GOLD

Return of Rakshasa: The Impaler

Written by Mr. K

He killed Gold for the third time that night. He killed her in same way he had the other two times that week; he drove the spear down from above, sending it into her back, and through her sculpted torso. It ripped into the fabric of the mattress on which she knelt, and Gold screamed out in the empty, dark bedding department of Ricci’s department store at half-past midnight.

Athletic muscles relaxed, a rattling gasp escaped her slack red lips, her eyes rolled back, and the golden one died in a quickly-spreading pool of her own blood. The slender man watched each detail of her death, cocking his head slightly to see if it was true. Rakshasa had not lied; she was beautiful, and her death was true art. He didn’t look closely the first two times but now he drank in every detail. He enjoyed her death.

Just like the first two times, he absorbed the waves. Her clit was pulsing, her big, thick labia shuddered, and he felt the shock wave explode from her pussy. This was the gift. This was what Rakshasa gave him. He could kill these costumed bitches, just as their orgasms came over the horizon, and drink an energy mortal men would never know.
Standing there in his black clothes, his long black trench coat, and his wide-brimmed black fedora he placed a big, leather boot in the center of her lean, sculpted back, and pressed. Her body shifted with his weight and pressure. He had killed Gold, and eaten her energy.

With a lazy smile, the pale, lean man left her sprawled on the mattress, and went to the roof of the Riccci building. That was where he left Golden Bat.

Anger surged through the girl. She wanted to pull her hands from between her thighs, and rush down the stairs of the Ricci building to help Gold fight the skinny man in black. She wanted to let go of the spandex contours of her mound, sticky-sweet juices seeping through the tight second-skin crotch of her costume, and battle the asshole. It was a pipe dream. The more she wanted to rush into battle, the more details she felt each detail in her big, wet pussy. Her clit was swollen, and hard. Her engorged labia, always thick and protruding, felt big and juicy between her fingers. She milked pungent woman waters from the sodden costume.

Whatever the dust he sprayed at her was, it had driven her absolutely mad. Her cunt was inflamed, and her head was full of images so real that she could smell and taste and feel every detail. She kept seeing images of her captivity and torture at the hands of Ms. V. Each step of her enslavement played and replayed in her head. She could feel the dog collar, too tight around her throat. She could smell the leather of the boot that she kissed. Another moment, and the firm curve of V’s arse against her own pursed lips came back to her. The villain’s backside was warm in the tight leather, and spoke back to her with a soft, yielding motion as she planted kiss after kiss on it.

And she loved it. This is wrong! She said to herself as she watched the images go by. She remembered raging with anger as Ms. V beat and enslaved her back then. For some reason, though, now she did not feel it. The rage was gone, and she felt a bizarre gratitude. She felt the rising heat of her cunt, and she would swear that she loved that bitch for torturing her.
What had he done to make her remember this?

She remembered the smell of the leather straps that Ms V used to clamp her down, and it excited her. She remembered the feeling V’s high boot slowly entering her sex. When it happened for real, she was furious, but now she gushed with a type of glee she had not known in years. The feeling of that heel being shoved into her mouth - the taste of her vagina on that heel now thrilled her.

She remembered Gold’s captive body, tall and lean. She remembered clamps on her nipples , her labia, her tongue, and clit, and she crumbled into a screaming orgasm.

She should have been pursuing a villain, but she was masturbating to the point of cumming.

It was still ripping through her body, when he looked up at the man who had reduced her to this. He looked like a fucking scarecrow, tall,pale, and emaciated in his black clothes, cape, and hat. He didn’t have much more girth than the bloody spear that he carried.

“You ...k...killed her? You fucker.... kill you...”

“I was good to her, and she nourished me,” he said in a creaky voice.

“Bas...”

Her cumming reaching it’s crescendo just as the cruel spike plunged between her breasts. It pierced her heart, turning her scream into something blood-curdling, horrifying. With her eyes wide, and her mouth frozen in a trembling gape, she died.
Again, the womanwave swept from her sopping pussy, and entered him. Tears came to his eyes as he fed. He felt the passion of any man or women who had enjoyed Golden Bat throughout her life.

Then he sank to his knees and trembled.  

