OUROBOROS

by Mr. K

6.    

The punch in the face didn’t feel like a punch in the face at all. It was more like Maxim felt it through her whole body. She saw the blur of the fist filling the space in front of her face, then it was as though her whole body was swept along in a tidal wave of force. She would never hear the window shatter, but she would find herself sprawled in the shards and trying to collect her mind.

 

She was trying to push herself up from the floor of the closed store, when another massive fist crashed into her jaw. She felt the dull immovable reality of her skull slamming back down to collide with the marble floor.

 

She heard him say that his name was Onslaught.

 

On a rooftop nearby, Lonestar lay on her back, one arm draped across her wasp waist. Her eyes were closed and her head rocked to one side. She would be of no use to her lover.

 

Thick, powerful fingers wrapped around Maxim’s neck from behind, digging into the costumed muscle and up under her jaw bone. Maxim choked, and gagged. She grabbed at his fingers, her mouth twisted in pain, her eyes in a squint as he pulled her up to a half-standing position. He said his name again as smashed her head against a pillar.

 

He pulled her back and did it again. And again. And again.

 

He muttered something about her being a whore as he lifted her from the ground and slammed her back to the ground. Now, he used her hair to hoist her back up.

 

She was stunned, her mind in a winding tunnel of pain as his massive arms wrapped around her neck and started to squeeze. Blood pounded in her head, and she felt her body becoming dead weight in his arms.

 

Onslaught’s dreads joined the fun now. The tentacle hair was searching her body now, encircling the two, large curves of her breasts, and taking hold of her thighs. A sudden surge of excitement went through the massive man. His feelers were telling him that he had an goddess pulled up against him. They stroked the long, muscular legs, pulling hard up into her crotch and rubbing.

 

As she passed out, she felt him lifting her up off the ground. She didn’t know that he held her aloft like a figure skater, with one hand in the middle of her back, her long arms and legs sagging down, her head flung back, her body arched.

 

She didn’t know how long she was lost in unconsciousness, but it was long enough for him to drag her to the roof of the department store. It had been long enough for him to coil his dreadlock chains into a noose and coil it around her neck. It had been just long enough for her to awaken, finding herself sitting upright on the edge of the building’s roof.

 

“Think about this for a moment,” he said. “I’m going to hang you and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

 

His dread locks were actually chains, she realized. As they threaded across her skin, as they formed a coil around her tender throat, as they tightened in to a noose around her neck, she realized that they were lengths and coils of tiny chains.

 

Like a gorgon’s hair they snaked of their own accord. Some sought her big tits, kneading and squeezing them, pulling them up into peaks. Others caressed her hair. They wove themselves through her thick, black hair. They spliced themselves with the natural fibers of her hair, twisting and coiling until a cluster of chains was melded with her soft, dark locks.

 

But it was the choking that made the difference. With the noose of slender chains tightened around her throat, the big man said “We’re all here for you, whore.”

 

He kicked her from the roof, and smiled with a mouthful of crooked teeth as woman started to hang and strangle. Again, blood was pounding in her head; she felt the conscious world slipping away from her again.

 

Her legs twitched, her sensuous hooded eyelids slowly slid closed, and her mouth fell open. She grabbed at the chain noose, choking noises gurgling in the back of her throat, and tried to control herself. Something was sapping her strength so that she was nothing but a woman strangling on the end of a noose.

 

No superpowers.

 

The first hints of drool were pooling on her thick lower lip when he released her.

 

Maxim could fly, and fly fast and well, but now all she could do was drop. With her hair undone and each and every chain removed from her body, the curvaceous woman simply dropped. There was a rushing moment of helplessness, and she then she was suddenly cradled in crushed steel of a BMW.

 

Glass exploded from the traumatized car as a tall, lush brunette slammed down on its roof. Maxim’s body acted a missile, dropping from on-high and crushing a giant dent into the steel of the roof and hood. As the car alarm screamed out the agony of the assaulted German vehicle, Maxim slipped into darkness.

 

From above, Onslaught could see the lush outline of a large-breasted heroine pressed into the traumatized frame of the car.

 

Behind him, in the darkness of the rooftop, Lonestar lay on her side. Muscular legs were tucked up, arms tangled, hair in a mess. She was unconscious. Silent.

 

Maxim wasn’t awake to feel two hands grab her shoulders and pull her from the wreckage of the car. Bits and pieces of metal and gleaming chunks of glass clattered to the deserted street as Gamemaster pulled her from the wreckage. He gripped her limp body by the shoulders, holding her up and laughing at the superheroine’s beaten form. Her legs, in their skin-tight red and their shiny, black boots were weak and collapsed below the sleeping woman. Her head sagged down to the front, her arms hung limply and swayed when he shook her body.

