OUROBOROS
by Mr. K
The worst part was the screaming. They were never sorry to have been brought back, but they always screamed as though it was the day of their first birth. After that, they seemed to understand everything. They would still touch their reborn bodies, running their fingers over rewarmed flesh and the clothes in which they died, but they had a full understanding of their circumstance.
But the worst part was the screaming. It was a powerful, metallic scream, and it told whomever heard it that the creature making it was no longer 100-percent human.
J –Dog screamed like that. In his leather jacket and his gamey jeans, he rose up and screamed until the cold burning went away. He stood there panting and looking at himself. He was back.
He could remember the day that they died. He could remember three superheroines. He could remember coming close to beating them, and he could remember failing to beat them. He remembered that last vision he had – the ground rushing up to meet him as he plummeted.
He remembered Maxim.
And now he was back.
Clarissa screamed next. She stood up with her hands in her hair, and she screamed with a deep, throaty howl that shook J-Dog and the stone walls that surrounded both of them. She doubled over with the same pain that he felt, then stood up-right.
“That fucking cunt, she killed us!”
She voiced with her first words what the newly-reborn gang member was thinking.
“That fucking Maxim killed us!”
Now the gang members who’d been dubbed Critical and Stone were rising up from where their corpses had been stretched on the stone floor. Clarissa, C-Bitch to the other members of the Red Aces, was looking around and assessing their situation as the two new arrivals screamed and shuddered their way into re-existence.
“This is the place of the Ouroboros. God, we are fucking lucky!” she exclaimed.
She touched her forehead, smiling as she felt the heat that was coming from her newest body modification. She traced its outline with her fingertips.
“A snake eating its own tail,” she whispered. “Just like in the cards, just like in the books, it’s a snake eating it’s own tail. Now it all comes to make sense. This is right.”
She looked at J-Dog, just as a husky and greasy as he was before they departed this Earth. He shook his head and smiled.
“Alla’ that readin’ and book learning you did.”
“Remember I used to show you shit like this, baby … in those New Age books?”
“Oh, I remember. I remember. Where are we anyways?”
“I have no idea where we are or how we got here. I know what we have to do, though. I keep seeing….”
“Maxim!” he interrupted. “That fucking Maxim!”
They knew that they were sharing the same vision of the heroine in red and white, the heroine in black leather boots who defeated their whole gang in one night. They shared the image of a woman who could fly and shape shift. They could feel bursts of power surging from her to them.
“She fucking killed us!”
Three more Red Aces were screaming to life. Steam rose from their dirty and worn leather jackets. They glowed, and their bodies twitched. The woman still spoke in awe-struck, haunted terms as her fellow gang members screamed and howled, coming back to life.
“We are so lucky, baby. It’s just like in alla’ the books I used to study.”
J-Dog was in front of her now, his hand clutching the mound in her black tights just as it always had when he put his tongue in her mouth. They kissed each other insanely, hands groping as the other gang members shook the cobwebs out of their minds and started to form a circle around them.
“I remember everything, baby,” she said in a brief pause before his mouth drowned her again.
They were gathering now, crowding together as they always had.
Instinct took over and the gang started to walk. They left the chamber in which they came back to life.
The gang members walked out into the hallway and started their stroll. It was a long corridor of nondescript, grey stone with an arched doorless doorway every few paces. Moving in their leather and denim, heads turning side to side like predatory veldt cats, they took in every piece of their environment.
“What is this place, man?”
“Yeah, where the fuck are we?”
Coming up on one of the doors, they could hear two women talking like old friends.
The only female gang member leaned in to see.
“You like to eat me out from behind, I see.”
“ I do.”
“This is the … What is this? The third time you ate my … mmmmm…”
Dark Moon tilted her head back and shuddered for a moment as the other woman’s mouth over took her. She gathered herself and tried again, her voice quivering.
“This is the third time you ate me since you caught me…. Since you captured me ….”
There was quiet, and then there was moaning and the wet, hungry sounds of a female mouth sucking and slurping a dewy, wet cunt. C- Bitch bit her lower lip and took a step forward. She filled up the doorway with her curvy length and watched Foxglove minister to her captive in black. There was something very familiar in both of these women.
“Seems … Seems odd; I’m the captive, you would think I’d be the one spending all of the time going down on you. Thought you would be forcing me. I would expect … to eat you.”
The fit, redheaded cougar kept hold of Dark Moon’s hips, but pulled her face away. Drool was glistening on her lower lip and pooling at her chin. She snaked her tongue around, urging the spit and pussy juices back to her mouth.
“And you will,” she said in a husky, lust-laden voice.
Foxglove moved around to so that she could look Dark Moon in the face. She was using two fingers to wipe the juices from the corners of her mouth.
The captive heroine whose pussy she had been eating was in the center of the room, her body arched over a sort of low gymnastics horse, her neck and head clamped into a set of stocks. They were made of thick wood and metal, holding her in place.
The cracked leather of the low gymnastics horse pushed up into her waist, lifting her ass and hips, leaning her body forward. The stocks clamped around her wrists and neck, holding her in the classic position of the humiliated prisoners of European and North American history. Her long legs were spread, her feet were anchored to the stone floor by cuffs and chains that linked around the leather ankles of her boots.
