9.
Snakehead dumped a woman’s listless body on the floor. This was his
third trip back to Humiliatrix’s place that night, but he hadn’t
grown in the least bit tired. He hadn’t gotten bored. He hadn’t
gotten annoyed with his on-going task. Far from it; he was delighted to do
what he’d been asked to do.
Capture Crimson Avenger.
Done.
Capture Night Star.
Done.
Capture Aracnae.
Done.
He looked down at
the latest one, Aracnae. She was the brunette for the evening. She was tall
and lean, well defined and sleek. As he looked up her still body, from feet
to hair, athletic muscle and feminine strength of her frame blossom into
a perfect, round, high
bosom.
She had thick,
reddish-chestnut brown hair that was glossy and fell in curls past her shoulders.
It framed a face whose feature seemed to speak of some exotic mix of Europe
and the Middle East. She had deep, sleepy brown eyes, and a petite up-turned
nose. Her lips were sensuous and thick, her skin a classic olive.
Snakehead found her
costume intriguing. She wore red, heelless stocking boots that smoothly melted
into the second-skin, blue tights that swathed her legs. Her red body suit
was low-cut across her tanned breasts and high-cut on her thighs. The
woman’s sinewy arms and shoulders were bare, but she wore tight, blue
opera-length
gloves.
A spider insignia
adorned the center of her slender
torso.
She wore no mask.
He pondered for a
moment which if the women he’d nabbed that night was the most fucking
gorgeous, then decided that there was no need to decide which part of a
smorgasbord you like that most. Each one had been a fun fight, a beautiful
defeat, and a chance to sample the goods.
The fight with Arachnae
had been a blinding affair. She threw her techniques fast, with a blazing
accuracy that he hadn’t seen since he practiced with the Brothers of
the White Scorpion. She gave as good as she got in that empty lot, and he
honored her by beating her as best he could. It was only when he realized
she wasn’t going down anytime soon that he ‘dusted’
her–slinging a handful of his toxic powder in her face and standing
back to watch as she staggered and fell.
He watched, arms crossed across his chest as she fanned the air in
front of her, coughing and squinting her
eyes. He smiled as she sank
to her knees and slumped face first to the ground.
Snakehead wanted
his final sampling of the evening to be something special, so after he bound
her, hand-and-foot, he carried her to the roof of the tallest building in
the city and leaned her against the wall, her legs curled below her. She
slept in her toxic haze while he knelt beside her and used both hands to
take hold of her big, right
breast.
As he savagely bit
and sucked the spider woman, he mused over how good…how fucking good
life really
was.
Now he walked with
a quiet confidence through the apartment. He passed the room in which they
were torturing Crimson Avenger, a smile creeping over his face. A few pacing
away, between some priceless art something or other, and a painting that
he actually recognized from a long-ago art class, he pressed his ear to an
ornate door. One voice was Humiliatrix’s, the other was Night
Star’s.
“There was one
massive cock that Cutlass just circled and circled and circled until he just
exploded in her face. It was just the next layer of jism. They left Cutlass
on the floor, semiconscious,” he heard the enslaved heroine
say.
“There was cum
all over
her?”
“There
was.”
“And she
was…what? On her side, with that cum splatter all around her, dribbling
down her chin and gobbed in her hair? She was just helpless there on the
floor.”
Snakehead smiled.
His employer was talking Night Star through the captivity on the space station.
“And then they
took you
and…?”
There was a
pause.
“They hanged
me.”
A new tingle rose
in
Snakehead.
“They put a
cord around your neck. A simple wire and plastic cord. Didn’t
they?”
“They did. They
lashed it to the overhead pipes and pulled it tight enough to start choking
me. Just so
that…”
Humiliatrix cut her
off. “So that you felt the blood pounding I your ears and you had to
struggle to take a smooth breath. Just to have you
feel…fear.”
There was a gorgeous
photo of Night Star on the wall. It was a glossy poster, in fact. It was
full-sized, long, and reminded Snakehead of the rock-star posters that he
had in his room when he was a kid. It was a shot of Night Star, her long,
muscular, big-breasted body bound with her wrists lashed behind her back
and secured to a crotch rope that was pulled tightly into the camel toe cleft
of her crotch.
She was strung up
with a cord around her neck, her head cocked to one side slightly.
“And that was
the way you were when they made you come. When one of them took that alien-made
sex
toy…”
“It was some
sort of wand. All they had to do was bring it near my
crotch.”
“And it was
yet another orgasm for Night Star. And then they took you down, Night
Star.”
“They laid me
on top of Cutlass. They laid me across her waist. Face
down.”
“Your superheroine
ass was up in the
air.”
“Yes.”
“You could smell
the cum, couldn’t
you?”
“Yes.”
“And soon you
felt what laid across your
body?”
Again, Night Star
paused, then
answered.
“They piled
Gold on top of me. Her body was dead weight. Then I felt another woman, then
another, then another piled on
us.”
“They made a
beautiful heroine sculpture. Want to see?”
Snakehead did. He
opened the door and greeted his employer with abroad grin. Humiliatrix looked
as beautiful as always, that radiant blond hair of hers glowing and filling
the room with its hue. Her elegant black dress was swept aside, and his eyes
fell on her long legs. His eyes fell on the huge, wet, black cock that stood
at attention at her belted
waist.
