SNARE
by Mr. K
6.
Cutlass had been kept on a leash before. She had been on leashes before.
Sometimes, it was keeping her in place. Sometimes it was all about taking
her from one place to another, but the leash was nothing new to the woman
in black and purple.
The villainess Vixen had kept her in a smooth, featureless, white porcelain
room after she knocked her out with one blow and captured her. She woke up
to find herself in The Cube, a white porcelain room that Vixen had been using
to do in her captives. Cutlass found that a chain and collar were keeping
her anchored to a metal loop in the center of the floor. She would always
remember the strong smell of semen in that room.
On her knees, black and purple latex contrasted against the white of the
room, her nipples hard in the cold, she knelt with her head bowed as the
trap above her head opened. She closed her eyes as the first stream of gooey,
hot, white cum poured into her hair.
“Breathe deep and hold it, Cutlass,” Vixen said through a microphone
into the cell. “I have a tremendous amount of male genetic material
unused from all of my experiments.”
Semen covered her hair and face. It ran off of her shoulders and dripped
from her chin.
Sperm would fill the room to its ceiling.
When Foxglove captured her she lead her on a leash like around like an animal.
They had battled in the fetish club that Foxglove used as her hide-out. Cutlass
lost and ended up being Foxglove’s new sub.
Through the club, in the street
outside, for blocks through the city, she pulled her like an animal on a
leash.
After watching the outnumbered Cutlass polish off about six of her henchmen
and women, Foxglove decided to end the fight and claim the woman as her own.
She pushed on-lookers and
hench people aside, coming
up on Cutlass’ blind side.
First, she blew across her palm and dusted Cutlass’ face with her toxin.
Purple dust settled on her skin, and Tina … Cutlass
…
coughed, shuddered, then found herself peacefully swaying on
her high, stiletto heels. Her shoulders sank, and she
sighed a deep exhalation.
Recalling what happened that night, she remembered how peaceful she felt.
The fight literally poured out of her, and the lush body
in its dark latex went slack.
She felt heavy and sluggish. She could only stare when Foxglove got up close
and whispered in her ear.
“Are we done with fighting for tonight, Cutlass?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tina heard herself reply.
“And are we ready to be a sub now?”
“Y … Yes, ma’am.”
So, the stylish, leather-clad guests clapped and laughed as Foxglove secured
a collar around Cutlass’ neck. It wasn’t as tight as this one that
Sister Dragon secured around her neck. It wasn’t quite as nice, but
it was a leash all the same.
Foxglove’s collar was higher. It was softer leather than Sister
Dragon’s, but it was still rigid and held her posture in a solid military
line. A chain joined her to the gloved hand of the nylon-clad woman who lead
her through the sex club, and then through the teeming streets of a cool
urban Halloween.
Foxglove, in her deep, dark blue nylon bodysuit and high heels connected
her to a collar and leash and lead her like a latex-clad pet. Her wrists
bound behind her, Cutlass stumbled and faltered as hands groped her body.
Foxglove would stop to let women bite Cutlass’
ass through the costume,
or let men slap her large, firm tits.
A woman kissed her long and hard. Then another.
Then
another. Six women in all passed her from mouth to mouth. He remembered
that the last one tasted sweet and peppery.
“Worship the shoes of my guests.”
She undid the wrists of the beaten heroine, allowing her to go to all fours
like an animal. Cutlass went
to her knees, the leash guiding and yanking on her, then all the way down.
On all fours, she worshipped high heels, boots, and pumps.
She lead Cutlass out of the club and through the
street, sometimes telling her to crawl sometimes letting her walk through
the cavorting crowd of Halloween party goers. They were unaware that they
were seeing a heroine who had been defeated by a villain. All they perceived,
as they kissed Cutlass, grabbed her breasts, and shot streams of cum on her,
was a domme and her sub.
Now she was Sister Dragon’s sub. On her knees, again, her head sagging
in the darkness of a cell, she touched the leather of her leash. They had
cleaned and freshened her up since she tossed the
villain’s salad, but she was still collared like a dog in a dark
room.
“I need to take a little something from you, whore,” she heard
Sister Dragon whisper in the darkness, close to her ear. She wasn’t
sure how much time had passed, or many more times the captor had drugged
her. She wasn’t even sure if this was the first time a needle has gone
through her costume and into the big vein in her neck.
“I’m drawing your blood; I need a sample. The men should be here
soon. They will continue your punishment, and I will continue the experiment.
Then your life will have meaning.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Night Star swung gently. The helmet was gone, and her wrists that had been
cuffed into overhead shackles were now free. Now her red fingertips scraped
the floor, and her ankles were locked into the indifferent embrace of thick,
metal cuffs. She was upside down now, fading in and out of consciousness,
the soft creaking of the chains keeping time with her gentle pendulum
sway.