Foxglove had made it a point to keep the firm
“I like you seeing to whom this pussy really belongs. I own it now. I own it.”
Her black hair swept to one side, her eyes fixed on the floor, Dark Moon said nothing.
Foxglove cupped Dark Moon’s face, lowered her head, slowly kissed her brilliant, red lips, letting the heroine taste her own sex. She slipped her tongue in slowly, darting and tracing the slick texture of her prisoner’s lips. Soon, she was sinking the tongue deep into the other woman’s mouth. Dark Moon’s mouth was still tingling when Foxglove went back around behind her.
As she squeezed and manipulated the puffy, wet labia she reminisced with her prisoner.
“I always loved watching you ride that motorcycle of yours. You looked
so sexy when you were chasing me. It has an actual Rolls jet engine, right?
My little
“You know a lot about me. I guess I should say that you knew a lot.”
Dark Moon was no longer attempting to figure out where they were, or how Foxglove had come back to life. She asked no questions, and Foxglove offered no answers as she hovered behind the bound woman again. She ran a finger up into the glistening sluice box between the woman’s costumed thighs, then another, then another, making Dark Moon moan and shiver. The fingers moved, turned, and snaked into the honey-tan woman. They curled slowly.
C-Bitch and the Red Aces crowded in the doorway, watching and reveling in the sight of Foxglove slowly making a fist disappear in the fleshy, pink vagina of the captive woman.
Again, Dark Moon’s eyes were wide and her mouth was a startled, quivering red circle. Her dulled senses were alive again as her sex yawned wide to accept the other woman’s fist. She would never see the smile that spread across Foxglove’s face as she considered the sight of her hand, buried in Dark Moon up to the wrist.
“Along with tribbing, I’m all into fisting now, too. Do you like it?”
The caramel heroine only moaned. She bit her lower lip and worked her gloved fists.
This was when the newly-returned, female gang member spoke up.
“Is that Dark Moon?” she asked. Foxglove looked over and smiled.
“Yes it is. Did you just cross over? Did you just come back?”
“We did. We’re….”
“Red Aces. I know. I would throw up your gang sign if I had two free hands, but you see….”
The gang members laughed and entered the room forming a cluster behind Foxglove. The domme’s fist was lost in the cunt of her tan woman, and she was working her hand slowly around in the heat and the gushing juice.
“You know my baby here?” she asked. They were converging on the
“We battled her. We had her beaten and we had her pretty fucked up. She turned it around on us, her and Maxim, but we had her.”
Dark Moon’s voice was shuddering with the pulsing in her cunt as she asked “Is … that … are those the Red …?”
“The Red Aces, cunt! Remember us?” They all exalted at once, clapping their hands and whooping as they relived their battle with her. Foxglove could tell that the loss to the superheroine must have been worth the time spent with Dark Moon.
Dark Moon remembered being out-numbered. She was able to send this one flying, and send those two into the concrete, but suddenly being smashed in the head with a lead pipe and caught up in a sea of hands. A normal woman would have been killed by the blow, but she was just stunned and weakened.
She could still recall falling to her knees, her head sagging.
She remembered a female hand, harder and harsher than Foxglove’s grabbed her mound and pressed into her while male ones controlled her limbs and squeezed her throat. She remembered being lifted, and then slammed on the floor of the motorcycle shop.
“Crit, take her.”
They released her.
That was when she looked up to see the big man. He was just that, big. There was muscle in there, and there was fat, but he was just a huge, shapeless bulk. His shaven, bowling ball head sat on a thick, cluster of rolls that dissolved into the dense mass of his shoulders. Tiny, blue eyes were set back in the mushy relief of his face as if they were an afterthought.
She remembered the ham-sized fist connecting with her chin, snapping her head back, sending her skull against the concrete. Its twin clamped around her throat and squeezed, jerking her up from the floor. Her hands gripped at the big hand, and her legs shook as she was raised into the air. When the fist crashed into her face again, she knew that she was totally overwhelmed.
Her body was yielding and limp when he let her drop and raised his knee. She caught it full in the gut, doubling over and crumbling in a heap on the floor. A foot nudged her shoulder and flipped her over.
Spread-eagle on the floor, she felt a new wave of weakness flow over her. It wasn’t just from the beating. There was something else.
Just as the massive man took hold of her waist and rolled her over, her eyes fell on the only female gangster. A red and green pendent glowed around her neck. She was so transfixed by it, she barely noticed him ripping the crotch out of her costume.
The recollection of her powers being paralyzed by that pendant, and a huge organ opening her drapes, came back to her as she hung in those stocks.
C-Bitch was remembering it also. She remembered how she made a mental note to design one of her comic book covers when it was all over. She would draw a close-up of the large-breasted Dark Moon stretched out on the floor, her gang mate in the back ground. His fists would be clenched, his cock out, and the issue would be titled Critical Condition.
“Critical,” Dark Moon whispered.