 

“Wake up!”

 

Her battered body would have been much more resilient had her powers not been stalled. They were stalled, though, and she was unconscious. Gamemaster was denied seeing the pain in Maxim’s face. There was a certain joy in slinging the dead weight of an unconscious heroine over his shoulder, but he wanted to see her face.

 

He remembered talking about this with Lethario. The jock, Gamemaster, told him how much he loved carrying them once they were defeated. Lethario said the same, but he painted with words so that Gamemaster found himself spellbound.

 

He hadn’t expected Gold to show up. The plan was to lure Cutlass, and he did. The plan was to lure Snare, and he did. The plan was to isolate them, mesmerize them, then watch them as he handed them over to the crowd of women and men at the strip club. Once both heroines were under control and tied to the stripper poles, he pretty much figured the game was done and all he had to do was sit back and watch.

 

Two heroines, one in skin-tight purple, one in fishnets, were tied to the poles. The dancers used them as props, twirling and spinning around the pole-tied women. Ankles tied, wrists tied, necks tied to the poles, Snare and Cutlass simply stared off into space as one stripper after another licked them, gyrated on them, humped their bound thighs.

 

He hadn’t expected Gold.

 

She got the best of him… at first. But he looked her in the eye, and he did the thing that he always did, and the six-foot-tall woman in the golden body sheath collapsed. She was still conscious, but the blond was helpless.

 

He slung her over his shoulder. That was what he discussed with Gamemaster. He loved the fact that he didn’t need to bind her. He loved the fact that she was still able to speak. As her long legs hung down, ankles crossed, and her long, blond hair swept down behind him, he was able to converse with her.

 

“You thought you’d free your friends and capture me, right?”

 

“Yessir,” she replied. Her voice was clear as a bell.

 

“But, now you are helpless, and you know that I am going to give you to those people down there, right?”

 

“Yessir.”

 

“And you will pleasure them.”

 

The whole time, he was enjoying the bobbing weight of the tall, blond heroine slung over his shoulder. He could feel large breasts in his back, and smell the fragrant skin.

 

He ended up on a balcony overlooking the crowd. It was a large, elaborate sex palace, this club, and he was going to let it devour these three women.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Gold!”

 

He adjusted her just a bit, then dumped her off his shoulder and watched her drop into the mass of humanity below her.

 

 

 

Time would go by too swiftly, Gamemaster knew, and she would be awake and fighting soon. That was why he sprinted through the shadows with her on her shoulder, stopping only when he was at the marina, a few miles away. He darted down alley ways  and across deserted streets. He was little more than a blur.

 

Before his death and resurrection he would have been somewhat winded after such a run. Now, he felt fresh and ready.

 

He took a moment to listen to the lapping waves, then turned and carried her into an old, abandoned boat house. It was probably quite sturdy once, but now seemed to struggle to keep itself totally upright. It was loosing a battle against time and wear.

 

When he let her body drop, he allowed himself a little thrill when her head hit the debris on the floor hard. She moaned.

 

Gamemaster used his nimble, thick fingers to flick, flick, flick the glass light bulb until it sputtered to life. Now, he could look down and truly appreciate his captive. He spoke to her, anger rising in his voice as he did.

 

“You’re just like Gold with your big titties and all of your muscle. You’re also the pretty girl with the sexy mouth, aren’t you?”

 

He pressed a foot to the side of her face.

 

“Well, Gold is hanging in a tree right now, and I fucked her, and I’m going to fuck you and hang you up too.”

 

Without looking for where to find it, Gamemaster reached over and grabbed a long, spooled length of cord.

 

The images of tumbling through midair and crashing were still playing through her mind when Maxim awoke. She knew instantly that her situation had grown worse. She was on her back against something hard. Her right wrist was tied to her right ankle, and the same was true for her left. Her fingertips touched the black leather of her boots.

It was a simple tie-up, leaving her legs bound to her arms, her thighs open, and her knees in the air.

 

Her throat still ached from the treatment given her by Onslaught, and her nipples were hard, but she was a in a new stage of her torment, and could only wait to see what is was.

She did struggled for a moment, then stopped when her eyes met Gamemaster’s. 

 

“Gamemaster,” she coughed.

 

He grinned, and the battered heroine relaxed her muscles. There was no denying him at that point. All she could do was accept the fact that she would now experience what Gold had so many years ago.

 

“He was … huge,” she had whispered to Maxim. They were in their secret identities, leaning back against the cedar wood of a steam room, but they spoke of heroine things. “I just remember him opening me up like a jackhammer. God … my pussy still aches.”

