Humiliatrix - The Gallery

by Mr. K

She always imagined that two cocks in her mouth would be like a type of competition. It seemed as though two men, in general, in any situation, would be a recipe for competition. No matter how close the two blokes were, they would have to compete, jockey for position, and do the one-up-manship thing. Who could be the most logical? Drink the most? Have the best car? Two men trying to put their cocks in the same place, in the same woman, would only be a fight between two jabbing, prodding manhoods.

That was why she was almost shocked by how rhythmically they worked together in her mouth.

Maybe, it was because they were brothers, or maybe because they had a consensus about punishing her for Humiliatrix. Whatever the reason , The Rooks moved in her mouth like a well-oiled machine. They stretched her cheeks out in that ridiculous way a man does when he’s fucking a woman’s face, and stretched her lush, pink lips wide as they stood side-by-side at the gateway of her mouth.

They even cooperated on holding tightly to her hair. Each one had hold of a fist full of brilliant red, and each one twisted and knotted it in his fingers as if he owned it. Two harsh pigtails. Again, they worked together, pulling her head in, and holding it in place by her hair. At one point, one would gag her by filling her windpipe with his penis, while the other hung out in the corner of her mouth. The brother that waited would stretch her cheek out to the side, laughing while his twin would cut off her air.

She gagged, and she appreciated it.

On her knees, her eyes closed, she let them use her , move her, with her full consent. On her knees, her fingers curled like claws in the plush carpet of her platform, she no longer tried to recall details. If she had, she might remember that she was captured along with Dark Moon. She would remember being in a chamber. She would remember needle after needle filling her system with something that numbed her and quieted her mind. She would remember being broken.

She would remember that she was a magical heroine called Mystic.

When she was captured, her costume was purple, and it had the glistening of wet PVC on her solid, muscular frame. Now, it had been traded for a glossy, green second-skin that bore a cross-shaped open patch over the front of her torso. The woman who owned her now called her Magik. Now, she had a new role.

“This costume is for your new life,” she remembered Humiliatrix saying. “This will help you service all of the people that I bring by to have you, and run trains on you. Do like that idea?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her purple costume was in a showcase now.

One of the Rook brothers withdrew from her mouth slowly, a trail of her spit drawing a line from her lips to the long, hard snake. There was a brief pause with nothing said, just an affirming grunt. Now, her mouth sealed more naturally around the member that remained. She let her tongue caress it from below, pressing the shaft, rubbing it as she turned her mouth into a suction chamber.

Her new costume had a slit. It was invisible for all intents and purposes, but could be easily pushed open by a determined member. The other Rook used it now, pushing through the gap, and opening her drapes with the massive head of a massive male prod. In an instant, he was buried in her pussy. She could feel the curve in his cock jabbing into walls of her cunt, just so. She would have cried out, but for the meat that filled her mouth.

Again, she knew that they were on the same wavelength as the one behind her gripped down hard on her supple hips, and the one at her head took a fiercer hold of her hair. They both cried out as semen filled her from both ends.

It dripped from her chin and run down her inner thigh when they were done, and they told her that she could stand.

She would leave a trail of their jism as she took her leave of them, and the Humiliatrix’s assistants came lead her to the next room. They fastened her collar around her neck, as usual, and guided the leggy redhead on a leash down the posh, art-filled hallway. The women were small and dark this time, and they wore skin-tight footed cat suits. Mystic was unsure as to whether they were once superheroines, but now they served Humiliatrix without question, as did she.

There was a pungent gust of incense as they lead her into the room and put her in the chair. Surrounded by sculptures and tapestries, it was an ornate chair of carved wood. It had a high back and a curved seat made specifically for her ass and thighs. Also, made specifically for her narrow body, was an expertly crafted cock that sprouted up from the wood of the seat. It wasn’t wood, and she would ponder from time to time what its material was. It was hard enough, that was for sure, but it felt almost like a living thing that entered her every time they put her in the chair. Sometimes she even swore she felt it move.

This was the chair. Her chair.

The women maneuvered her, spreading her ass cheeks and moving her about until she had regained her place, a big, thick dick up her ass. There was no need to bind or restrain her, but that was the procedure that Humiliatrix wanted. She wanted ropes crisscrossed between her big, jutting breasts, and forming a spider web that held her calves to the legs of the chair. She wanted a rope running through the redhead’s mouth, twined around her neck, and holding her arms down to the arms of the chair.

That was the chair.

Sometimes, it was the gibbet.

“Do you know what this is?” Humiliatrix asked her when she first walked her into the room. It was just the two of them, and she was still Mystic, in her purple second-skin. The woman who owned her now caressed the heroine’s firm ass as she spoke.

The two of them were looking at a woman-shaped cage, snug and made of cruel, crude metal bands.

“It’s a gibbet,” said Mystic. “They used to hang pirates up in them. They would die in the cage, squeezed in there, and their bones would be left to just tumble out over time.”

“I’m going to keep you in this some of the time. How does that sound?”

“Very good, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

The superheroine in purple was broken, and she spoke as a broken woman. This was one of the responses she was given to use. A few days later, she found herself in the gibbet. It was made to her exact size and proportions, so the metal bands squeezed the muscle and round breasts, pressing in her body. She stood in a captive position of attention as she dangled over the stone floor of the chamber.

Then there was another day, with another type of captivity.

The captor showed her a room of chains with cuffs dangling from the ceiling.

“This is simple enough, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You just have to slide those pretty wrists of yours into the cuffs when I keep you here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

When it came time for her to be strung up it was more than she had expected. Her mistress cuffed her wrists, true enough, with leather and metal standing out against the purple body stocking and the snowy, freckled skin. There was a cranking noise, and the chains tightened as they were dragged up to the ceiling. She was pulled and pulled and finally dangled like a helpless puppet in midair. A minion clamped cuffs around her booted ankles, and she felt her body stretch. Each ankle was fitted with a heavy ball and chain that dragged her body in the opposite position as the ceiling chains. She felt her muscles, her spine, her every fiber settling into a long, intense conflict.

“Do you like this?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And now, she was bound to the chair. Her chair.

There was no need to bind her, but this was how the Humiliatrix wanted her kept. They would usually hold her this way, in the opulent room, until she was needed. This time, though, something was different. As soon as the minions left, Humiliatrix came striding into the room.