The giant slab of meat and hate grinned from ear to ear when Dark Moon spoke his name. Foxglove looked at him quizzically, and he pointed to the neck tattoo that proclaimed his name. Ah, she mouthed.
“He raped you? He fucked you?” she asked the woman on the end of her wrist. She twisted and moved that fist inside her helpless prisoner. She felt Dark Moon buck and twist around her hand.
“Yesssss. They … Uhhhhh….”
Foxglove beamed as she saw him unzipping his jeans and releasing his inhumanly large cock. She had to catch her breath.
“Tell me, was his meat huge?” she giggled as she watched him starting to stroke his cock. It was already the girth of beer bottle and was now growing.
“Tell me, was his cock huge? Did it tear you?”
“Yes. He’s back there, isn’t he?”
Locked in her stocks, Dark Moon was unable to see the criminals. Her hands flexed, and the dark-eyed heroine sucked air through her teeth. She had given herself over to
“Yes, Dark Moon.”
“You can see his cock.”
“Yes, Dark Moon.”
“Is he going to fuck me?”
She felt Foxglove slowly withdrawing her fist. A high-pitched whine came out of her, and the strong, muscular legs shook as the domme’s fist stretched her wide and slowly slipped out. The nectar was leaking out now, and the lips were stretched wide and gaping as the woman’s fist finally left her body.
“Yes he is.”
Her mind reeled back to the last time the huge man had fucked her. On her belly, her face pushed against the filthy concrete of the garage, she screamed as her body accepted the biggest thing that would ever enter it.
“Miss me?” he growled. There was no other ceremony or pause to it. He took a few awkward movements forward, stumbling a bit, and he simply plunged into the already tortured cunt.
Now, Dark Moon arched her back and bucked against the stocks. Her eyes squeezed closed and her cherry-red mouth formed a perfect O as she howled in the dank dimness of that chamber. A hush, a brief hush, fell over the gang members and the domme as they watched Dark Moon’s body tense. It was as if she was being electrocuted.
The huge man who had lost his last battle with this heroine now eclipsed her lithe body.
“Be careful, man,” yelled J-Dog. “We’re gonna’ run a train on her after you’re done, and we don’t wanna’ fall in!”
The laughing wasn’t enough to drown out the screaming as the insanely huge cock drilled Dark Moon. Two shapeless hands took hold of her thighs and spread her legs even wider for a few minutes more. The chains fought to keep her legs in place.
“So beautiful,” cooed Foxglove. “Oh! She really deserves this!”
He lasted only a moment. He gave the woman a few monster strokes, her legs shaking and fighting to be free of the bonds to that they could spasm and fight, then Critical began convulsing
Only Critical’s orgasmic yells could overcome Dark Moon’s perpetual yelp of pain. As the huge unwieldy criminal pulled back, he dowsed the heroines’s costume with a hot, spurting jet of semen. Some of his yellowy-white spume made it to the curves of her shoulders, while some made an oozing, haphazard belt around her tiny waist. Torrents seemed to cling to the nylon of her right thigh. It traced the length of her spine.
He stumbled back, the woman grunting and moaning, semen pouring out of her. He smiled at his gang cohorts, his features disappearing in the fatty rolls of his face. They were undoing their pants.
“Next!”
When they were back in the stone hallway the Red Aces walked with a new swagger. This unseen force had brought them back and given them a smorgasbord of heroine flesh. These were the type of costumed women that destroyed them. These were women like Maxim.
“Where the fuck are we anyway?” Critical blurted out. He had lost interest in concealing the monster in his pants; he walked along with his cohorts, the semi-stiff meat simply wagging in front of him.
“We are wherever the Oroboros exists,” said the only woman in the Red Aces crew. “We just have to exist here with it. We might not all be seeing the same thing. Who knows, and who really cares. We are here.”
A few steps later, and they were in another chamber, and they were exchanging hugs and handshakes again. This time it was with Ironsites and his resurrected wife, Boa.
“Back from the dead too, huh?”
“Ain’t it grand? And you have our little friend Snare here.”
They had done up Jeannie in an elaborate tie. Her wrists were bound in front, wrapped to a thick length that encircled her narrow waist. It ran between her thighs, pressing her clit with a plumb-sized knot and running up the crease of her ass. Her legs were bound tightly together at the thighs and ankles, but there was still room enough for her to squirm, each time rubbing her clit with the rough rope.
Eyes full of intense anger, she grunted and huffed against the heavy electrical tape that covered her mouth with an X.
Ironsites engaged them in conversation while his wife busied herself with humiliating the woman in purple. She squatted over Snare’s face, the crotch of her skintight costume open. Her thick vulva was protruding and glistening wet with her juices; her pussy was excited. She reached down clasping her hands behind Snare’s head, and interlocking her fingers in the wet, tangled blond hair.
“Where did you find the stuff to bind her like this? Where did you get the rope and the tape?” C asked Ironsite. It had only now occurred to her that Dark Moon was trapped in stocks of an unknown origin.
“You know,” started Ironsites, “I don’t really know. I don’t even know where we are. I don’t care, though. I just need to hurt Snare over and over.”
