GOLD

Return of Rakshasa: IMPALER III

Written by Mr. K

Golden Bat listened to herself breathe shallow, labored breaths in the darkness. She could feel the ropes around her wrists and ankles, biting cruelly into her spandex-covered flesh, and holding her in a wide spread-eagle on the bed. She could feel that her nipples were still huge, hard buttons crowning her swollen breasts, and her vagina was still pulsing from the biker bitch’s wanton mouth.

She was sore.

Her captivity at the hands of Ms. V had not been like this. V was something of the professional dominatrix. She had very precise ways and means to dominate her. Everything was so cool and vicious with Ms. V, that Golden Bat felt a type of fear that was rare for her.


“Crawl around behind me, and kiss my ass,” V smiled. A dog collar around her neck, Golden Bat did as told, making a short trip on her hands and knees to crouch at the captor’s firm backside. The woman, in her blue leather pants and self-satisfied smile, let out a sigh as the captive Golden Bat pressed her moist, full lips to the curve of her ass.

“Make them loud kisses. Smooches.”

Golden Bat could not recall how many times she kissed Ms. V’s ass, or how many times she licked and sucked the leather of her boots. She knew that V only used the heel of her boot once, having Golden Bat tear open her own costume and get on her back with her legs in the air. V used the heel to fuck her captive’s ass and pussy until they were raw.

V was a technician of humiliation.


The Roadmaster’s woman was an animal. She was lustful and wild. She bit Golden Bat all over, slapped her face and breasts, rimmed her asshole, and rubbed pussy juice all over her.

The tall blonde had embedded a small dildo up Golden Bat’s ass, and it was still tightly wedged up there. The tortured vagina was full of a huge dildo that was ribbed, rounded at the end, and upwardly curved. The ball gag that she’d shoved into Golden Bat’s mouth wasn’t standard issue fetish gear. The ball was the base of a huge dildo. Six inches of stiff rubber cock protruded from her captive mouth. It moved in an arc above her face as she moved her head from side to side.
She had lost count of how many times the blond had straddled her face and ridden the cock, taking all of the tool through a neat opening in the crotch or her pantyhose. The woman would look down, gloating, she the rode the dildo and gushed on the captive’s face. Golden Bat was sodden with sweat and juice.

Her struggling had ended long ago. Every now and then she would strain to hear sounds that she took to be Gold being spanked, beaten, and fucked, but most of her hours had been a matter of the panty hose woman’s mouth and toys. Unlike the fight she tried to put up with Ms. V, Golden Bat’s tortured, killed,and resurrected body absorbed the blond’s lust with no protest.

The time, when she wasn't being being fucked, when she wasn’t being beaten, begged her to think. She was a captive, yet again.

Now she heard the clicking of high-heels as the large-breasted fem came back down the hall. There was the opening of the door, the click of the light, and the presence of the woman again.

“I’m ... back ... for more.”

As best as she could, Golden Bat raised her head to see her captor. Her eyes widened. The blond was walking as if she was drunk, staggering, and using the steel shelves of engine parts to steady herself. She wore a slowly mending wound over her heart.

“Hey, bitch. That skinny freak showed up. Gave me a ....” She feebly pointed at the wound. “ Gave me spear right in the chest. I was cumming ... and ... Hey! He took your momma out there. He came for Gold.”


Golden Bat’s mind raced, but she fell back helplessly as the biker chick pressed her shoulders down on the mattress and sank her mouth down to the swollen breasts. For some reason, she enjoyed biting and sucking her golden captive’s breasts through the spandex. There was something about the slick texture and the softness of her big breasts that drove the woman. As she did before, the big villainess gyrated atop the captive twentysomething woman. Her pussy was pouring juice, and she grunted like an animal.

One hand sought the ass dildo, and soon Golden Bat was emitting stifled moans. The Impaler’s dust still glistened on the woman’s skin, telling Golden Bat that the villain had really doused her with it. It mingled with the cheap perfume, and try as she might, the young heroine could not help but inhale it. She tried to focus on freeing herself, finding Gold, and defeating the Impaler, but all she could come up with was the joy of having the dominant woman manipulate both dildos up her ass and pussy.

And her breasts! The ripples of joy that shattered her over and over! She found herself wanting nothing more than for this woman to ravage her over and over. Animalistic to begin with, the tall, lean woman was now sheer sex drive and aggression. It seemed as though she would bite right through Golden Bat’s costume, and right through her breasts. In turn, the captive heroine arched her body, pressing her breasts forward, urging the biker bitch to devour her. She strained her crotch downward, trying to take more of both dildos.