A tight, black dress with a slit up the side, six-inch-high heels, shocking red hair that poured down like Veronica Lake’s … that was Humiliatrix. Peeking out from behind that hair was a face that seemed actually kind and gentle, in its way. It was mature, but not aged by any means. She was that striking, mature woman you would see across a room, and wonder how old she really was.

She had a woman on a leash.

Mystic didn’t recognize the heroine. She had fought alongside most of the heroines in the city, and knew the rest, but had never seen this one before. The woman, also a redhead, was young, she could tell, in her late twenties, maybe. Not a child, but young. Five-foot-two, 36c went through Mystic’s mind. True, she was a redhead, but a dramatic flash of jet black ran from one of her bangs, standing out against the red of her swept-back hair, it matched the woman’s eyes, dark and impenetrable.

Her costume reminded Mystic of Scorpio’s. It was that same powerful, stellar red. It looked as though it was liquid metal poured over her voluptuous body. It was also trimmed in black, only she wore glossy, black pvc-type stocking boots that came up to her curvaceous thighs. There was a matching black triangle, pointed down over her ample bust, and she had a stripe of black painted across her eyes as a mask.

She was on a leash and collar.

She wore heavy cuffs on her wrists.

She wore a thick, black rubber ball gag between her lips.

“This was a heroine also,” Humiliatrix explained to the unknown heroine as she pointed at Mystic.

“You may have heard of Mystic. This is her. This was her. I destroyed her as a heroine, and now she only gives pleasure. I’m not going to do that with you just now. I will mark you, and take my rightful ownership of you, but I will not reprogram you yet. I will … most likely … turn you lose, only to recapture you again and again.”

There was still something of resistance burning the heroine’s eyes, but she was a prisoner and could offer nothing to truly resist. Mystic scanned her up and down, seeing how hard the girl’s nipples were, and how large and swollen her vulva was in the skin-tight costume. She still had no idea who this new heroine was.

“Let me take you to the gallery,” Humiliatrix said with a sudden glee. “You’ll love this. You’ll see Scorpio there. I know that the two of you have a link.”

She led the woman in red, who had the dramatic stripe of black in her red hair, who wore the red body stocking, and who was shackled and being guided like a dog, out of the room. Mystic could see that her costume had an open back that displayed the sharply defined muscles of the woman’s shoulders.

She had never seen this new heroine before, but it was clear that this was the newest captive.

Letting the leash hand guide her, letting her drool collect around the ball gag, the woman in red followed her new owner down the hall and around the corner. She had the feeling back in her fingers now, and she no longer dragged her feet; the effects of the energy weapon used to capture her were wearing off. She was still weak, and whatever that costumed bounty hunter had done to her while she was unconscious was keeping her docile and powerless.

“He did a good job on you, Snakehead did. He just blindsided you, and took you out.”

It was true. She had already seen photos from only an hour before. In one, she was on her side, one leg bent across the other, her arms outstretched. Her face was a relaxed mask of sleep, and her body still glowed from the weapon he used to shoot her down. In the next, he was dragging her by her right ankle towards a waiting coffin.

“That was how he delivered you to me, newcomer. Bet you didn’t think you’d start off your heroine career in a coffin, did you? Yup, he brought you to me in a coffin. And now you belong to me.”

She took the heroine to her gallery.

The pictures in the gallery were black-and-white, but they were crisp and clear. They had obviously been blown up to life size, but had lost none of their exactitude. They filled the room, some on the walls, some standing freely in the middle of the room in display cases. It really was like a museum or an art gallery.

“This is a heroine called Total Eclipse. A real beauty isn’t she?” Humiliatrix stopped in front of a picture of a blond. The woman was tall and busty, wearing a black body stocking that was emblazoned with a crescent moon that curved between her large breasts. In the photo, she was hanging, suspended in midair by that long, blond stylish hair. Her dancer’s legs dangled, but the photo didn’t show you the woman’s booted feet. She seemed to disappear, at mid-calf, her body being lowered into an ornate porcelain vat.

“I had her lowered into a vat of cum. It was fresh, nice and warm. I had it heated to about the warmth of a nice comfortable bath, and I lowered Total Eclipse into it. I did it slowly, first up to her knees, then her pussy, then her big, tits, then her neck and chin. I had her wait there for a moment, and contemplate the fact that she had always wanted something like this.”

She looked at the captive woman.

“Are you understanding this? I capture you superheroine whores, and I use your dirty little fantasies against you. I lowered her in past her face. I watched her hair disappear into the cum. She was under for close to a minute, then I let her up. It was beautiful; you couldn’t see the black of her costume, or the features of her face. You could see the long hair, but it was just a paint brush heavy with cum. Cum ran off of her body. And you know what I loved? Cum ran out of her mouth as she took a deep breath. She was about to drown in that semen.”

She tugged the heroine’s leash, and the younger woman followed.

The next photo was of two women, back to back. Jet-black brunettes, with light freckles, they were both on their knees, and both had their hair grabbed up in big, male fists. Both were giving head, taking cocks all the way to the balls and sucking with their mouths stretched wide. Gobs of semen clung to their hair and skin, but their eyes had the cool look of women that were focused on something important.

“They are mother and daughter. Bora is the mother, Cold Front, the daughter. They are Serbian weather witches. You see, they were heiresses to this power of controlling cold, wind, snow what have you. They spent some time as what you might call villains, but a change of heart led them to your world of heroism, and another change of fortune led them to me. I was able to capture them with gas, then … Here, let me….”

She hit a button, and a video played for the heroine in cuffs. The tall photograph faded away for a moment, dissolving into a CCTV movie that played out for the new captive’s personal viewing. Now, it was a screen, and it showed a movie that explained the captivity of these two women. She watched from above, from the camera’s eye-view, as two heroines moved about in the shadows of a vacant house.

She could see that both women had jet-black hair. “Vampire hair,” she thought. The camera zoomed in on the one she assumed was the daughter. She wore tight, high-heeled, thigh-high, stocking boots.

They were a deep blue, versus the lighter blue of what appeared to be the nylon tights that embraced her thighs. Those were then contrasted to the stark-white body suit that she wore. It had a slick, glossy, wet look, more like wet skin than synthetic material. It had a high collar, and an open triangle over the woman’s ample cleavage. Her arms were bare.

A digital reading came up on the screen: Cold Front 5’5” 36-24-34

“I like to have measurements on my girls,” Humiliatrix laughed. The camera shifted to the other woman. She wore tight, glossy black boots that came up knee-high, and a vivid blue second-skin body glove. Her arms were bare, and the suit had a narrow, trim racing back. This was the mother.