He was still there when he heard the voice from behind.

“What are you?”

He looked over one shoulder, slowly, to see Gold leaning in the doorway of the roof’s stairwell. Her long limbs seemed slack and weak. Her long, shapely athletic legs were wobbly, bent, barely holding the voluptuous woman up. One hand clung to the door frame, the other arm dangled. There was not a trace of blood on the golden skin.

“What are you?”

He stood up, his almost-skeletal body seeming to swell with a new hubris. His new energy surrounded him.

“I’m from Rakshasa. I’m Impaler. I killed you.”

“And brought me back.”

“Yes.”

He noticed the tall woman’s free hand lingering around her pussy. It was swollen after a night of being used and used and the big, puffy lips protruded in the golden skin.

“I drained you, as I drained her. Don’t worry, I’m done for tonight.”

He could not help but smile at Gold’s expression; she was watching Golden Bat heal. There was a crisp noise - the sharp, crackling sound of sinew and flesh, muscle and bone knitting itself together. A faint glow surrounded the shapely twenty-three year old, and her eyes flickered open.

“You see,” said Impaler. “ I give you pleasure, kill you, drain you, I bring you back and I go. You may want to surrender to Rakshasa now.”

As Gold staggered forward to attack again, he swept his cape Hollywood-villain style, and vanished. Too weak to even stand, Gold collapsed on all fours at the booted feet of Golden Bat. She could hear Golden Bat moaning, but she was too weak to look up. She was even too weak to look up as she heard the powerful sound of a flying motorcycle circling over her.

“Well, there’s my old lady down on her knees!”

Roadmaster.


He was better with bondage now. The first time Roadmaster captured Gold, he wrapped the chains around her body in a haphazard way. He pulled them tightly around her big thighs just so he could see the way they squeezed the feminine muscle. He wrapped her big breasts in chains to watch them come to peaks. It was more artistry than anything else.
Now he knew what to do. Two shackles held her wrists and forearms tightly to her sides, pinning them to a metal belt that hugged her waist.Twin cuffs pinned her legs together at the ankles. She hung from an overhead pipe by her twisted, tied hair, boots just barely scraping the floor.

Roadmaster also seemed to take more joy in his brutality. When he took her, all he did was take her. He could have killed fucked her, killed her, followed up on the damage done by the Impaler to a woman so weak that she could not stand. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her waist, and pulled her body up against his. Gold would have been able to make short work of her enemy, if not for the work of the Impaler. The bony man who could kill a heroine and bring her back had done his craft on her three times that night, and she was devoid of any sort of fight. As the Roadmaster’s huge bulge pressed against her ass, and his hands rode up the firm relief of her body, she barely had the energy to squirm with revulsion.

“I came back for you, old lady,” he chuckled. He shook her limp form, enjoying the motion of her breasts in his palms, and the feel of her long body. “You’re in pretty bad shape. Who was that dude?”

She moaned, her head sagging.

“Come on, bitch.” He slung her on the back of his cycle, this time smiling as her head bobbed over and waves of blond hair tumbled. That was his sexy bimbo right there. And now she had a sweet little college-aged partner. He rubbed his hands with glee as he did the same to Golden Bat, draping her slender form over Gold’s body.

He took them.

Both were still awake during the fly over the city. Gold’s body hung in slack arc over the back of the bike, long limbs feeling the rush of air as they sped away. Though she was a captive of Roadmaster, her mind kept going back to Rakshasa’s latest minion.

When she first confronted him that night, she didn’t know what to make of him, a willow-the-wisp figure leaping from rooftop to rooftop. She should have known, when his face sparked with recognition, he was there to take her, and that her resistance would be useless.

She ended up fucked and slain over and over, and wondering if those words that Rakshasa spoke to her were true. Was it futile for her to try to fight back against him. All she had to do was surrender to him. All she had to do was accept her enslavement at the hands of Rakshasa.

Reality bled in to her pool of recollection, and she began to ponder Roadmaster. Like so many villains she had faced, he was a patchwork of drugs and high technology. His pumped-up body was the result of Vixen’s super steroids, and his loud, droning flying bike was the product of his little-boy-genius mind run amok.