 

Now it was Maxim’s turn to look at the open crotch of his jeans and feel her pussy recoil at the very concept of that massive thing entering it. She was on a box, or a platform of some sort, that allowed her crotch to be level with the standing villain’s tool.

 

Vulnerable.

 

She remembered her dad saying the word over again, and slowly again, to her. He said that you have to remember that you are always vulnerable. Even if you are armed, you are vulnerable. Even if you are winning you are still vulnerable.

 

Vulnerable.

 

There had been so many times she had been in chains or ropes, in peril or in danger, but how many times had she really felt the weight of her vulnerability? Again, she thought of being on her knees in front of Humiliatrix, eyes drowsy, head bobbing slowly. She could smell leather, but could see nothing, her eyes wrapped behind a blindfold. That was one time.

 

He stroked his cock.

 

Again, her pussy seemed to jump and shudder.

 

She looked up at the naked bulb that swung in the boat house, and gasped when the first gob of spit crashed in to her pussy. She heard him work up some more, and again she felt him spit on her sex. It actually felt like something hard, like a pebble had smashed into her clit. Now she knew that the crotch had been torn out of her costume.

 

He hocked another gob of spit on to the dark, fleshy gash between her thighs.

 

Lonestar had always reveled in what a large, thick-lipped cunt her lover had. They always seemed swollen and they hung down … just a bit …long and moist. Lonestar enjoyed pinching those lips together, sucking them, kissing her way up and down them.

 

“I love your big, juicy cunt. I love this cunt of yours.”

 

An exposed cunt is a vulnerable woman.

 

Maxim could only assume that this was what Gamemaster was thinking as he massaged his spit around on her vagina.

 

“Niiiice….”

 

Gamemaster’s vision narrowed, his mind folded into a warm, soft place as he kneaded the woman’s sex. She moaned, and he smiled as he used two fingers to spread those big lips. She moaned as two big fingers slipped into her pussy. He pulled back, twisted and turned his hand, then slowly pulled it back, letting a trail of her juice follow his fingers.

 

He tasted his fingers.

 

He drove his cock into her.

 

The whine that she made when he entered her was not anywhere near enough. He had braced himself to hear the type of scream he’d heard from Gold when his massive organ stretched out her asshole or when buried itself in her cunt. He was hoping for affirmation that his cock was a weapon, and that this woman could feel that. Maxim only bit her lower lip, squinted, and gave a paltry whining noise.

 

“Is that it?” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Scream for me!”

 

She gasped.

 

“Fine. Maybe, you need my new power to encourage you.”

 

The electrocution came without warning. It didn’t build up or start as a tingle. It was in her body all at once, every muscle contracting and heaving. Her nipples went hard and her pussy seemed to scream and close. As the muscles in her arms tensed and her fingers curled, as the muscles tensed in her neck and her back spasm into an arch, Maxim realized that there was no more fighting him.

 

She could not hear herself scream, but Gamemaster could. He grinned and threw his head back with a loud laugh. He drove from his hips and he let go with another surge. The dark-haired woman with the curvy body and the deep, dark eyes, the large breasts, and the red lips gave him the scream.

 

Again, the shape-shifter, the dark-haired Claudia, felt a dark curtain folding around her brain. She battled for consciousness, but was defeated by the veil.

 

Again, she was not awake; she was Maxim defeated.

 

Her body was still tingling and twitching as Maxim slowly came back to life. She felt her head gently shudder from side to side, and her cunt seemed to tremble and throb. Deep in her folds, muscles were twitching and throbbing.

 

He had done her and done her properly. Gamemaster’s powers had developed far beyond what he had used on Gold in their encounters. He had beaten her and he had fucked her, but now, as a villain risen from the grave, his body could generate huge surges of power. He was overwhelming and she was trying to process everything that had transpired that night.

 

She would remember the electricity and the endless pain joining with what was left of her strangulation at the hands of Onslaught as she drifted off.

 

She would remember being beaten.

 

There were hands and grabbing. There was a lifting of her body, and an undoing of ropes. There were whispers and a certain joyful groping. They viciously palmed her breasts. There were thick, black chains with cuffs.

 

There was a moment of her bound like a mummy, wrists crossed on her large, round breasts in thick cuffs. Chains hugged her tightly.

 

Finally, she was awake, eyes opened and her body slowly continuing to rebel as she pulled herself together. Her mind was trying it’s best to figure out where she was, pulling in the details. Plush carpet. Candlelight. Wood furniture. Sandalwood incense.

 

She was on her side on thick carpet.

 

I’m in a living room? A bedroom?

 

Instinctively, she ran a hand through her hair.