A digital reading came up on the screen: Bora 5’7” 36- 25 -36.

“They had gotten past my men using their weather powers. They won’t kill these two. Very humane. They temporarily froze them.”

Humiliatrix smiled as the next scene played out on the screen. A clear glass barrier dropped in front of the women, and one fell behind them. They pressed their palms up against the see-through barrier for a moment, In those split seconds, they looked around, realized their situation, and were defeated by a hissing inundation of thick, white gas.

It came with speed and a cold precision that overwhelmed them They raised their arms for a faltering moment, attempting to gather their powers; they could shatter the barrier if they could freeze it. It was useless. Clouds filled the newly created chamber, and partially obscured the sight of both women collapsing to the floor.

She could see Bora’s arms flung wide open, and the curl of her daughter’s muscular legs as they fell in a pile. For a moment that what it seemed like, a limp pile of feminine legs and arms, tights, and boots. Mother and daughter slept against each other on the floor.

The next scene was of both women, on leashes, being led down a hallway. Their eyes were sleepy, sullen and tired. They dragged their feet and staggered, stumbling, as two men in black costumes tugged and pulled at their leashes. Their wrists were bound behind them. Their mouths were stretched wide around thick, black ball gags.

They would stumble, bump against each other, fall to their knees for a moment, but the men simply kept pulling their leashes. Booted feet would regain themselves, and the women would continue their journey down the hallway.

The camera would focus on their big, firm breasts, and slowly travel down their bodies.

“Mother and daughter … very nice,” said the off-camera voice.

The camera switched scenes, and the captive audience could now see what looked like an elegant parlor with a huge winding staircase leading into it.

You could hear Humiliatrix’s voice from off screen.

“Put the mother on the left side of the stairs and the daughter on the right. No, wait, the mother on your right as your coming down, and the daughter on the left. There we go.” Bora did not resist as the men guided her to her knees on the right side of the stairwell. A man locked large hands on the sinewy contours of Bora’s arms and forced her down to the floor. She allowed herself to be moved, her head nodding forward slightly. She sat on her haunches, as did her daughter, the skin-tight hip boots folding gently beneath her as she knelt.

Their leashes hung between their breasts.

The men untied the women’s wrists.

They sat for a few minutes as ornaments. It was as if they were two living fu dogs meant to scare away unwanted guests. The only guests there were wanted, invited, and the last thing they were was afraid of the two captive women.

“Crawl.”

The women, still groggy, only knelt; they didn’t move from their places. Their breathing was labored, and their mouths were still stretched wide around the big gags. A brief silence hung in the air as they didn’t move. Humiliatrix’s voice was smooth and sweet as she spoke to the women on camera.

“Still defiant. Ok, how about the fact that I’ve put agonizers in both your pussies? While you were unconscious, I inserted a little gift for each of you. Here, feel this.”

There was a pause.

Both women went rigid, arching their backs, thrusting forward and up their large, taut breasts. Their eyes squeezed shut, and their bodies shook as a woman and her daughter screamed against their gags in sexual agony. It was muffled, but it was screaming none the less. When the pain stopped the women dropped to their hands and knees. It was as if their bodies simply surrendered.

“Now, crawl.”

Gagged and dragging their leashes, the mother and daughter crawled to the waiting men. When they reached the heavy black boots, the thick, muscular legs, they received their next orders.

“Kiss the boots.”

Hands were already undoing the ball gags and taking them from the mouths of the two drooling captives. The women licked their lips.

“Kiss the boots, Bora and Cold Front.”

They did. The daughter’s lips touched the leather first. She had thick, supple lips that were almost dripping from being held captive to the ball gag. They trembled a lot, newly freed from their round captor. She closed her eyes as those damp, lush lips touched the leather of the shoe. A deep, wet kissing sound resonated.

Her mother did the same to her captor, her lips practically wrapping itself the hard toe.

Humiliatrix spoke to her new redheaded captive as they watched.

“It was a family affair. The Rooks are brothers, Bora and Cold Front are mother and daughter. Very kinky, huh?”

Bora, the dark-haired Serbian mother, used her tongue. She pressed it against the boot , letting it come over the crest of her lower lip. She pulled the tip of her darting pinkness against the black leather, and she licked the shoe of her captor. A deep kiss finished her loving attention to the shoe.

“Nice. Ok, look up here, ladies.”

The massive cocks of the Rooks were already out and turgid. Without a pause, the women came up to their knees. They allowed the big men in black to place them back to back. Their hair pressed together, as their bodies formed a Janus of feminine arcs and curves.

The men stood on either side of the woman sculpture.

One grabbed Cold Front by the hair on the top of her head.

“Tell your mother to take the cock to the balls. Tell her to take it all the way to the balls. Say it.”

“Mom. Mom! Take it to the balls, mom. Take it to the balls.”

She could only look slightly over her shoulder.

“Take it to the balls, Mom.”

Her words were stifled by a massive dick snaking its way into her mouth.

Cold Front started with the head. She held the shaft, pinched in her fingers and thumbs, and circled the head with her tongue. She wrapped her lips around the mushroom tip and sucked the thickness of her captor’s cock head. Bora opened her mouth wide and took the cock all the way to the back of her throat. She closed the seal around the base of the shaft, and slowly sucked her way back to the head.

“Mother and daughter sucking cock. I loved it,” said Humiliatrix in almost a whisper. She looked over at the woman in red.

“You love it as much as I do, don’t you?”

She pulled her captive along to the next display.

The woman was blond. She wore a purple body sheath that looked as though it was textured like snake skin. It was open in front with a dramatic V that showed her large cleavage, her ripped, tanned mid-drift, and the delicate dip of her navel.

“This one is Snare.”

Snare was crucified in the photo. Her arms were stretched wide across the cross beam of a thick, wooden cross, with some sort of thin cord that held her wrists and upper arms pinned to the construction. It was woven in and out of her fingers, holding her hands in an open position, fingers spread. The cord cut tightly around her waist, across her legs, around her ankles. What looked like a forest of spear points aimed at her throat, her sleek stomach, her breasts, and the thickness of her thighs.

She was blindfolded.

“She was hard to pin down. She busted up some of my best guys. It was, in a way, beautiful.”

There was actually a small film running on continuous loop on a small monitor that showed how the lean, blond Snare waded through a sea of henchmen that day. It was true, the prisoner mused. She did look beautiful as she defeated the men.