This could go on forever.


Impaler liked what he saw when he came into the Roadmaster’s garage. He liked the idea of having Gold strung up by her hair. It gave a great view of her long, curvy body. It made stabbing her a fun challenge, as she tended to sway and rock from the orgasms and the cruel spearings. He had not expected to kill Gold any more after the Ricci building, but the draining had to go on, and he could barely restrain himself.

As he collected her and carried her off, a crooked grin spread across his sallow face. He had worked his magic on a few heroines that night, but this was desert. This was his raison d’etre. Gold. The tall, blond trophy. Grinding down her will until she willfully gave herself to Rakshasa was his mission, but was also his art. Since he killed her in the Ricci building, he’d worked his craft on the heroines Maxim and Renegade. They were two of the few heroines in the city who weren’t currently captives of Rakshasa.

Impaler dusted them and watched as the two brunettes shuddered to their knees, masturbating through their costumes. Maxim, the French one in the white and red skin-tight ended up on her back, her face wearing the intense look some women get when they are so swept up in the sex, it’s all they can see. Renegade, made a feeble attempt to grab him, but soon the lean Australian in the gray second skin was also stroking her own sex on the floor.

Inspired, Impaler had lifted Maxim, one hand in her crotch and one around her throat, and placed her atop Renegade. They were both lean, small-breasted women who fit together perfectly. Their eyes met, their juices ran together, and they screamed into each other as the spear pierced both of them.

This was a joy. He could feed from these women over and over. So far, their superpowers were a joke, but their sexual energies were so potent. He kissed the spear and praised the name of Rakshasa.

As he stood there absorbing their sex energy, something occurred to Impaler. The sexdeath rush that he got from these two still did not measure up to Gold. He was addicted. He remembered the look of shock on her face, the wide eyes, the pursed mouth as he penetrated her. He remembered how her weakened magic could not hide the spreading patch of wetness that grew between her big, shapely thighs. He needed her big, blond orgasms.

That was when he set off to find Gold again. He knew that that ridiculous clown Roadmaster had her, and how easy it would be to take her away from him. He used the vision given to him by Rakshasa to see where Roadmaster had taken her. He used the black motorcycle he had taken from a mortal to go to that hiding place. That was when he took her from Roadmaster.

He whisked to back to her own apartment. Tracy’s apartment. He knew all about her, and was going to make the most of it as he tortured her. He wanted her to see that both Gold’s and Tracy’s lives were coming to an end with a screaming orgasm.

Now there was time. Time enough to drag her around by her blond locks, and watch the listless movement of her long arms and legs.There was time to shake her breasts and hand gag her as hard as he could.


“What do you think about when you come, Gold?”


He copied Roadmaster by taking all of the heroic woman’s hair in a tight cord, and using it to fasten her to an overhead beam.

She could see herself in her long mirror from where she dangled. There was Tracy’s bed. There were Tracy’s books. Tracy’s oriental rug. There was Gold’s long body hanging like meat in a butcher’s window. The worlds had merged.
Since he took her from Roadmaster, he had killed her twice. It was the same as before, only now he used the sex dust with a vengeance. He rubbed handfuls on her face, and massaged her breasts with it. He rubbed it over the crease of her ass and between her thighs. All she could do was soak it in as he flung clouds in the air, and filled her world with the dust.

Her own panting resonated in her head. The recollections were coming fast and hard, and were so vivid that they were clearer than the Impaler. For some reason, she went back to a defeats that she’d had years before. It was when she still wore a spandex costume like Golden Bat’s, and was only beginning to learn the extent of her powers.

The memories were deep and pungent and powerful. They welled up in her mouth, her ass, her sore, swollen pussy. The memories came back as she recalled the heroines Bora and Cold Front. Bora was tall and lean, with milky skin and pitch-black hair that fell in thick waves past her shoulders. Her muscles were sharply defined and cut. Powerful, feminine, and statuesque. White vinyl thigh-high boots adorned her long legs, matching the white vinyl body suit that was cut low on the bust and high on the thigh. She wore deep-blue stockings.

Bora was the mother.