“Hello,
m’dear,” she said. “Did you bring my little
goody?”
“Absolutely,”
confirmed Snakehead. Now his eyes fell on NightStar’s curvaceous, bound
form. She was upright strapped to a frame with thick leather bands. Each
had a shiny buckle that locked the belt tightly across her full, busty frame.
Her limbs were pinned down viciously; it wasn’t meant to simply hold
her in place. She was supposed to know helplessness from that
bonding.
“The spider
bitch is in the other
room.”
Click. She rewarded
him, and humiliated her, with a new photo. At first glance it was a mere
jumble. There were arms here and legs there. There was a thick red head of
hair overlapping a brunette. He could see a golden-skin-tight-costumed
leg.
After a moment, he
could see how Gold had been tossed on top of Night Star, on her back. Her
arms were flung out and her head drooped back, blond hair pouring down. It
was easy to make out that Mystic, in her tattered costume, her freckles and
snowy skin showing, was sprawled on her side on Gold. Her red haired head
was nestled between the golden woman’s large
breasts.
Mother and daughter,
Bora and Cold Front, were laid atop one another, the mother with her face
in her daughter’s breasts, and the two of them were dropped unceremoniously
over Mystic. Cold Front’s
eyes were open, glassy, and her mouth drooped open. The mother seemed to
simply sleep on the high, round bosom of her daughter.
Someone took less
care with Gravton and Thunder Storm, piling them on top only to let them
slide to the base of the pyramid, Thunder Storm ending up in a half-sitting
position, her hard-nippled brown breasts bare and jutting forward with her
costume pulled away. Graviton was upside down, her blondness on the floor,
her long, strong legs spread and draped up on the pile of beaten women. Her
arms were stretched out at her
sides.
“Beautiful,”
Snakehead
smiled.
“It was. Yes.
So, after all of the torture and fucking and…after you getting was what
coming to you for so long on the space station, your captor’s plan came
together.”
“They gathered
us all in one room, that one room. I could hear things being dragged and
moved around. I could hear instructions and
laughter.”
Snakehead felt himself
growing hard as the pictures flashed up and the villainess gloated over what
happened
next.
“They picked
up Thunder Storm, grabbing arms, grabbing legs, and her hair, and laid her
in a clear plastic coffin. They put her in a
coffin.”
He watched the film
that she was showing, hardening even more as she was injected and kept sedate.
She would be awake, but depowered and helpless, as a white rose was placed
between her tits. Her hands were crossed across her ripe bust, and the top
of the coffin was sealed over her. The large-breasted, coffee-skinned woman
in purple stared blankly as she was trapped in a see-through coffin that
was adorned with her
name.
And then each woman
had the same done to her.
“What did they
do to
you?”
She swallowed hard.
Snakehead moaned as he watched
her.
“They buried
me at space. They had gave me a rose and injected me with
something…something that was treated with UV, and kept me awake and
weak…and they jettisoned me into
space.”
The captor played
the film that showed how every villain on the station gathered in that room.
They laughed and clapped, hugged each other and wept tears of joy as each
heroine was given an injection unique to her weakness. Her powers would be
defused and she would remain helpless as she was sealed in a coffin and dragged
to an airlock.
The captors held
a mock ritual, with Preacher splashing his holy water over the coffins and
asking that their bodies be accepted by the void of space. The captors could
have killed them, but instead decided to depower the women, seal them into
coffins that were designed to be perfectly, eternally sealed, and simply
let them drift off into space. They would live in the special coffins, alive
and powerless to do anything as they drifted eternally. They had been lured
there to be buried
alive.
“One by one
you were launched into space. They had
won.”
Silence.
“They had won.
Those captives on the station were able to comeback to Earth to start all
over again, while you drifted off in space. To be honest, I never thought
we’d have to deal with you
again.”
She looked Night
Star in the
eye.
“But here you
are, a captive again.” Night Star’s eyes fell back on the
screen’s image of her drifting in space. Snakehead shook his head at
how beautiful the whole thing was.
“This time,
you won’t get away. You escaped space. I tried to return you, forever,
to the place that gave you your powers, but you came back.
Well…ok…you’ve learned tonight, haven’t
you?”
“I
have.”
She undid the
straps.
Snakehead
leaned against the wall and smoked a cigar as Arachnae entered the room.
She walked between two dildo-wearing henchwomen, but she walked under her
own power. She was a captive with a dog collar around her neck and her wrists
chained behind her. She followed the order to walk into the room, her muscles
still itching to
resist.
Her face placid,
her curvy feminine hips swayed as she followed orders. As she entered the
posh sitting room, her eyes fell to the plush carpeted center. Amid the antique
chairs and glass-topped tables, two women were carrying out their new roles.
Two heroines were in their new places.
Night Star was on
all fours, her head down, her back straight. She breathed hard, but kept
her back level and smooth. Crimson Avenger was stretched on the floor, face-down,
arms and legs straight against her body. She was just beside the redhead,
in her crimson hip boots and body suit. She kept her body straight and
motionless.
“Go ahead,”
said Humiliatrix to Arachnae. She pointed at Night Star’s back. “Have
a seat, put your feet
up.”
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