She swept out the legs of this one, as she struck the forearms of that one, breaking the bones. A burly man swung at her, and she vanished below the arch of his blow, driving a knee into his groin. In a blinding moment, her sticks were holstered and her rope was out. A purple blur encased the guy as Snare wrapped her rope around the bad guy. She left him with his own wrists bound up against his neck; he slowly blacked out from the lack of blood flow.

She kicked back and up, using both feet.

She drove a fist into the jaw of another.

She punched up into the diaphragm of another.

She was a blur of purple and blond going through the forest of men like a buzz saw.

“My guys couldn’t touch her, really.”

The next portion came in a series of snapshots. One photo showed her fist connecting with a square male jaw, a tooth flying free. The next showed a purple boot driving home in a groin, and the next a purple-gloved hand chopping to the side of a thick, tanned neck.

“She was a whirlwind.”

When the film went back into motion, the men had their moment. There was a something in the air. There was a scene of Snare being struck in the temple by something so fast that it was barely a blur. Snare’s head snapped to the left, her pink lips turned down in a painful pout, her blond hair flying. Her hands were up in a gesture of pain and shock, her muscles tensed, her body suddenly stiff.

“It was a mere ball baring fired from a slingshot. She fought well, and was about to beat the boys, but my sling shot guy got her. POW! ”

A still shot faded in on the viewer. The woman in purple, muscular and big-breasted, was on her back, knees bent and up, tilted to one side. Her arms were out at her sides. Her eyes were closed.

The men were harsh when they captured Snare. Some took her belt and weapons, while others held her hair and yanked her head up. There was a power in her body when she was slashing her way through them, but now she seemed fragile as they manipulated her. Her body was limp and lifeless, her head up, controlled by the hair, like a shot animal’s.

Some of the hands rolled her over, while others took a harder hold of her hair and pulled her head up as if to allow her a better view of her captivity.

“These guys, they were a bachelor party. They were a just group of guys out to have a good time. You give some guys the right version of a drug, do a little work on their brains, and you’ve got some awesome henchmen. They were also just what the doctor ordered for the situation. One of the neat things was that they simply left the broken ones behind. The ones whose bones she had broken, the ones that she had vanquished … they just left them and went on with the party.”

Just for the fun of it, just for the joy of feeling power, one put a knife to the sleeping woman’s throat. A huge, toothy grin cracked his craggy face as he pressed the steel against the tender, costumed neck.

“No so tough now, bitch.”

Her face was placid as the tempered edge played at the woman’s jugular vein. He was clearly enjoying pressing it against her vitals, knowing that he could end the super woman right then and there. He pressed a little harder.

“I got something else for little Ms. Kicking Ass,” said another man in the group. There was a collective sigh and a ripple of excitement as he produced something off camera. There as the distinct sound of a automatic pistol’s slide being drawn back. A hand gripped her face, and maneuvering it to the side just a bit, and the sleek, black contours of a 9mm pistol edged their way into the frame.

The woman’s mouth was already pursed open; he simply slid the piece past her lips. Her mouth closed softly around the gun.

A wild exalt rose from the party, and the gunman started a slow pumping of his weapon in the blond superheroine’s mouth. He would draw it back, and then slowly slide it forward. Wet with her spit, the gun would make the return trip, inching deeper and deeper into the woman’s throat.

“That’s what she gets. There you go.”

Still unconscious, she gagged.

A gun was in her mouth.

Snare’s arms were pulled into a black sleeve, tightly pinned behind her back. Her head bobbed, sinking forward, as one of them jostled her about, securing her that way. With her shoulders strained back It was as if her breasts were being presented to the men.

A hand took advantage of her posture, her unconsciousness, and pealed the purple snakeskin away from

the tanned globe of her firm, right breast. She continued to sleep as her brilliant, pink nipple announced itself. It took only a split second for a head to lean in, all quaffed and gelled, and a mouth to roughly fix itself to the nipples.

While he bit and he sucked, another took hold of her legs crossing them at the ankles and lashing them tightly. A joy and a care went into what he was doing; he was securing Snare. She was a prisoner now.

The camera shifted, and the gun was still clearly in her mouth, when a hypodermic needle crept in from stage right. It hovered for a moment around the big vein her neck.

“Shoot her up!”

One of them said it while the hand that presented the needle was already pressing into her costume, her flesh. It pierced her, and the plunger sank, as the mystery fluid slowly filled her veins.

“Weak as a kitten, baby. When she wakes up … kitten.”

“That shit will wake her, won’t it?”

“Yeah, she’ll wake up, but she won’t be able to move a muscle. She can hear and everything, but she can’t resist.”

Like clockwork, the gun slid away and the head of a cock came to hover over her pink, open mouth. It was already in motion, jerking and sliding as its owner stroked madly on its shaft. There was only a moment, then a thick, rushing, pearly stream jetted from the organ and poured into Snare’s mouth.

Snare’s eyes were sliding open just as her mouth caught the spume. Her eyes widened as a clot of cum collected in the back of her throat.

“There’s a start.”

There was a fumbling off camera, then a thick –fingered hand, adorned with golden rings reached out and cupped her face. The other joined the picture, a huge, curved, black shape in its grip. Snare’s slack mouth accepted a thick, rubber cock gag with its wrap-around black leather band.

Coughs and gagging spasms wracked her body as the gag became part of her.

The blond beauty’s mouth was stretched wide around a giant rubber cock. The surprise had drained from her eyes, and her face was settled into a soft, angry resignation. She swallowed cum and accepted a big, cock gag that ran to the back of her throat.

“Into the limo!”

They made a real ritual of picking her up and hoisting her on high. With her head flung back, her limbs bound up, she lay across the shoulders of the men. They walked to their waiting, stretch party mobile. They laid her out on the floor of the car, on her back, and happily took their seats in the plush interior. They rested their feet on her.

The heroine who had slashed and hacked her way through the men was now a powerless hourglass in purple on the floor. Pinned below their feet, she breathed hard through her nose. On the film, you could hear muffled protestations, then deep, even breathing as the heroine came to understand her plight.

“The young men took her to the hotel room that they had … very posh, very plush. It had a great hot tub. Look at what they did with it.”

There were two final still photos. You could see the muscular thickness of her thighs, the wideness in her hips, the narrowness of her waist and the large, roundness of her breasts as the men held the bound blond upside down and dunked her, head first into the swirling, frothing water of the hot tub. Her hair was matted and twisted, her tanned skin glowing as a sea of big, male hands pulled her from the hot water, and then lowered her again.