There was a pause, and then they laughed.
Boa was not laughing, she was very methodically pulling Snare’s face, especially her nose and gagged mouth, up into her wet cunt. As her hips started to rock, and her arms started to pull and move the blonde’s head, Boa moaned. The muscles flexed in her arms and back, and she began moving with greater vigor and urgency.
Snare’s nose would rub up against her clit, and the big labia seemed to reach and grasp at Snare’s face like a pink, wet, sucking mouth. The heroine closed her eyes and felt herself drowning as Boa came and gushed pussy juices down all over her face.
When the last convulsion had wracked her body, and she had released her last guttural moan, Boa shoved the bound and gagged woman’s body back to the floor. A last spurt of juice leapt out of the slick, villain pussy on to Snare’s face, and the big blond stepped over her.
“There’s your goddamned superheroine!”
They all laughed as they turned their attention to the woman on the floor. This was the same woman the Red Aces knew from years before. She wore the same glossy, purple, second-skin body suit with the same plunging V of bare skin down to her navel. The sleek, purple material just covered her nipples, adhering to the crests of her tanned breasts.
J-Dog kicked at one of the purple, stiletto, high-heeled boots.
“We had this bitch captured a loooong time ago. She came around snooping, and we caught her. We had a guy on the inside in a defense firm. His old man was one of the original Red Aces. The kid was some sort of brainiac … went to college and shit. Anyway, he worked on this thinga-ma-jigger that can just shut down a person’s nervous system. Bam!”
He snapped his fingers.
Now, his lush, gangster girlfriend was mounting Snare’s face. She smiled broadly, pressing her crotch down and pulling Snare’s face up. She mimicked the big, blond villain by pulling Snare’s face into the gamey crotch of her jeans.
Her boyfriend went on with the story as she gave crotch a few good rubs with the captive woman’s face, then deposited her on the floor.
“It was actually a couple of different things. A ray gun thing, a belt, a few things… The main thing was, he gave our gang this technology to shut down a person’s nervous system.”
A Red Ace was pressing down the toe of a boot on the right, then the left, then the right tit of the bound woman. Jeanie, squirming under the villain’s boot, ground her teeth and moaned.
“He thought it was only right that the Aces, not the cops or the Army or some shit should have it. He stole it. Snare, somehow, found out. How’d you know about that, bitch? How’d you know he stole it?”
He kicked at her thigh. The woman in vivid purple only breathed in and out through her nose, her arms working against her bonds.
“She came after us. She can fight, man …got that super strength and all. Martial arts. Speed….”
The gang leader didn’t say it, but it was clear that on that day, her martial arts and acrobatics would have been enough to overwhelm all of them. That was when he used the stolen technology. With its creator guiding him, J-Dog aimed and fired the projector side of the weapon at the heroine. He pushed a button, and watched as her body stiffened. Her eyes widened, her mouth opened in a rigid gape, and she collapsed in a heap.
“Bam! This bitch went down!”
He remembered how her athletic legs were spread, her right knee bent off to the side, that leg tucked up close to her. Her left leg was straight, one arm was draped across her waist, the other out to the side. A few run-away wisps of blond were across her delicate features.
They stripped her of her belt and weapons. They tied her with her own rope, doubling her over, pulling her knees up to the high, firm mass of her bust in its skin-tight purple. Her arms were wrapped tightly below her thighs. Her forearms were tied. Her wrists were tied. Her ankles, thighs, and knees were lashed together, and ropes wound around her torso and crisscrossed the landscape of her body.
They wrapped a length of tape across her lips and around the back of her head twice.
They stuffed her in packing crate, resolving to “deal with her later.”
“She’s a crafty, blond cunt.”
Snare proved true to her reputation that day, slipping free of her bonds while she was in the box. They would never know whether it was her enhanced strength or her infamous guile, but she was free when J-Dog opened her holding pen.
She’s free. He remembered the cold fear running through his chest, and dropping down into his belly as he shuddered.
That was all that he could process as the woman’s elbow collided with his jaw.
“The bitch broke my jaw that day,” J-Dog said. That was the first time anyone ever heard his voice quaver a bit. His body remembered the pain.
He recounted how she grabbed some random piece of rope, something that had been used to secure a piece of machinery in the gang’s workshop, and trussed him up in no time flat. The circulation was suddenly gone from his limbs, and he understood why she chose the nom de guerre Snare.
Critical tried to stop her as she ran for the door. He simply placed himself there, thick and seething with no neck and angry redness glowing in his face.
“That’s how he ended up with two broken knees. That bitch in purple right there done it.”
She went through them as though they were nothing that day.
“It was a fight, don’t get me wrong, but blondie there … she’s a wild cat.”
In the middle of the desert, in the hideout of these villains, Snare broke for daylight and escaped. Just as she could leap and tumble - jumping from one rooftop to another across her city landscape - she could run, flat out, at ridiculous speeds. She only did it in bursts, but it would be enough to get her away from the hideout to regroup, and rearm herself.
That was her plan; she was going to attack them again. She was going to make the game unfold in some other way.