Cold Front was shorter, with thicker muscles. She had the sexy build of a gymnast. Her breasts were rounder and bigger than Bora’s, matching her wider hips , and forming a perfect hour glass. Her skin-tight body suit was ice-blue, her knee-high vinyl boots a glossy black. The same snowy skin seemed to glow in her bare thighs.

Cold Front was the daughter.

Bora had passed on the mutant power to generate intense cold to her daughter. Now, with twenty years between them, the mother and daughter were a powerful team against evil. Gold’s breasts were inflamed with the memory of them as mind-controlled robots.Moving stiffly, the enslaved mother and daughter moved to either side of Gold who was chained up, spread-eagle , on rack.

Impaler’s dust was taking her back to each detail, and her nipples were so hard that they ached. She remembered Bora’s sensuous lips wrapping around her right nipple, and her daughter’s mouth coming down on the left. They sucked the same way - biting hard, them sucking with intensity with Gold’s big, swollen nipples trapped between their teeth.

Hanging there by her hair, Gold could recall how painful those two mouths were. But now, she recalled them with pleasure, and erotic heat. Because of the dust, the knowledge that the two mind-controlled heroines were mother and daughter was now kinky and sexy. She pictured herself smiling and inviting the raven-haired women to bite and suck her harder, though she knew that she had squirmed in her bonds and clenched her teeth.


“What are you thinking about?” hissed Impaler.

“Two women. Bora. Her daughter named Cold Front. We were captives....”

She drifted off into the memories again, her nipples throbbing.

“Go on,” he grinned.

“A group called the Congregation had us ... in a dungeon ... in a castle ... they made robots out of Bora and Cold Front ... God! They were so gorgeous! They sucked me and sucked me and ate my pussy and ....”

Her orgasmic scream echoed through the apartment building, and the neighbors thought that Tracy was having a night of raucous sex.

“Mother ... daughter ... fucking me...”

As her vagina gushed, the spear entered her.

When she was alive again, the feelings came back.


They came back with a new recollection, a different recollection of the same women. They came back with the feeling of thick fingers holding her labia open and the massive girth of a cock working its way through, under, around the second-skin spandex of the thong that she wore beneath her costume. She remembered another hand squeezing her windpipe shut, and closing off her blood flow. This was helplessness, pure and simple, as the massive villain Surge had his way with her. It was so long ago, but now the Impaler’s power made it seem like reality.

She was remembering her defeat at the hands of Surge, Rage, Thrust, and their creator, Vixen.

Through tear-clouded eyes, her body shuddering and rocking on the end of a long rope of her own hair, she could see Cold Front, the heroine who had joined her in this ill-fated endeavor, fall to her opponent. When they fought, Cold Front’s opponent, Rage, goaded her with comments about how much he liked her thigh-high black vinyl boots, and high-cut deep blue blue body suit. It was a second skin of metallic -look material that thrust her large breasts up and together in a beautiful cleavage. Now, as Surge gave all of his genetically-enhanced cock to the strangled Gold, Cold Front accepted her new role as Rage’s slave. On her knees,with her hands bound behind her back with a twisted steel bar, and a huge hand clutching her jet black curls, she clenched her teeth looked up at him. A massive genetic super man like Surge, Rage had a gigantic cock. It was now thrusting between Cold Front’s breasts, and he was fucking her cleavage as if it were a deep pussy.
On her other side, there was Bora, sprawled face-down, her fingers clawing the concrete as Thrust pressed down on her, and jammed himself into her. Using the bizarre powers Vixen gave him, he had easily used his cock to rip through the material of her costume, jam it between her ass cheeks, and plunge up her anus. She screamed, but was so weakened from the beating and the “eros gas” that the men used, that there was no escape.

None of the three would escape that night.


“They made us ... they made us love it ... they made us feel we .... wanted ... rough...”

Gold’s depleted, soaked, pain-wracked body gave up another orgasm.

“Gold,” said the Impaler. He spoke, but not with his voice. Rakshasa was speaking through his minion. “Why don’t you just say the word? Surrender to my power. Ask me to take you, and this will all end.”

Now she was pulled back to a memory of sucking Rakshasa’s cock for all she was worth. She pulled her head away from the organ, thick streamers of semen keeping her full, lush mouth joined with the captor’s cock. She gasped loudly for air, then shoved it back in.

“Think about it, Gold,” said Rakshasa through Impaler as he stabbed her again.

As she died this time, the idea of giving in to Rakshasa seemed to soothe her.