SNARE
by Mr. K
7.
When the men arrived, the African doctor was smoking. He was buoyant, rocking
on the balls of his feet and smiling. He had much of which to be
proud.
There were handshakes, and back slaps. The woman in the deep green body stocking
watched, a subtle smile on her face. He was such
a lad when he was around these old boys. They were scientists and
“It’s great to see you!”
“Old boy, what have you got?”
Some were Englishmen, some Asian, some African, but they all seemed cut from
the same cloth.
He explained how he had gathered DNA and samples from the “costumed
whores” that had fallen into his hands. He pointed at the busty, red-haired
woman in black who hung upside down from a frame in the corner.
“I’ve gotten hold of heroines before, but this is an especially
good one. This is a good catch.”
He held up the DNA sample from Night Star’s womb.
“This one, you see, has her powers vested to her from some alien force
she encountered while in space. It melded with her, so this would be
….”
Nobody said it, but the alien DNA that was in the vial spoke volumes. The
men said nothing. They simply looked and nodded.
“There is no reason why I … we … should ever let this one
go. Just like Awe has done with Gold, and
Humiliatrix has with Mystic, we have to keep this
whore and continue doing experiments on her.” He pointed at the redhead
who hung nearby. “So, you see gents, it’s time to
celebrate.”
His voice rose with an exuberant fire.
“Let me present the party to you.”
He clapped his hands. Sister Dragon entered. She snapped her fingers and
making that instinctive clicking noise that everyone makes when they summon
a domesticated animal.
“Little whores, come, come.”
She said it again, louder this time, but there was no need; they were coming.
She had prepared them, and instructed them on the whole situation; they were
doing as told.
Sister Dragon had prepared the whole scene. She had undone the ropes that
held Snare, letting her sprawl out on the floor. She had worked as slowly
as possible, extracting the fighting sticks from her ass and pussy.
Snare had laid on her side, feeling the blood starting
to move again in her limbs, the throbbing. She was still a slave to the toxin,
but had definitely ebbed. Strength was moving in her again. She wiggled her
fingers.
Sister Dragon’s hands came to the captive’s hips. There was that
slight shift in pressure in an effort to roll her over, and Snare struck.
It wasn’t as powerful of a blow as she might have done otherwise, but
it was solid and it was pin-pointed. Her knee crashed into the chin of the
villain in the skin-tight body suit, snapping her head back.
Sister Dragon’s jaw made a loud clacking sound and her eyes shut as
Snare powered home the strike and followed up with another that caught her
adversary in the throat. She rolled the Asian woman’s body off and came
to her feet. The signs of recovery in her foe were stopped short by a low
roundhouse to the face, which sent Dragon sprawling.
Striding like an Olympian, blond hair streaking behind her, Snare ran down
the corridor and around the corner. Her mind was set on finding the big scientist
and his crew. She didn’t have her weapons, and her body still felt less
than one-hundred percent, but she had enough left to confront this scientist
and his little henchwoman. By the end of things, she would have them subdued,
and she would be able to get the full story on what sort of conspiracy was
going on in this place.
She would never remember exactly what hit her.
She would remember the sudden blinding shock, and she would remember pain,
but she would only later understand that she ran directly into curtain of
electricity thrown up when Sister Dragon pushed a button.
She never knew what hit
her.
Sister sat on the floor, her legs crossed, and her head cocked to one side.
She liked the way powerful fingers of electricity displayed the blond
heroine’s body. It made her lean, thick muscles flex. It made her arch
her back, thrusting those huge breasts in their skin-tight purple material
up and out. It forced her to fling her head back, her teeth clenched,
the muscles in her neck flexing and standing out.
It made her utter, not a scream, but a low vibrating groan that came from
the back of her throat.
Sister Dragon held the button, and held it, and held it and held it until
she was sure that Snare would be little more than a rag doll. Then she cut
the switch.
Jeannie collapsed, unconscious, a prisoner again.
Minutes … eons … later, as her senses came back to
her, Snare could hear Sister Dragon talking to her.
The voice was matter-of-fact, but somehow gentle. She had obviously been
talking to the unconscious woman, and to the new minion who stood behind
her. Snare got to her midsentence.
“…in your pussy. That’s an agonizer.
That thing in your cunt, that’s an
agonizer. You know of these, yes?”
Her vision was fading in now, and she could clearly see the sleek Asian woman
who leaned over her. She had been moved during her painful darkness, and
was back in the room of mirrors.
“You know what an agonizer is,
yes?”
Snare said nothing, but she knew very well of the tiny torture devices.