“What she didn’t know was we had implanted one of our nerve jammers up in her while she was out cold. It wasn’t just in her pussy, man, it was all up in her.”
“I was able to get it up into her womb,” C said with a little smirking glow.
Helpless, Snare was listening to the conversation and remembering the whole affair. She could still feel how her body betrayed her that day.
“So, I waited until she was out of sight, then flicked it on. I turned on the nerve jammer. I told C and Crazy to go out and get her on their bikes. See, she was far out of eye-shot by then, but I flicked it, bounced the signal off the satellite, and waited.”
The story went that, in a few minutes, the bikers returned driving at a casual rate, seemingly enjoying the thick plume of dust that tailed behind them. When they stopped, and once the dust settled, J-Dog could see the lithe body of the large-breasted blond chained to the back of Crazy’s bike. He had lashed her to it by her wrists, crossing them and wrapping them in a length of chain that he had connected to the back of his bike. Her body dragged the ground behind the cycle. Snare took a “sleigh ride” behind.
“You dragged her behind a bike?” asked Ironsites. “That’s fucking amazing!”
“She’s a fucking super-powered bitch and her costume is some sort of special shit that doesn’t tear, so dragging her wouldn’t damage her or that nice purple costume of hers. Man, they went out after I flipped the switch and zapped her long-distance, then they found her stretched out in the desert unconscious, and brought her back, dragged her back.”
They all looked down at the captive blond.
“That’s what happened didn’t it, sweet cheeks?”
J-Dog grabbed her by the hair and made her nod her head ‘yes.’
“Just chained her wrists to the back his hog and dragged her ass back through the desert. Once we got her ass home, we unchained her, Crazy grabbed one arm, I grabbed the other and dragged her into the shop.”
Snare never knew what happened between when she was knocked unconscious and when she woke up in the gang’s motorcycle shop, chained and tied to a post. She didn’t know how the Red Aces had hosed her down to clean her up, and how they had worked together to tie her as tightly as they could to the pillar in the garage.
There was no recollection of how one of the gang members went into a collection of sex toys, and laughingly came up with a thick cock gag that they stuffed into her mouth and strapped tightly around her head.
She remembered being awake and tied so tightly that her limbs were numb. Instinct and frustration caused her to bite down on the massive cock gag that was strapped into her mouth. She could feel the distinct penis shape and taste the thick rubber.
She started to drool. The feelings were still fresh in her head.
As the men of the club came and went that day, drinking beer, and working on their bikes, they would pay her attention from time to time. She remembered the rough hands of the Red Aces on her thighs and her tits. They would maneuver behind her, pinching and licking what they could of her ass, though it was pinned to the post.
They bit her tits.
“We’d grab a tit, feel her thighs, slap her ass. We finally pulled her tits out – it’s easy causa’ how her costume’s made. It’s got that nice open V. She’s got nice big, dark nipples, doncha’ blondie?”
He made the fuming, blond superheroine nod by yanking hard on her hair. He made her head register a ‘yes’ as he recounted fucking her tits with his mouth.
“I sucked those big brown nipples, Crazy had some, my old lady … every body sucked them things and squeezed ‘em. Them nipples got nice and hard, didn’t they blondy?”
Again, he forced her head to nod in the affirmative.
“Sometimes, I just talked to blondy here, didn’t I?”
She felt rage building again when she thought about how he got nose to nose with her. He grabbed her mound, he grabbed her hair, and he growled in her face.
“You thought you could come I here, hurt my family, and take what’s mine? You thought alla’ those Asian tricks a super shit would be enough to out-smart me?
Critical chimed in with “Then we just fucked her, man! We had her on all fours, untied, but we had a dog collar on her, and I jammed it in her mouth and J-Dog got up and fucked her from behind … got in her ass and her pussy. Man! I was still all busted up, we all were, but we had her that day. ”
They high-fived. She remembered his thick, hot dick in her mouth for only a few moments, before she felt her mouth filled with gobs and torrents of thick, pearly spume. She gagged and convulsed, her eyes closed, as the stuff rolled down her chin. It poured in streamers and dribbled from her face.
“What I love is how she rolled with us … how we made her roll with us. We had to finally roll out. So, we all got on our bikes, revving the engines and getting ready, and we decided to bring the cunt along with us. We put one jammer up her ass, and kept the one in her pussy. I gagged her and put a black bag, like a black, silk bag I had from some gift someone had given me, over her head. I tied it off tight around her neck.”
He smiled when he thought about the silhouette of her face wrapped in black silk. She was blind. They put a motorcycle helmet on her, closing the visor. They sat her on a bike
behind C, wrapping her arms around the biker woman’s waist and cuffing them that way. She rode helplessly on the back of the bike all the way to town.
The members of the Red Aces didn’t tell the rest of the story, but Snare remembered it. She remembered the poker game.
That was when they took me to meet
the drug cartel in town. The local coke funnel. They drove, we drove, for
something like an hour, with my body pressed up against the denim- and-leather
clad woman. For something like an hour I clung to her body, my wrists cuffed
around her waist, vibrating and jostling as the Red Aces took me to meet
their friends.
