mouth. I was in the back of her throat, lost in the pleasure of how hot and endless her mouth seemed to be. She was gagging and I was drifting in the suffocating heat of the heroine’s mouth.

“Ever had one of these, you bitch!?! Ever had one of these? Tracy, right? Your real name is Tracy? Ever had one, Tracy?”
I spent the next moments congratulating myself : my cock was invading her heroine mouth.

I’m not sure how long I held her like that, but she was groggy as I pulled out of her mouth. A trail of semen stretched from my organ to her face.

“Ok, smart-assed bitch, I have another one for you.”

I grabbed that wet hair, and dragged her down the hall. Long legs ... those long legs ... worked in a sluggishly frantic way. She was trying to stand, but all she did was stir me.

Gold’s hair was warm and wet between my fingers. I was stirred again.

“Which ... ones?” she asked feebly as I dragged her.

“Which ones what?”

“Which heroine ... comics did you like?” Still, her voice was so calm. Tension rose in my throat. I didn’t want to answer.

“Let me guess. Sable Avenger was one, right?” she continued.

I never let go of her hair. Never. But I stopped in my tracks, deep tension gripping me. My toy was prying into my innerlife.

“How did you know?”

Her eyes met mine in a cool give-and-take.

“The way you have me chained. It’s from the cover of a Sable Avenger comic. I remember the way the chains were wrapped around her. This must have been in your brain.”

My mind went back to the image of the curvacious black woman in her green costume body suit. Yes. She was embraced by chains, and being dragged by her thick , dark hair. It must have been nine-teen-seventy-something.

“And you probably liked Europa. She was a big blond like me.”

Then it dawned on me.

“You’re playing mind games. You’re trying to get me to see you as something more than my toy.”

“Trying to get to know you. That’s all. I’m interested as to why Rakshasa picks who he picks.”

I let her drop on the floor. There was not a sound as I took the ball gag from my pocket, and fastened it between those full lips of hers. She calmly accepted the gag.

“Those were my women. Do you remember Europa’s fight with Grave?”

I used the power, scanning her brain. Yes. She knew the comic book. She remembered the cover: The big-breasted heroine in her blue skin suit, bound in chains, her face a mask of pain and fear, in a coffin in an open grave. The victorious villain Grave loomed over the helpless Swedish heroine, ready to close the lid. BURIED ALIVE was scrawled on the cover.

You’e going to bury me alive, I heard her think. Memories came swimming back to her, and her fear made me hard.

“You’ve been buried alive before, haven’t you Gold?”

I used the power. I pushed my fingers into the wet hair and breathed in deeply. I grew hard again as a I felt Gold’s recollection and fear well up.

“You have. The villain was called Snakehead.”

I saw a muscular, powerfully-built Asian man in a hooded reptile skin. He weilded darts on long cords and chains.

“Yes ... he was hired by the triads to kill you, wasn’t he. You and some other heroines.”

I saw the image of Gold kneeling over Lone Star’s curvacious fallen form. She slowly rolled the blue-clad heroine over to see two darts lodged in her big breasts. Distracted, she did not hear the stealthy Snakehead alighting on the roof behind her.

“He fired an energy at you, but ...”

I saw Gold dodging two powerful red beams. She dove, rolled, and the fight was on. They traded beams back and forth, traded blows back and forth.

“You fought well, Gold, until...”

Later I would draw a series of comic panels that celebrated Snakehead’s defeat of Gold. She took his beams right in the eyes, screaming, her hands to her face. I drew her body arched back, big breasts trusted up and forward, hair in a wild, flailing web.

“You were weak, and he beat you mercilessly. He beat you from one room to the next in that cheap motel. He kicked you over and over. Spin kicks. Axe kicks. You thought he was going to twist your breasts right off of your body. You thought he was going to drown you when he shoved your head in that toilet. No ... not the toilet. Mmmmm ... He reared you back and slammed your head down so hard that the toilet shattered. It was when he strangled you with your head submerged in a full tub that you thought it was time to die.”

The next scenes were of Snakehead taking flight, one fist wrapped around Gold’s thick mane of hair.

“He took you to the mountains miles and miles away. I can feel how cold it was that night. When you awoke it was pitch dark and the wind was howling. He had ...”

I was so excited that I could barely breathe.