“They dunked her, and they dunked her, and they held her under water. It was something beautiful.”

In the last photo, her eyes closed, she spat water.

“And later, they crucified her.”

A proud little smile crept across the woman’s face; she loved what she did to these heroines. She looked at the woman in red beside her and took a deep breath.

“I’m so glad that I captured you. And I’m so glad that we took that black mask of yours; you’re such a beauty. With that beautiful body and that perfect costume, you are ideal for what I do here. Come, let’s see some more.”

The heroine was mute behind her ball gag.

Humiliatrix tugged the leash. The newly captured heroine followed her mistress, who guided her to the next display.

CUTLASS

That was the label on the next big photo.

That photo was huge and candid. It was woman, on her side. She wore tight, black boots of liquid leather that came to her knees. They had sharp severe heels. She wore black fishnet stockings and a slick, black body suit that matched her boots. There was some sort of white symbol on the front, just below her high, round bust, but with the way she was balled up on her side, it wasn’t quite visible. She had reddish brown hair.

Her knees were pulled to her breasts and lashed there with a crisscross of white rope. Her wrists were bound to her ankles. Her mouth was ball gagged, and she was blindfolded with a patch over each eye.

She was in a tiny animal squeeze cage.

“This is Cutlass. Oh, this was a special one. Look at the film. Just look at this.”

There was little she could do but watch the as the film came to life. Again, the heroine was in an opulent manor home full of books and art. There was the woman in black boots, black fishnets, and the tight, black body suit. She was unbound in the vision on the screen, but she was losing.

Her head was flung back, her mouth open in a silent gape of pain. Her muscular legs were flexed, and she could see the muscular tension in the woman’s arms. She was helpless, though. Totally helpless.

Cutlass was being held. She was being scooped up in a front bear hug, pulled to the body of a gorgeous, tall, tanned woman, and crushed in a the vise of her squeeze. She could not move. She could not breathe. Her big bust was squeezed together and forced upwards, and she silently gasped for air.

The woman who had her, the gorgeous brunette, was naked expect for steep, high-heeled pumps. She had a sculpted model’s body, with muscles and definition that came together in a sleek and powerful body.

She had a thick male member.

She had a cock.

It swung and swayed as she crushed the woman in fishnets.

“That’s my little partner, Nikko. She’s a hermaphrodite, but she’s so much more. Watch.”

The bear hug turned into a body slam as the large-breasted woman, her cock now erect, brought the heroine up above her head, inverted her and slammed her down on the nearest table. Cutlass finally found the air to inhale and scream as she was slammed through the wood and the glass. Her arms went everywhere, and her hair tumbled across her face. She groaned through thick, painted lips.

She was sprawled on her back for a moment, then lifted up by her throat.

“See how easily my girl picks her up. It’s like she’s a toy.”

There was a perfect moment of Cutlass sailing through midair, her fishnet thighs spread, then a cataclysmic crash resounded as her body mated with a grandfather clock. Next, came the china cabinet. The woman with the huge, male organ grabbed Cutlass’ arms and slung her. Again, she went sailing head-first, and caused a tidal wave of glass as her head struck home in the doors.

“Ngggg….”

Cutlass fell face-first on the floor, her hair a wild mess, and the remains of the heavy wooden cabinet tumbled across her back. The cock-festooned woman tossed the furniture aside with ease, grabbed the fallen woman’s hips, and pulled her up from the floor. With her head sagging , her hair sweeping the floor, Cutlass formed a perfect arch in the hands of the other woman.

Her erect cock was aimed at tight curve in Cutlass’ ass, but she did not move to penetrate her just yet. The powerful woman seemed to ponder her prey for a moment, then she shifted her grip, flopping the other woman’s body around, again, like a mere object.

She lifted her up more, first with her hands under Cutlass’ arms, then by her breasts. She clamped her hands around the large tits, crushing them, mashing them up and together, twisting them, throwing her head back and laughing. She slammed Cutlass back against the wall, lifting her up and up and up by her tits.

Muscular thickness flexed and strained as the superheroine named Cutlass, the woman named Tina, screamed and struggled, lifted her legs and tried to press the hermaphrodite away. Sensuous and glossed in red, her mouth was twisted in a mask of pain.

“Watch what she does next,” cooed Humiliatrix.

Nikko tossed Cutlass, face-down, on the sofa. Again, it was clear what an object she was, as her body simply bounded on the cushions, and she lay there motionless. She was still awake, but beaten for the moment.

The strength in her tormentor’s fingers now made itself known, as she reached down and tore out the crotch of the body suit and stockings. Cutlass only moaned, her face down, one arm flung over her head. The victorious woman spat on her massive, hard cock, then worked up another gob of spit and shot it on to the ass of the woman in fishnets. It oozed and dribbled down on the thick lips of the beaten heroine’s sex.

Cutlass stayed that way, her ass in the air, her asshole and pussy slathered in saliva.

A smile spread across Nikko’s face as she took hold of her cock, rocked her hips back, then slowly slipped herself into Cutlass. She could have slammed into her, torn her, but she chose to simply put her thick organ into the other woman, fill her up, and fuck her. There was the loud slap of her hips against the ass, and a loud exalt as she drew her hips back and drove home the huge cock again. She held Cutlass’s hips with powerful hands, and she fucked her hard from behind.

Cutlass screamed into the cushions of the coach.

“She got it that day. That was her capture. Here’s how she ended up.”

The video faded into the life-sized photo of Cutlass on her side, curled up in the animal squeeze cage.

“What I loved was how much time Nikko spent still jerking off and coming on that heroine even after she was beaten and caged. She spit on her, and she splattered her with cum. It was gorgeous.”

Next was a lurid 3D photo of what appeared to be a party.

“This is Night Star. A little UV light, a little gas in a sealed chamber, and she was mine.”

Just from giving a first glance, it was clear to the captive that this woman was a human statue. She was standing in a crowd of well-dressed fashionista-types in what appeared to be a posh mansion somewhere, and she was frozen in place. It reminded her of those high-class homes that used to smile condescending down from the hills during her early childhood in California. It reminded her of the posh homes of the country set in England.

The frozen heroine, who Humiliatrix called Night Star, wore a jet-black cat suit - a footed and gloved, black leotard that covered her body from collar to foot. It came up her neck and concealed her eyes with a half-face mask. It had a scattered sprinkle of tiny stars across its fabric.