“Your situation is a little different that the last time someone slipped
one of these babies into you while you were unconscious. When you last
encountered one, it was probably a simply torture device. It made you feel
as though your pussy was on fire. Now, it’s a bomb. Each one of the
three of you has one. For one of you, it is a simple pain device, and for
two of you, they are bombs. If you try to resist, I push a button and the
message is sent, not to your agonizer, but to another
woman’s. She will either suffer or die.”
Silence.
“Do you know which of you has which?” she asked the beaten
blond.
“No.”
“So, you are helpless, Snare?”
“Yes.”
“And will you do as told?”
“Yes.”
Not bound, but still on her leash, Cutlass came into view over Sister
Dragon’s shoulder. Her lips had been painted in a new brilliant coat
of whore-red. Her mask was gone and her eyes were adorned with a ridiculous,
heavy, blue eye shadow. They had taken the time to put heavy rouge on her
cheeks as well. She looked down at her fellow heroine with sleepy, defeated
eyes.
“There’s no way to fight her … to fight them. We walked into
their lair and now they own us. I have one those things in my pussy also,
so does Connie. We’re their whores now.”
Snare, her back, raised her head to look down at her own crotch,
then up at the two women. Sister Dragon held
Tina’s leash in her right fist, and was caressing Snare’s costumed
thigh with the other.
“Cutlass here will carry you over her shoulder like I told her to. Between
the electricity and the drugs you’re too weak to walk on your own;
I’ve seen to that.”
“You drugged me again while I was out?”
“Yes.”
The submissive woman on the leash, lean and tall in latex, knelt between
Snare’s spread legs. She slid her hand up below
the prone woman’s ass, feeling the slickness of the costume and the
firmness of Snare’s thighs and backside. She scooped her other hand
over the blonde’s right shoulder and embraced her.
“I’m supposed to take you
now.”
Still using her super strength, she scooped up Snare, pulling her supple
body close, then letting the conscious-but-broken
woman drape over right shoulder. She could feel large tits against her
back.
“Jeanie, I know what you’re thinking; we can’t escape this
time. It’s not like when the Ouroboros had
us. We aren’t going to think or fight our ways out of
this.”
The woman who was draped over her shoulder said nothing, but she knew of
what Cutlass spoke. The captive, her blond hair hanging down and swaying
as she was carried, could still feel the captivity to which Cutlass alluded.
She remembered both of them being captives, under mind control, and wearing
huge strap-on dildos as they stood side-by-side in a dungeon.
She remembered the rage that built up in her as he danced them around the
confines of his lair. Her muscles recalled struggling against his will as
he made her drop to her knees in front of Cutlass. She clenched her teeth
and tried to resist his orders, but soon her lips were wrapped around the
head of Cutlass’s strap-on.
The battle was fought and lost again when it was Cutlass’ turn to
suck.
They were two of four captive heroines that night, and they were being used
as tools.
Snare remembered how she stood in front of the prone form of
Bora, the lithe, sinewy, Serbian heroine. The fallen
heroine’s hair was jet-black, swept and spiky. She had classic Slavic
features, high cheek bones, and penetrating eyes.
While Cutlass carried her at the request of their captors, Snare remembered
how perfect and gorgeous the athletic woman’s body looked in its sleeveless,
ice-blue, skin-tight body glove. She was positive that every muscle and feminine
detail of that woman’s body was carved out and defined.
Snare remembered the orders being telepathically fed into her head. “Fuck
her.”
Next to Bora lay Cold Front, her daughter. While
the lean, tall mother heroine was statuesque, her daughter was curvaceous
and lush. She also could generate icy storms and frigid temperatures. She
was also unconscious and helpless before the two mind-controlled
women.
“36d, 27, 34 and 5’4” tall,” said the
Ouroboros to Cutlass’ mind. He was studying
Cold Front’s body. “You should like that. You do like that, yes?
Rape her. Rape her and bring
me the energy that I need. Snare, rape the mother. Cutlass, rape the daughter.
Bring me the energy that I crave.”
The two women who wore the strap-ons felt their
bodies being moved like puppets as they knelt, violently tore open the crotches
of the heroine mother and her daughter, and spat on the two
cunts. The mother was wild and unshaven, while
the daughter was shaven bare.
Mother and daughter had their wrists bound in the front. Their legs were
spread.
Side-by-side, Snare and Cutlass thrust their tools into the two sleeping
women. They grabbed their hair.
They clutched their faces and they jammed the
strap-ons into the mother and daughter. They fucked
them to consciousness, just as their mystical captor had planned, and soon
the chamber was filled with the screams of the two women.
“This is a thing of beauty,” said the captor that day. His mind
probe would never detect Cutlass formulating a plan for their escape.
Now, in the African scientist’s lab, with Snare draped over her shoulder,
the captor had nothing to say; Cutlass summed it all up.
“We aren’t getting away this time.”
Sister Dragon led them into the next room.
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