“He had wet cement. He boxed you up, put you in a shallow grave, and filled it with cement.”

I smiled at her.

“Now you get to meet the grave again.”


It was another simple trap. A room. A dirt floor. A six-foot-deep grave. A special coffin at the bottom. Gold didn’t make a sound, as I lifted her curvy, athletic body, dropped her into the box the bottom of the pit, and laughed as the force of her hitting bottom slammed the lid shut.

With a frantic display of anger, I grabbed the shovel and buried Gold alive. Dirt hit the wooden lid with wet slapping sounds, sending tremors.

As I packed the soil down, I thought about those words. She knew. I knew. I hadn’t had a real woman. They had drifted in and out of my life, but only those multicolored panels with their bound women in spandex stayed. They were my women. I packed that sand hard with the flat of my shovel.


I went into the next room, sweat trailing down my face. I went to see Mici.

She stood as tall as Gold, and was just as powerfully beautiful in her build. Her breasts were as large, and stretched the leather of her body suit. Her thighs were big in fishnet stockings, and her calves were perfect curves in leather boots. She was a red head.

She was Mici, my sister.

My fantasy world had to include her. She was the scientist who figured out so much of this. She was the warrior in the family.

“Where’s Gold?” she asked.

“The grave.”

“Get her out soon. I need to fight her as soon as possible.”

She was stretching and shadow boxing. This was my sister’s thing. When we bought those comics as kids, she built her own fantasies. Hunching her tall frame next to me as we read, she dove into the pages with me.

“I want to do that,” she pointed to a panel of Europa being beaten by a tall, sexy villainess. “I want to beat a super woman like that.”

Mici had a lot of anger.

In those days of comic books and freedom summers, she was already a head above and two grades beyond the other kids our age. A mind that moved like a force of nature and a body that was that of a woman before the end of Middle School, she was more the subject of ridicule than admiration.

She was angry most of the time.

She was also “the real deal.” She had battled one superheroine, already. I watched, one night, while she lured and attacked Neutron. Her science blinded the redhead -gas and a sonic weapon of her own design - and her muscle made it a delicious fight. I sat on a rooftop, watched, and masturbated as Mici mounted the prone redhead and wrapped her hands around the throat, and squeezed.

Now she towered over me, stern faced as she prepared.

“Bring me Gold. Start digging her up now. She’ll be close to death by the time you get her out of the pit.”

I didn’t feel as though I could say no. Something that had always answered to her pushed me to walk back to the burial room.


GOLD:The Fetish IIIb


My arms were sore by the time I pulled the lid from the coffin. Worn through with weariness, I still felt myself go hard when the dirt slid away, the lid opened, and I saw her face. Eyes closed, hair coiled in a mess, she was a sculpture of death and beauty.

“Look at you,” I smiled. Her lips were parted slightly and cum still stained her.

“How long have you been in there, Gold?” I mused. That claw of fear that twists your guts in a knot, runs cold down your spine, and makes you small and helpless grabbed me a second later.

“Long enough,” she said.

A calm, smooth voice. Big, blue eyes wide open. Her palm opening to my face. Gold, when her powers are at full, can generate a blast of pure mystical energy. It can do anything from stun you and hold you in place, to start fires and kill. She chose not to kill me that day. I guess she just wanted me to see that the drug had worn off, and that she was up and ready to fight again.

I flew back, my faced twisted in pain. I flew. I screamed. I hit the wall and crumbled in a heap. I looked up, my eyes welling with tears, to see the tall woman’s long legs striding towards me. The fear was hot, and I scrambled left, only to be scooped up from the ground and held aloft by her.

“Game’s over,” she said.

I simpered, grasping at her wrist.

“No...” It was all caving in. In the twinkling of an eye, I was now losing. I was the little boy again. My slave saw me cry.

“You’re going to ....”

She never finished scolding me. I watched as her eyes grew wide and her body tensed in a deep, ripping earthquake of spasming muscles. She lost her grip on me and surrended to a sudden torrent of darting violet energy. Fingers of light shot around her, arched through her hair and penetrated her golden skin. She didn’t scream. She just fell in a heap.

I looked up to see my sister standing in the doorway. She held some sort of wand, and wore a scowl.

“What is that?” I managed to say.

“Just bring the bitch!”