 

I’m not tied or chained.

 

As she laboriously pushed herself up from the floor she realized that the only light in the room came from those candles, and that she was being watched. She turned her head to see a mature, redheaded, athletic woman sitting in an easy chair. The woman wore glossy, black high heels, smoky, ultra-sheer, black pantyhose, and a black bra that barely contained two, high, firm breasts.

 

“You were moved after he fucked you and shocked you into unconsciousness.  They brought you here, gift-wrapped, as far as I’m concerned. Beautiful chains. You look beautiful in chains. Anyway, you’re mine now.”

 

“Foxglove.”

 

It all came together in Maxim’s head. This was the women who had battled and captured Dark Moon. This was the one who had covered Gold in some sort of cream and served her up, paralyzed to a crowd of Goths.

 

“You’re Foxglove.”

 

“Ta-da!”

 

Weak, still throbbing, and sopping between her thighs, the heroine stood and focused her mind on battling the gorgeous woman. Her powers had been sapped and neutralized, but she was unchained and decided to make a show of it as best she could. She stepped forward, adrenaline starting to flow.

 

“Oh, how cute. You have such pluck. You want to take me on,”

 

Foxglove waved her hand in the air, just once, and Maxim came to a sudden stop. Her shoulders slumped, and the fighting tension bled out of her. She was perfectly conscious, but it was as though she was trapped in her body … her immovable body. She released a gasp as an unnamed something passed through her.

 

“This has been a rough night for you, sweety,” said the tall, sensuous red head. She stood and walked behind Maxim, dragging one finger across the skin-tight, white material of her left shoulder. She leaned in and inhaled the sweet scent of Maxim’s hair.

 

“All of these villains coming after you, it must be stressful. I want you to feel the weight of your defeats tonight. Just feel it.”

 

Suddenly, her body was weighed down. Nothing physical dragged her down, but something held her in place. It was as if each high-heeled leather boot was rooted to the floor, and every fiber of her dense, conditioned muscle was trying its best to hold her there, in place.

 

Foxglove moved around, sat, stood, and had a drink. She was a causal mistress, and she had all of the time in world.

 

To watch Foxglove move was to see a woman who knew, full well, the power and grace of her body. To uncross her legs meant to stretch them out long and display the nylon sheen of her muscular lines. To walk meant to parade herself on long, stalking legs. She stood, paused, and paced her catwalk stride towards the living statue.

 

There were shock and anger throbbing in the captive, but her face was placid, still. Full, red lips were in a pursed droop, large, hooded eyes were in a sleepy daze. Her head was filled with anger and questions, and the incense wrapped around the exotic perfume that surrounded her captor.

 

When Foxglove’s hands found her breasts, Maxim felt the erotic shockwave shoot through her body, tingle in her buttocks. She felt her big nipples betray her by growing hard in the redhead’s palms.

 

“You know, Maxim, I love superheroines. I love your bodies and your powers, but most of all, I love doing that voodoo that I do so well and capturing your minds. Mmmmm. I freaking love your big tits. They’re firm. And what nipples you have under that costume.”

 

She moved around Maxim now, her sex growing wet and swollen.

 

“You have a perfect ass. You have a firm little shelf. Mmmmm … Such the athlete.”

 

Maxim moaned in the captive void of her own mind as the woman pressed herself against her. She could feel the firm, round pressure of two large tits against her back, and the eager, searching of two long, elegant hands on her own breasts. Now her cunt was pounding, betraying her along with her nipples.

 

“Big girl, I love your tits. You might be bigger than Gold.”

 

She gave the woman a kiss on the neck.

 

“So, I’ve got you under control. There’s nothing you can do to resist. I think you’ve got that. Walk across the room and get on the bed. Get on your back, with your legs spread, I’m going to trib you. Walk, lover.”

 

Maxim tried for a moment to resist, but her body was already carrying her across the room. She reached the bed, got on her knees on the mattress, then rolled onto her back. Every movement was smooth and deliberate.

 

She raised her knees, spreading her muscle-thick legs, and stared up at the ceiling. With the crotch torn out of her costume, she presented her wet cunt to Foxglove. Her arms fell away to her sides.

 

Foxglove took a step forward, then stopped at the edge of the bed, smirking.

 

“ I want a redhead tonight. Shape shift to a redhead for me.”

 

Right then, right there, there was nothing that she wanted to do more than please Foxglove. She concentrated, and felt the warm rush and tingle as her visage morphed. She rarely went to the redhead, but upon the request of her lusty owner, she easily slipped into it. She could only see Foxglove now.