The woman herself was tall and curvaceous, with large breasts and the type of muscle you see on athletes, serious female athletes. She had dramatic, radiant red hair that swept down to her mid back in thick, thick waves.

None of the power in that body was doing her any good when the photo was taken. Some sort of power was holding her in place.

“I made a paralyzed human statue out of her. She could only stand there while we used her. It was a delight.”

The crowd didn’t surge forward to take her, but seemed to enjoy her like a plate of finger foods. A woman’s hands clutched and massaged her large breasts from behind, while two more groped at her mound. Fingers entered her mouth, and a cock slithered up and down on the muscular relief of her thigh

as a tall man started to hump her leg.

“She was helpless.”

With her legs spread slightly, and her arms down at her sides, Night Star could do nothing as the guests took hold of her limbs and her hair and lifted her. There was only a moment or two of her being crowd surfed by the well-dressed villains. She could feel the hands holding her up, but she couldn’t feel the very precise cutting beam of a lipstick laser slicing away portions of her costume without ever touching her skin.

She couldn’t see the big man in the black costume getting on the floor below her, but she could feel her ass cheeks being spread as she was being lowered to her place on top of him. She could feel the well-oiled cock opening the tight pucker of her asshole as the crowd worked her down on top of the Rook who had taken his place below her. Strong hands reached from below, taking control of her fit, black-clad body and pulling her down on to a massive cock as the crowd worked together to her ass fixed down on the thick, long cock. He pushed up, working his hips, until he was deep in Night Star’s ass.

Her eyes were wide, but she could only stare at the ceiling and shudder inwardly as he took her ass from below. The display in Humiliatrix’s museum caught the moment at which Night Star was arched on top of the Rook, her head sinking back, red hair across her face. Her mouth was slack, and her paralyzed body was could only ride the tide of the big man below her as he fucked Night Star in the ass.

The other Rook, the brother Rook, who wore the same tight, black costume, came striding through the crowd. They parted, their faces broad with smiles, they watched him, his cock out, step up between her open thighs. Night Star’s pussy was already sodden and engorged, the long, thick, red lips swollen and exposed.

“You know,” he said in a quizzical, articulate voice. “I really like her legs. I like women with muscular legs. And she’s got those abs.”

It was true that onlookers could see the sharply defined six-pack of her abdominal muscles and in the lean definition that crested her hips and thighs.

“And you know…”

The brother who was on his back interrupted his twin’s logorehia .

“Dude! Would you hurry up and fuck her!”

Without another word the talkative one moved forward, knelt, and slid his massive organ into the red, tight pussy. He leaned forward, and they formed a sandwich of her. The black costume of the woman seemed to merge with the black costume of the Rooks, with her pale skin and bright, red hair shaking with each thrust from below, each thrust from above. Her arms and legs would lurch, and juice poured from between her thighs.

The one beneath her reached up, taking hold of the sides of her head, her face, and making sure that she was looking up at his brother. Two black-gloved fingers snaked into her mouth from either side, holding her mouth open and wide. Bringing up one of the hands that he was using to brace himself, the top Rook forced two more thick fingers into the redheaded woman’s open mouth.

They continued to work in and out of her like two pistons as the crowd cheered.

“It is always important to give Night Star her humiliation in front of an audience. See, here again.”

The picture morphed to another scene of an audience, a mob. It was more a sea of hands, all pressing up against the redhead in the black body stocking . She was unconscious and being crowd surfed.

“It was a nice outdoor party that I threw. There were only about fifty people there, but it looks like more, eh?”

“She couldn’t scream,” explained Humiliatrix. “Oh, look at this shot. I just thought it was particularly beautiful; I had to throw it in.”

It was Night Star in a cradle carry. One of the Rooks, beaming ear to ear, had the limp and unconscious woman in a scooped-up cradle carry. Her head sagged back, red hair pouring down in a water fall of crimson. Sculpted and powerful in their black second skin, her limbs hung limply. Her perfect curves and dense muscles were draped across his powerful arms, like so much putty.

“Helpless.”

In the last scene, she was tied, hand-and-foot, and she was gagged with heavy duct tape. Tape had been crudely slapped across her mouth in a crooked V, but the ropes had been done with some care. They were wrapped in layers, in coils, around her ankles and her wrists. Night Star, in this state, was laying in the open truck of a minivan. Expressionless, she looked at the camera.

She was curled like a package in the back of the vehicle, and with her knees pulled up, you could see the muscle in her thighs. With her arms pulled back behind her, her large breasts were thrust forward, and you could just see the dark areolas of her big nipples.

“After we put on the show for my guests here,” explained Humiliatrix. “We took the show on the road. There was a party down the road. BYOB.”

It was time to move on.

This time, she yanked harder on the leash as she pulled her captive audience to the next station. Humiliatrix paused for a moment, her eyes creeping up and down her bound guest.

“I’m so glad that I found you, little one. A new heroine. I can’t wait to make you a part of this collection.” She directed her attention back to the next display. “I think you know Gold, here.”

The large picture was of a tall, fit woman with blond hair. Just like Night Star, her body seemed to celebrate her two round, wide breasts. It looked as though her body, six-feet-tall and powerfully built , was painted in golden body gloss.

She was spread-eagle in midair, her wrists, ankles, and hair lashed to slender gossamer threads that extended from the ceiling. She dangled in suspension bondage. Her eyes were sleepy, her mouth open.

“Poor Gold,” the woman in charge laughed. “This was Nikko, again. It was simple, and it did the job. My dear little friend used Gold like a doll, and it was beautiful.”

The picture disappeared, to be replaced by a video. With her body glove gleaming, and her blond hair whipping back and forth Gold was being defeated by this Nikko woman. They were in an empty room. No chairs. No tables. Nothing bespoke of a human in the living space. It was a cube of white walls and a white floor. There was a door, but it had no apparent knob. It was just an open, empty space.

The lean, tall Nikko had Gold by the back of the neck and she was ramming the six-foot-tall woman’s head into the wall. It wasn’t done frantically. She would plant herself, her high-heeled pumps rooting themselves, and her muscles flexing, as she hauled the tall blond back and rammed her face into the wall. Gold’s arms would tentative grabs at the woman, but they simply ended up drifting in midair and she took another blow and finally started to sink.

Nikko moved her hand up to the blond blizzard of Gold’s hair and took a tight grip of a tangled handful. She tilted her head back so that she could look into the tanned face of the powerful woman who was beating her.

“What do you notice, Gold?”