When the bikes stopped I waited, my
body still shuddering, as my captors did their thing. I felt them unlocking
my cuffs, and removing my helmet. They were on me in a flash of course, grabbing
my legs and arms, wrapping their arms around my waist.
I heard them greeting each other
and congratulating each other …again with the high fives.
I heard a soft rushing sound as the
bag was pulled from my head. Images, smells, feelings all came rushing in
at once. They were sweaty and doused with a river of cologne. Their stench
mingled with the smell of road dust, exhaust, and the garbage-strewn alley.
As one wrapped his arms around my lower legs, pulling them together, two
were taking hold of my arms and binding my wrists behind my
back.
They were strong. I could feel the
steroid-ridden strength in their thickly-muscled arm, and I knew that in
a different state I could have whipped them all. With or without weapons,
I could have taken them. I kept thinking about how I could throw this one
or break that one’s arm, but my mind kept coming back to the devices
that were embedded in my ass and pussy. They could shut me down at a
moment’s notice.
I let them. I cursed through my teeth,
but I let them have me. Now my body was stretched out among them. Two stuck
their fingers in my mouth at the same time. They were thick and salty, rough
and clumsy, and I gagged as they searched the inside of my mouth. Their interest
in my mouth was only momentary, then the same fingers went to my hair, my
thighs, my ass.
I was surrounded by a galaxy of faces,
and hands held me in place as they did up my ropes. Some were bearded and
swarthy, some slick and clean-shaven. There was the feeling of the biker’s
denim and leather mixed with the designer suits and fashionable dresses of
the drug dealers.
The women were all gorgeous and lush,
with full red lips and perfect, exercised bodies. They were the first to
slide their nimble hands into the V of my purple costume and cup my breasts.
One was palming my right nipple, while another pinched my left. I winced,
and tilted my head back.
“Her nipples are hard! You happy
to see us, chica?”
“She has big
nipples!”
I could smell their perfume battling
the reek of rats and garbage in the alley.
The men on my legs crossed them, and
secured them with heavy rope at the ankles. I expected them to tie my wrists
tightly behind my back, but instead they pressed my palms together at my
waist and tied my wrists in front of my body.
One man was kissing me on the neck
and a woman was sucking hard on my left nipple. My legs jumped with the shock
waves that came from the tit, and jerked my knees up. A male on of them grabbed
my legs and pulled them up against his massive body. Another encircled my
upper body, scooping his arms under mine.
“Let’s take her inside and
play some fuckin’ poker
,man!” I heard one of them exclaim. Next, I was carried on their shoulders,
squirming out of instinct and they grabbed my hair and pressed my body up
above them. My head tilted back, I saw stars, and a moment later the darkness
of the sky gave way to the brilliant lights and smoke of a cramped room.
In an instant, I was in a world of
cigars and whisky. I could smell
the cheap upholstery and plastic. I was in some scumbag’s
lair.
There were mirrors on the ceiling.
I could see myself being crowd-surfed in a tide of criminals, hands pressing
up against my slick, glossy, purple form. They kneaded my ass and pulled
my hair, and finally slammed me down the green felt of a poker table. One
pulled my hands up over my head and tied my bound wrists there, securing
my arms to the head of the table leg. They did the same to my legs. I was
stretched out tightly, now, on the poker table.. The length of my body spanned
the diameter of the table and the men settled in around me for a game of
cards.
Drug dealers and bikers smoked cigars
and talked loudly as they shifted and moved in a sea around the long, lean,
blond athlete who was laid out for them. I could watch it all in the ceiling
mirror, and it was clear that I was an object.
“So, we’re playing to see
who gets the whore?”
“That’s
right.”
“Worthless fucking costumed cunt,
why don’t we just kill her?”
“She, my good man, is now an
‘it,’ and someone must own ‘it.’ Everyone ante
in.”
Without being told, someone …
a woman … leaned over me. She smiled, and laid a thick sponge foam pad
on each of my eyes. I closed them as the lights went out for me. Now, in
the dark, I felt the pressure of a bandana being wrapped around my head.
She blind-folded me as the men wagered over who would own
me.
“Man, I just want to fuck this
slut and throw her away.”
“Let’s take her mask
off.”
“No, no … gotta’ have
the mask. The mask completes it.”
“Just keep her
blindfolded!”
I felt cards and chips being flipped
down and laid out on my abs and thighs. Every now and then I would squirm
or shift my body. If it was not to their liking, one would twist a nipple
or slap my crotch. They would finger flick my mound.
“Dumb
bitch.”
“Stupid fucking
whore.”
“This cunt thought she could steal
from us. Look at her now.”
So much of the cursing and smoking
for hours became a blur in my head, but I did remember one of them, his hand
on my mound, exclaimed “That’s me, boys!”
“Awwww, son of a bitch!
Man!”
“Look at
that!”
“Yup, he
won!”
There was a general exult of moans
and cheers as one side lost, and the other now owned me.
Again, I was grabbed, with hands
controlling my legs and arms while others untied and retied me. I remember
I was being taken from the table, numb in my ropes, and slung over a shoulder.