Her thick, red hair, a deep, brilliant wave of crimson that swept down past
her shoulders, now poured down from her inverted body and formed a pool below
her head. It twisted and turned with each movement of her body.
Upside down.
She was upside down again. It had only been three days since Insurrection
had trussed her up this way. She
remembered him, she thought, finishing his roping of her by securing her
ankles to an overhead contraption and leaving her dangling upside down. She
remembered the way he slapped her ass as she hung like a side of
meat.
Her mind was foggy from the treatment she’d received that night in the
make-shift lab, and it kept bouncing back and forth between her captivity
in the hands of Insurrection and in the hands of these strange geneticists.
Images of her beating at the hands of Insurrection wove in and out of what
took place that night. It was the woman in the lab, the people in the lab,
who shot her with UV bullets and brought her down. It was the big man in
the black-and-white costume, Insurrection, who confronted her in mid-flight
over the city three nights before.
But, hadn’t he hung her upside down at some point?
It was the lab people who entered her with UV light and sealed her head in
a heavy sphere that poured out UV light. In was Insurrection, floating above
the city, who blustered at her.
“You have strong, wide birthing hips. You have large, proud teats. You
should be birthing children for our great society, not behaving like a costumed
freak.”
She remembered hovering there, the wind painting her face, dumbfounded by
this ranting, costumed misogynist. She opened her mouth to speak, she
remembered, not sure if she was going to ask who
he was or what he wanted. As the words came to the edge of her full-lipped,
red mouth, the man stifled them.
“NO!”
He pounded his right fist in his left palm, and he spoke with a rage that
would be recorded as a mysterious sonic boom over the city, but would only
be felt in a
narrow cone of force that
was focused on Night Star.
Pain and force seemed to cut right through her bones; her organs shook, and
she covered her ears, arching her body backwards, flinging her head back
and screaming. It was more than a super-powered representation of his voice;
it was a representation of his rage. Insurrection could make manifest his
anger.
The feeling of a metal floor below her tumbling body,
that was her capture at the lab. The dull throbbing of stone and tar
paper embracing her as she tumbled from the sky and crashed into a
rooftop,
that was her battle with
Insurrection. The woman who gently filled her cunt
with UV light and talked to her about torture ,
that was the lab capture.
Insurrection landed on the roof and immediately kicked the helpless woman
in black. His boot connected with her midsection, lifting her off the ground
for a brief, painful moment. He looked at her for a moment, on her side,
kicked her again, then paced around her. She heard
him briefly rummage through some of the debris on the rooftop.
Night Star remembered pressing her palms against the
stone., trying to press herself up. That was when
she felt the rusty chain loop and tighten around her neck.
“Gold was a bitch, so I put her on a leash. Lone Star was a bitch, so
I put that heroine on a leash as well. Snare was a bitch, so I put her on
a leash. All heroine bitches deserve leashes.”
He yanked , pulling the redhead up to her knees.
For a moment, he hanged her, letting her body’s weight pull her down
against the rough links of the chain. She made choking noises for the endless
seconds that he let her hang, her black-gloved hands reaching at the chain,
then he took off.
Insurrection could fly like a fighter jet, and he flew that night. He dragged
her into the air, and took off with the strangling heroine in tow. With one
arm stretched out in classic super hero flying style, and the other gripping
the chain that was wrapped around her neck, he soared from one side of the
city to the other.
The midnight tour of the
city ended swiftly, with Insurrection landing in a dark, filthy alley. He
dropped her, smiling as her feet hit the wet alley way, and her lush body
collapsed in a heap among the trash dumpsters and garbage piles. She went
to stand, a tiny sonic burst surrounded her, forcing
her down.
“CRAWL.”
On her chain leash, she did as told, and crawled in the darkness of the alley.
The sanitary place full of technology, that was
the night in the lab. The dark and filthy stinking place, that was Insurrection
and the alley way. That was when the woman in the black, leather skirt stepped
out of the shadows.
Right, the genetically perfect women in body suits, that was the lab. The
dirty, sexy whore in high heels, a leather skirt, and a skin-tight neon blue
top was the alley.
But, when did Insurrection turn her upside down? Her mind was clouded. She
knew that Insurrection’s defeat of her involved her being turned upside
down more than once. Here she was, again, her red hair pouring down, her
sleek, curved body up-ended.
“Is this the latest one?” the prostitute asked. She remembered
the prostitute speaking to Insurrection in a very blasé fashion. Like
a
She looked over Night Star.