“Your … body … You … You have an energy. Something ….”

“I give on off an energy that cancels your powers. What does that mean, Gold.”

The six-foot tall, golden goddess woman was on her knees. Her eyes had a sleepy, childish quality.

“I can’t defeat you.”

This was long after Nikko had thrown Gold across the room. This was long after she had struck with jabs, punches, and upper cuts, sending Gold bounding off the walls, and tumbling to the floor. She sprawled on all fours, and moaned for the moment before Nikko kicked her in the ribs, sending her sailing against the wall again.

This was long after Gold had felt the supernatural vice, the undeniable crushing power, of the muscular beauty. With her body swept up in a bear hug, arms crushed in at her sides, and her body picked up off the floor, the woman in the slick, golden skin sheath, felt her air flow completely shut down as Nikko closed her arms around the tall heroine. She crushed Gold to the edge of suffocation, then dropped her to the floor.

The she rammed Gold’s head against the wall.

Then came Gold on her knees, her hair trapped in the other woman’s hand.

They paused that way, in a frozen tableau, looking into each other’s faces. One large-breasted, lean and powerful woman handed power over to the other as Nikko took hold of her cock and turned herself to face the captive. Her thick, broad erection hovered at Gold’s broad lips. As if responding to an unspoken message, she opened her mouth for the searching, probing cock.

At first, it was just Nikko raping Gold’s mouth with her cock. She held the super heroine’s head in place as she pulled her hips back and jammed her penis to the back of Gold’s throat. A thick, guttural chirp came from deep in the super woman’s body. She gagged.

With her spit clinging to Nikko male organ, Gold allowed her mouth to be nothing but a hot, wet hole for the thrusting of her captor’s freakish cock.

“Fucking … your…mouth …Gold….”

Gold could only kneel and wait.

“Now, suck my cock.”

There was no pause. Gold simply started to give the hermaphrodite head. She sucked like a women who was deft and skilled at pleasing men. She started slowly, sucking from the end of the woman’s shaft to the big, blunt head, then slowly back again. She would stop, simply holding the cock in her mouth and allowing her saliva to collect around it. She would then press up with her tongue against the hard, stiff tool. She would swish the spit and pressure the penis, mashing with her mouth, then she would go back to giving deep, slow sucks.

“Good, Gold. Good, my broken Gold.”

Nikko reached down with both hands. She arched her body behind the blonde, who disengaged her mouth as the dominant woman wrapped her arms around Gold’s waist and scooped her up. She flipped Gold, inverting her, sweeping her hair across the floor as she pulled her close, pulled her up, and smiled. Gold sucked Nikko’s cock upside down.

The video faded out as Nikko lowered her face between two muscular thighs in their golden sheen. She fixed her mouth to the wet, thick vulva of her beaten prey.

There was a smaller picture at the foot of the full-sized piece. It looked like a perfectly woman-shaped figure made of pantyhose material. With its big tits and long body, the mummy was obviously Gold.

“Encasement. When she was done with Gold, she made sure blondie was totally encased her in a super nylon wrap that continued to shrink. She loves to finish them that way.”

There was a picture just beyond it of a man and a woman. He was dressed in a well-tailored designer suit , his hair perfect, his manicure perfect. The woman was in a red-and-white body suit, her dark hair clutched in his fist. She wore black, high-heeled boots. They were kissing. The photo was labeled MAXIM.

“You know, I love women with big tits.” She reached over and caressed the captive’s tits. “You have them, she had them. Gold…. We, Lethario and I, had a grand time with Maxim. Look at this little film of her in the booth. I love this.”

There was an opening shot of Maxim in her red and white body glove – red on the legs, white on the top, with a red M stretched across her bust. She wore black, leather gloves that matched her boots and she was standing still in what appeared to be a plexiglass booth. It was a much like a phone booth, only more narrow. It’s narrowness seemed to accentuate, to draw the viewer’s attention, to the size and firmness of her big round, breasts. It framed her, drawing boarders around the hourglass of her body, displaying the smallness of her waist and the lush flourish of her curvy hips.

The dramatic cleft of her vulva in the red, slick legs of her body glove seemed to leap out at the viewer.

Her eyes were dull and sleepy. She was under heavy mind control. Humiliatrix’s captive in red recognized the look.

It looked like she was being held captive in a tidy, masculine bachelor’s pad.

Maxim was awake, but seemed mildly confused. She was drowsy, and seemed to touch the interior of the booth with tentative fingers.

Then the slime came. A door opened, a trap door above her, and the tank above the booth released its contents. The first pearly-white finger of goo poured slowly, painfully slowly, from the overhead duct. The woman’s shiny, dark hair trapped the spume, and it began icing the heroine. It clung to her hair, and dribbled in tiny lines down her forehead.

Absent-mindedly, she reached up and touched a drop of it. She slid it around between her fingertips, carrying on a simple experiment. She looked and she sniffed as it poured down her shoulders, and back. It clung to her eyebrows and formed a puddle between the toes of her black boots.

“This is your cum, Lethario,” she said. Drops of cum sprayed from her lips when she spoke. Her voice dreamy and slow. As the watched the video of Maxim being doused, the new heroine captive recalled the pungent salty smell of Lethario’s semen. She listened as the villain spoke to his prisoner in the booth.

“It is,” he said.

Humiliatrix and her leashed captive watched the video of Maxim, and the woman in red’s eyes followed as some of the cum dripped from Maxim’s cheek and splattered her right breast. Some dripped off the tip of her nose. Maxim shifted her weight, moved a bit, and continued to look at the semen in her hand as it covered her large, wide bust blotting out the crimson M that stretched across it. Maxim still seemed to struggle to speak; Lethario’s mind control was a powerful thing.

“You did …something ….”

“I drugged it. My cum is mixed with a little something that will only excite you and make you complacent as the tube fills. You will be ….”

“Delighted to drown in … I want to drown in your cum. Just from breathing in …salty-sweet …. When I smell your spunk , I want you. Drown me. You control me. Drown me.”

Her left palm was open in front of her like a lectern, and now it was overrun with pouring semen. Her other gloved hand had found its way to the distinct mound between her thighs. She started to knead her own sex through her costume.

She looked down at the smear of cum that clung to her muscular legs in their red tights, and she smiled. This was a once-powerful heroine who could barely keep hold of her train of thought; her words seeped out in a slow, dream-like dribble.

“Want to swim in …Drown me, please.”