Now, I followed the same path out of the room, back into the alley. Blindfolded,
I wouldn’t learn for hours who won me.
With my ankles crossed and my elbows
tied, blindfolded, I bounced on the broad shoulder of some henchman until
I was tossed down in what was clearly the boot of a car. Squirming for a
moment, struggling for a futile second, I felt a hand push my head down.
The trunk was slammed shut and I was carried away like an object in the storage
space of this guy’s car.
I never passed out. I rode, helpless
and bound, in the darkness of the car’s trunk, until the car stopped
and someone opened the lid. I could smell seawater and the diesel fumes of
maritime engines.
I heard one of them say something about
having “the main dish.”
“We’ve got the main
dish.”
He had a Latino accent. The drug dealers
owned me.
“Take her
aboard.”
Still blindfolded, I felt myself being
scooped up and carried like a spare tire. The mild bobbing of the ship
transferred through the body of whomever was carrying me as they took me
down below decks.
There was the feeling of my carrier
ducking down, adjusting me, and then I was laid out on a table. Again, hands
took control of me, untying me. Spreading my arms and legs wide, they made
a display of me – spread eagle on the table. One ripped away my blindfold,
making sure I could see who was doing this to me.
“You going to try to fight,
punta?”
“You’re a toy now,
bitch.”
I still had the nerve-jamming technology
in my body, but they probably wanted to make sure that my super strength
wouldn’t kick in. That was why they got out the syringe.
The injection was swift. It was in
my left femoral artery, and I felt weakness almost instantly.
“That’s right, Snare, just
feel it. Shhhh. Good girl.”
They could feel me weakening, and my
wait for total weakness was still a matter of one big, swarthy man after
another pinning down my limbs, feeling my tits, and groping between my thighs.
When they finally decided to lift me, I was a rag doll.
They took me by the legs and the waist,
the arms and the hair, not letting a portion of me fall. In every reflective
surface I could see this defined and muscular blond in skin-tight purple
being lifted, turned and carried in the grips of an army of well-dressed
men. I could see myself in captivity.
I couldn’t imagine where they
got a human-sized silver platter, rectangular, with cuffs arranged to hold
a grown woman down, but they had one. It was silver and shiny -
a real silver platter with
someone’s initials in beautiful swirling script on it.
It was, maybe, a moan of confusion
or surprise that escaped me as they lowered me onto it and swiftly cuffed
up my wrists and ankles. I was bound spread-eagle on a giant silver platter.
It was the perfect size for my body, and the cuffs were set at the exact
right place to accommodate my limbs, my wrists, my ankles.
A thick collar secured my head in
place.
They carried me out to meet the
guests.
There were at least fifty well-dressed
men and women, eating posh finger food and sipping champagne on the deck
of this ship. Some were Asian, some African, some Latino, and some European.
I had to use my peripheral vision as best I could, as my head was so well
secured by that collar. I had been laid out as a treat for the beautiful
people.
I heard the dull sound of my silver
platter being delivered to the table, and I felt the impact. I lay there,
looking up at the perfect, blue sky as people cheered and the head asshole
stood over me. Their cheering only grew louder as that asshole started stripping
away his clothing.
Someone snapped a photo of him standing
over me, my body spread out and clamped down on a silver
platter.
Everyone watched as he mounted me,
his rock-hard cock disappearing into my pussy.
Snare was still internally recalling her captivity when Critical called to his gang mates. He had slipped away while they were looming over her, and discovered a new trove of joy.
“Forget that whore, guys! Come see this shit! Come see this!”
Boa was pulling Snare’s face up into her crotch again as the Red Aces continued their exploration.
He was in the next stone chamber. He was clapping his huge, meaty hands and whooping.
The resurrected form of Onslaught had his back turned to the gang member, his dread locks of chains were creeping and flowing from his head, very meticulously embracing a voluptuous heroine in a black and white costume.
He had never seen Cutlass before, but he grinned and grabbed his crotch as a chain tentacle wrapped around her throat, and five or six wrapped around her left thigh. One squeezed hard, pulling up into her mound while another set captured her right ankle and yanked it up and back.
She might have wanted to cry out or speak, but length after length of chain were gagging her, wrapping across her mouth and winding around her head.
“ I could play with you like this all day, cunt.”
His animated chains were twisting her right tit and stroking the crease of her ass.
“I’m sorry all three of you aren’t here. I enjoyed having all three Sword Sisters at my disposal. The three of you were like these delicious little topas I could eat.”
Cutlass wasn’t sure how often she played and replayed the images of that battle in her head. She knew that they eventually won, but it was each instance of defeat and humiliation that she and her sisters absorbed that day that played on a repeating loop in her head.
He was focused on Foil, her sister Brooke, for some reason that day. It was like he wanted to get the other two out of the way so that he could get to her. That was probably why he crashed a flurry of kicks and punches into her body first, sending her back and rolling down the stairs to the next level of the abandoned space station. It was an open stairwell, and the floors were metal grates, so he could see clearly that the woman fell among twisted debris and the chaos of abandoned, damaged wiring.