“Ok. I like her big tits. I like her round ass. Snare, she was good,
too. Had nice big tits. Main thing
was, she could eat pussy. Can this
one?”
She looked Night Star over.
In the alley way, she found herself inverted. She remembered, while she was
hanging and swaying in the lab, how he grabbed her ankle that night, and
yanked her up into the air. He held her up like a prized catch, one long
muscular leg straight up in the air, the other bent, arms, hair, and leash
hanging down. She moaned.
Upside down.
“I’m sure she can,” he laughed. He turned her around and around,
as if showing off a prize piece of meat. That was the case in the lab also,
she felt as though she was being displayed.
“Whore. You will now behave like a true whore.
You will worship the source of all whoredom.”
He dropped her.
As the woman sat down on an empty crate, spreading her legs, he tugged on
her leash and lead Night Star to the thick, wet labia that waited for her.
The prostitute with the spiky blond hair smoked and smiled at the captured
heroine, her legs spread. She had been fucked only moments before, and her
shaven cunt was slick with some unknown john’s
semen.
“EAT HER OUT.”
He could barely hear her when the heroine said “No.”
The prostitute seemed overly tickled by the defiance of the redhead. She
flung her head back, laughter bubbling out of her.
“Baby, we’re all whores. Just do as he says. Come
on…” The woman slapped
her own open crotch.
“Eat
up.”
Night Star opened her mouth, closed her eyes, and closed her lips around
the swollen vulva of the prostitute. She treated it like an ice cream, scooping
with her tongue and sucking the wet, protruding pout of her
cunt. It smelled musty and pungent.
“That’s right, eat her out or I will shatter you with my next
blast.”
Now it came together in her head. It was after this, after pleasuring the
prostitute, that she found herself upside down.
Flown again on her chain, taken into a dank basement somewhere in the city,
she found herself suspended upside down. He bound her wrists together and
behind her back, and secured her arms to her sides in a deftly-done crisscross
of rope. He pinned her thickly
muscled, shapely legs the same
way,
and hung the heroine by her ankles.
“Whore.”
She felt herself swaying then, also. Her hair swept the floor below her and
his hands groped her backside, her thighs. He leaned down to take hold of
her big tits, kneading and twisting. He was more like a butcher examining
a side of meat than a man trying to excite a woman.
The scientist who eventually hung her upside down was a different
story.
While she wore the UV helmet, she tried to keep track of time, but it was
virtually impossible. She remembered being taken down from the shackles,
her wrists throbbing, and being laid across a table. She remembered the weight
and the dull thud of the helmet sphere as they laid her body out. Her exhalation
echoed in the metal bell that surrounded her head as two powerful hands thrust
her thighs apart.
Again, there was cool air on the vagina.
She would never hear the man comment on how big and lush her pussy was, and
how strong and fit she was. There would only be the dull piercing of the
round, wide head as it opened her flushed pink and deep red gate. His tool
was huge, and she knew right away that it wasn’t the woman wearing a
strap-on. There was no doubt that this was the big African
professor.
She took the whole shaft, deep, and shattered her own ears as her scream
resounded in the chamber of the bondage helmet. Weak fingers clawed at the
tabletop, and her back arched. Eager hands grabbed and mercilessly squeezed
the big breasts when they were thrust up. He closed powerful fingers around
Night Star’s tits, mashing, kneading, rubbing
them in wide, harsh circles.
She would feel him pull far back, then thrust again, riding through the throbbing
sensitive sex canal. She would scream and grunt, her thighs riding up the
sides of his body. Her pussy would spurt, betraying her.
As the man pulled himself out, and the heroine’s body went limp, they
took the helmet from her. Their conversation faded in now.
“String her up once you get the sample.”
“Yessir.”
Female hands yanked her legs apart and pressed down hard. There were muttered
instructions, and she raised her head to see the lovely Asian woman, and
the girl in the deep green body suit. Clearly enough, she felt one open her
labia , spreading her pussy wide, while the other pressed a metallic, smooth
something deep, deep, deep inside her. She flung her head back and shuddered,
drawing in a deep gasp, eyes wide.
They took something out of her.
“What ….?” She was able to produce only the root of her question
as the women slid a long, goo-covered metal tube
from Night Star’s sex, and jammed her muscular thighs back
together.
The juice from her pussy squished between her thighs as her legs were pinned
tightly.
“What did you do? Wha’ …. What did
you take?”
The pretty girl in the deep green body stocking spoke to her soothingly.
“Don’t worry. It’s something for me, and I’ll take good
care of it. You have done much to better mankind.”
They wrapped up the athletic red head, and they hung her upside
down.
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