 

All of Maxim’s morphs were lean, large-breasted women, but each had unique hair, facial features, and those minute details that made each one totally different from the last. This was the lightly-freckled redhead who Lonestar had nicknamed Amy. This was the girl with the glowing green eyes and the little turned-up nose.

 

“So, cute … Ok, now I can trib you,” smiled Foxglove. “I feel like a redhead tonight.”

 

She stepped up on the bed, standing over Maxim and spreading her legs like an arch over the supine woman. One movement of her fingers, and she opened the spit crotch of her nylons. Bright red cunt lips, long and dripping, seemed to push their way out as the black nylon parted.

 

Maxim looked at the woman’s cunt, her breath catching briefly in her throat. Something … some sort of power, seemed to pulse in the labia, in the clit, in the dark, juicy vulva of this woman. The juice that was gathering on the swollen woman parts seemed to almost reach out to Maxim with its scent and its glistening.

 

The enthralled heroine felt her pussy pulse.

 

There was no sound at all, not a shudder or whimper or cry, as one wet vagina came to meet another. Foxglove closed her eyes and tilted her head back, but she breathed not a word. It was only when she started to pump her hips and hump the other woman’s pussy with her own that she started to whine and swear.

 

“Oh … nice. Oh, shit, very nice. Mmmmm …. You have an awesome cunt. My cunt … My cunt loves your cunt. Oh, baby….”

 

Maxim wet her mouth and swore that she could feel the other woman’s nether lips moving and reaching with hungry abandon. They gave a French kiss to Maxim’s pussy.

 

Juicy smacking noises rose from the two women as they fit together like Sapphic puzzle pieces. The rhythm grew faster, and Foxglove gripped hard into the thigh of her prey. She used Maxim’s legs as a sort of throttle. She pulled and pressed, and used it to move her body back and forth. She bit the muscle of Maxim’s calf through the leather and the slick, sheer costume.

 

She’s so impassioned. She loves this. She makes me love this. She loves having heroines. When the League of the Black Cat had me each one of them took turns tribbing me, humping me, but it wasn’t like this. Each one of them, leggy and covered in leather and latex, took turns mounting Lonestar and I. We were chained down, strapped down, and had one orgasm after another as they rubbed their clits against ours. They didn’t seem to derive any pleasure outside of dominating us. This woman really loves her work … and whatever she has done makes me adore her for it.

 

 

She would come silently, muscles tensing while Foxglove screamed and shook violently. Juice poured out of both women. It mingled and gushed across Maxim’s skin.

Foxglove released the long leg, and folded her body coming to rest on the broken woman below her. Still catatonic, Maxim’s offered nothing but pleasure as Foxglove snaked fingers into both of their pussies and delivered the juice to their lips.

 

“Oh, you are good. I’m sorry that I can’t keep you, but I promised to share. I’m sorry that your next owners will not be so … sweet with you.”

 

There was already a man entering the room.

 

“He needs some of you also.”

 

The candle flames flickered in the closed room. Hairs raised on Maxim’s skin as she realized that a new power was sweeping over her. It was from the same family as Foxglove’s, that was easy enough to see, but it was a male power. It was large and dark, enfolding her mind with a harsher power than Foxglove’s. She suddenly felt fragile; she wanted to be handled and used.

 

Foxglove stretched as smiled as she welcomed Lethario into the room. He was dressed to match her, in black.

 

“Hello, handsome. Oh! You have the musk working overtime, don’t you?”

 

“Sure do. I don’t want her to feel that she got anything but my best. No less than what I gave Red Arrow or Gold.”

 

Maxim lay there. She looked up at the two of them with dead eyes. Her legs spread, her arms flung wide, her mouth pursed, she released a slow groan as the tall man knelt over and slanted his mouth across hers. His kiss was slow and intense, as if he delighting in a glass of wine or a fine work of art. His tongue seemed to pulse against hers, and his lips worked a rhythm against her mouth.

 

Again her pussy was enflamed and she was ready to give herself to a new lover.

 

This one is Lethario. This is the one that enslaved Red Arrow. This is the villain who enslaved Scorpio. She said that he told her he liked Asian girls in red. Scorpio was ready to battle him, but found herself kneeling in front of him without a fight. She rubbed her mound and sucked his cock, she said, because she wanted to.

 

She needed him to master her.

 

I need him to master me.

 

Lethario pulled away from her mouth, his hand just grazing her left breast. 

 

“I want you blond,” he quipped. “I want a California blond. Shape shift.”

 

And she was a blond for him.

 

She was a blue-eyed blond with high cheek bones and a straight, Nordic nose. Her mouth was a delicate pink curve.

 

“Perfect.”

 

He lowered his mouth to hers again.

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