When she was last a captive of Roadmaster, he made it clear what her new role as a biker’s “old lady” was all about. With a dog collar around her neck, and a long chrome chain joining her to his fist, she struggled in vain as he dragged her across the dirty floor of his lair. Across the room was a waiting animal squeeze cage.

He stopped for a moment to position her on her back, arms and legs still pinned in chains, and straddle her upper body. Thickly-muscle legs squeezed in against her, further pinning her, and looked down to see the big, round breasts mashed together between his denim-clad thighs. Golden breasts captured by blue jeans.

Slung over the bike, with Golden Bat on top of her, she remembered his almost shaking with joy as he opened his jeans, and dug out his huge organ. His lips formed the word “tit fuck” , and an instant later, he was pumping between her breasts. He frowned for a moment, noting how the chains got in the way, then adjusted. Roadmaster thrust forward, and took the position that had been occupied by Rakshasa, Thorn, Rook and Satyr. He jammed his cock down her throat. Like the others, he was big, musky, and nearly blocked her airway. Gold remember gagging, then choking as his spume came in waves.

She tried to swallow as he pulled out and began slapping her face. Cum dribbled down her chin, and caught in her throat as her head snapped from side to side with his blows. It ran out as her rolled her over on her front, and pulled her backside up to meet him. Only a few moments after cumming in the statuesque blond’s mouth, he was hard and ready again. Now she heard him say, in voice husky with passion, something about “a good fucking up the ass.”

Big, thick fingers reached through the golden gloss of her costume, and spread the firm cheeks of her ass.

“You got a sweet ass for ... what are you? Forty? Does the magic keep you looking firmer than a teenager?”

She clenched her teeth and closed her eyes as her anus began to stretch around Roadmaster’s dick.

Gold felt her body preparing to be beaten and ravaged again.

She was only dully aware of the pert, young breasts of Golden Bat pressed against her back. Their hair twisted together and reached out as blond fingers in the night sky.

Glassy -eyed, her athletic body slung over Gold like wet laundry. Something close to panic rose in her chest, then subsided, then rose again, as she tried to make sense of her night. She had been mind-fucked, killed, brought back, captured, and whisked away. Gold was more experienced at surviving this sort of thing, but she was not going to be of any help.

It was once he got them to his garage that he beat them. He strung Gold up by her hair, only after he laid Golden Bat out on the oil-stained floor. He spread her legs, and propped her head up against an oil drum so that she could see the senior superheroine being strung up like a side of meat. Dizzy, sick, still reeling from sex, death, and resurrection, the younger woman had no option but to watch.

Roadmaster took his time with Gold, then took his time taking off the thick leather belt.

“Watch what a real man does when his old lady takes off on him.”

The huge biker , in his denim and leather, had claimed Gold as his when they first met. She escaped, but was now hunted by him. Just like his high-tech bike and the physique he built with powerful steroids, he felt ownership of the golden heroine.

“Watch what a real man does when on of his blond’s runs off on him.”

He cranked back and send the belt crashing into Gold’s taut buttocks. The perfectly sculpted body shuddered, the Hollywood face cringed. With her powers at full, she would be fine. They were not. She was not.

Golden Bat made an effort to move, but could only shift to the side a bit as Roadmaster moved around the suspended woman, and laid a belting into her breasts. Gold’s breasts. Now she screamed, her red mouth forming a perfect circle.

“He’s really letting her have it, huh?” came a female voice from behind.

A woman walked into Golden Bat’s view. She was also blond, also tall and lean. Her body did not have the athletic, defined look of Gold and Golden Bat, but she was an amazon for sure. Long limbs. Full, solid build. Elegant, lean lines. Bangles clanked and chattered on her wrists, and blue eye shadow and red lipstick spoke to Golden Bat even when the women was silent.

She wore only panty hose and high heels.

The woman looked Golden Bat over, took a puff from a her cigarette, and washed the taste back with her martini. She prodded at the muscular thigh.

“Hey, babe!” she called to Roadmaster, not taking her eyes from the beat young woman. She had to yell over the persistant slapping of the leather belt against Gold’s body.

“Yeah?” he sounded breathless, and tired.

“Can I have this little bitch?”

“Sure,” he huffed.

The half-naked woman smiled.