“You wait right there, sexy.”
With his hands on his hips, he paused to admire how perfect her feminine form looked among all of the harsh machinery and wreckage. She was laid out on her back, her maroon costume contrasted to the dirty white of the station’s floor and walls. She wore maroon, knee-high, spike-heeled boots, and an asymmetrical skin stocking that shimmered like spandex, but seemed even more sheer and body-conforming. From boot to torso, her right leg was sheathed in the material. Her equally-athletic left leg was bare, with the material cut high on the thigh. Her sleek, hour-glass torso, with it’s high, firm breasts, was covered in the second skin as well, but her right arm was bare, while her left was covered from glove to shoulder in super-sheer maroon. The costume had a turtleneck collar that came up, high and smooth, over her throat.
He had ripped her mask off long ago.
He was about to follow her down the stairs to finish her off, when he remembered there were two more of these bitches. First came Tiffany, the one called Saber. He chuckled later when he thought about how the busty blond was little more than a blur. With long blond hair whipping in a wild arc and the green and silver of her two-piece costume flashing, she unleashed a blizzard of kicks on the big man.
He caught one of Saber’s roundhouse kicks in midair, his speed allowing him to grip her ankle and yank her off her standing foot and dangle her.
He heard her gasp. He heard her shudder.
There was a brief pause, a flashing of an eyelid, when the heroine and the villain looked at each other. Then he pivoted his weight and sent the busty, blond sailing towards her black-and-white clad sister. Cutlass was in the middle of doing a gymnastics hand spring that would bring her closer to the big, armoured villain, when the hapless body of her sister crashed into her in mid air.
Onslaught remembered the tingle that he felt when he heard the sound of one woman’s body contacting the other, then both of them hitting the wall. Again, he took a moment to admire his work.
Saber was on her side, unconscious, and sleeping below a veil of blond. Cutlass was groggy and slowly taking her feet as Onslaught closed on her.
He beat her that day on the space station, just like he beat her in the chambers of the Ourobouros. He recounted that beating to her in the chambers and he released her from the chain tentacles and punched Cutlass in the face with a left, then a right, then a left.
“I think the last time we fought I gave you something like this.”
He struck Cutlass on both shoulders with the edges of both hands. The woman’s head snapped back, and she released a shuddering groan.
“Uhhhhh….”
The CSM nerve bundles in her shoulders shorted out, and her arms went dead. She was helpless to defend herself as a flat-handed strike crashed into the side of her neck, crushing her vegas nerve and sending her into a world of blackness.
His kicks were so powerful that her body jerked up from the ground when he laid in one after the other. She moaned a bit when he flipped her on to her back, but Cutlass was unconscious and would remain so.
“You want some of this, big man?” said Onslaught as he turned to look at Critical. His foot was on Tina’s crotch.
“Don’t mind if I do,” said the gang member.
He took hold of Cutlass’ hair and pulled her up to her knees. She would slowly start to regain consciousness, her body aching and throbbing, and she would find herself gagging and struggling to breathe. She would find that her nose was pinched closed, and it was the struggle to find air that startled her to consciousness. Critical’s balls were in her mouth.
MMMMMFFFF…
“Teabag me, bitch!”
The suffocating woman’s eyes rolled up in her head. She could feel the chains wrapping around her ankles, but she could do nothing to stop it. The chains wandered, taking the time to feel up her muscular legs and tight, round ass. They wrapped around her thighs.
As the sweaty ball sack left her mouth, the animated chains pulled. Tina looked down to see the super-long chains that had crept from Onslaught’s head, over a ceiling beam, and down to encircle her lower body. They seemed to knead and massage her.
“Do you remember how I made art out of you and your little blond sister? The whore with the big tits?”
“Yessss…”
Her word dragged out as he hoisted her into the air. Upside down, hair hanging down, arms tied to her sides, Cutlass found herself dangling from the cell ceiling. She swayed and twisted, suddenly becoming aware of the salty, moldy smell coming from below her. The woman in the black-and-white costume tilted her head to see that a huge vat of gooey white fluid was suddenly just below her.
There was no point in trying to discern from where it came; this was the place of the Ouroboros, and nothing could truly be explained. Onslaught wanted to dunk her in a bath of cum, and there was the tub, ready for her.
The chains moved themselves back down, lowering the hourglass figure of the woman closer and closer to the huge vat of cum. Before her skin even touched the liquid, she could tell that it was hot and fresh. As her hair coiled and sank into the mess, she closed her eyes and breath.
A thick pond of semen accepted the inverted heroine as she sank into it, head first. She held her breath and remembered the last battle with this villain. She remembered that he had collected all of the semen samples that were left in the research lab and filled a vat with them. She and Saber, hanging upside down and crisscross-bound like sides of meat, could only watch as he effortlessly lifted Foil, their sister Brooke, and dunked her into the vat.
With two hands on her throat, he held her under and squeezed until her struggling stopped. Now, it was Tina’s turn to drown.The Red Aces couldn’t help but applaud as they watched large, firm tits, a narrow waist, and long, muscular legs disappear into the thick whiteness.
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