Humiliatrix could hear the panting of her new captive as the two of them watched the film of Maxim’s seduction. She looked to the European woman in black and red.

“I think, maybe, you have met Lethario. Yes? You know about the power of his mind control.”

The captive in red drew a sharp breath when she heard the villain’s name. Humiliatrix did not lie.

He was the one. He was the first villain that I met upon coming back to this country, to this city. This was the villain that was my baptism of fire in this place.

He beat me.

He was the one who beat me without raising a finger. Actually, he did raise a finger. A single finger. He raised a finger, and I was defeated. This was the villain that gave me my first defeat.

The memories will always be fractured and hazy, but I remember being in a bedroom, a bachelor’s bed room with a huge, four-post bed and erotic arts adorning the walls. I tried to fight, I remember. I tried to summon The Source, I tried to hit him, I tried to do something, but all I could manage to do was stand there and grow weak.

My pussy grew damp, and my clit started to throb.

Part of me wanted to hate him for taking such swift and complete control of me, but more of me felt a sudden adoration for him, a deep, heart-rending crush.

There were other women there; that I will recall. They were both Asian, and their costumes resembled mine, strikingly, and I felt a power pouring off of them that I have only felt in the presence of other children of The Source. One wore a red bathing suit-style body suit. It was cut high on her hips, and had the look and tightness of wet leather. She wore heelless, black, stocking boots, and what appeared to be slightly tan pantyhose. Like me, she masked her eyes with a stripe of make-up or paint, hers being red.

Her body was athletic and firm. I could see the muscle in her thighs and the sharply-defined sinew of her arms and back. Her breasts weren’t huge or large, but they high and pert. They were plump, and stood out in the slick, leather-like costume.

The other woman was also Asian, and also wore red. Her costume was a cat suit that looked to be slick PVC. She had a more exaggerated figure than the first woman, her hips wide, her breasts large and round. She had a narrow waist that was fitted with a sleek, wide, second-skin black belt. She had the same shiny, black hair that poured across her shoulders. Her nipples were hard.

They were laid out , side by side, on the bed. Their eyes were sleepy and sullen, their lips parted and open.

Lethario could see something resembling confusion play across my face.

“I had only planned to capture and adore these two tonight, but you’ve fallen into my hands. I’m going to put you aside for a moment. Just a moment. Walk over to the corner, my little European gift. You will find some shackles that are anchored to the floor over there. Chain yourself with them. Oh! I’m forgetting the most important thing. Open the top drawer of the dresser. There’s something in there for just such an occasion.”

As if hidden hands were guiding me, I walked to the dresser drawer, and slid it open. I could hear them starting on the bed behind me, kissing with loud, wet hungry noises, as the dull, grey metal of the contraption came into view.

My first thought was of how sleek and form-fitting it looked. I always thought of them as clunky medieval devices meant to weight the woman down as much as seal her up. But this looked as though it was actually styled for some sort of comfort. It was only when I picked it up did I feel its weight and density. No orders were needed; I stepped into the thing like a pair of panties, and pulled the clasping belt closed around my narrow waist.

The chastity belt seemed to naturally close around me. It was still thick and heavy, and it felt like a fist had closed around my vagina. It wasn’t painful, but it was finite in the way it seemed to seal my labia and hold me closed. This was more than just a belt with a lock.

“You have a whore’s cunt, and it must be closed before it can be purified,” he said over his shoulder to me. He was busy with the two other captives in red, and not really invested in my torment.

There was a sudden warmth in my crotch, in my cunt.

“Now, go chain yourself.”

I wanted to tell the scroat what he could go do to himself, but I walked to the shackles that lay waiting for me in the corner, and I shackled myself. My hands worked deftly, quickly, securing one wrist and then the other in the silver rings. I felt them bite, just a bit, through the material of my costume, and against my skin. They felt finite and solid.

The cuffs bit just a little, as if to remind me that there was something there, but they didn’t really pinch or cut. The chains themselves, thick, but delicate in their way, seemed to tinkle and clank as I moved.

When I was done, I let my arms relax in front of me, chained. I was starting my heroine career in chains, and I was good with it.

I watched the show on the bed.

Scorpio had gone to her back on the bed with Red Arrow sprawled on top of her. She started rotating her hip, grinding them in a slow, wet circle that pressed her crotch up against Red Arrow’s. The ninja archer groaned, and joined her rhythm, gyrating her thighs and her damp mound with Scorpio’s.

They looked like one entity for a moment, their mouths fixed into each other with a deep pulsing, sucking, kiss. Scorpio’s fingers were lost in Red Arrow’s hair, Red Arrow’s lost in Scorpio’s. They were starting to grind their crotches together, tribbing through their costumes. The legs were intertwined, but open wide, and Lethario was taking his time between their thighs.

Something joined that heat between my thighs. I knew my own body, and my pussy was active; if I had taken off that chastity belt my pussy juice would have poured down my bloody leg. There was something else, as well. There was a pang of anger that rushed up and down my spine, and made me grind my teeth. I was jealous. I wanted to be his lover. Whatever force this villain had, it was working on me, and I wanted him.

I could hear myself panting.

He smiled as he opened a hidden crotch space in Red Arrow’s costume. I wasn’t sure if he had cut it into her costume, or if it was designed that way, but I could see the dark blossom of a wet and shaven pussy. He stroked with one finger, pressing deep between the thick and glistening lips, then stroked up towards her firm ass. It was slow, as if his finger could savor the taste and wetness of her pussy.

Her moans were lost in Scorpio’s mouth.

When it finally broke surface, it made the trip directly to the man’s lips. I quivered, and my knees quite nearly buckled as he tasted the Asian superheroine’s cunt.

“Oh God….”

I continued to grow weak he undid his pants and released inch after inch of stiffness. Red Arrow continued to passionately kiss Scorpio, biting her lips and glossing her chin and mouth with spit, as her hands worked blindly between the other Asian woman’s thighs. She pulled the bodysuit material aside and tore the nylons apart.

The nylons clung on as best they could, then gave way, ripping to expose Scorpio’s own slick, shaven vagina. It was soaked, and almost glossed in a cream that I could see from across the room. My pussy throbbed as our captor’s cock disappeared into Red Arrow’s womanspace. Her big legs shook, and she bit Scorpio’s neck with a raw and pained abandon.

After a few strokes, he pulled out of Red Arrow, positioned himself, and rammed home in Scorpio. Now it was her turn to scream.

How long did I stand there, aching, while he went from one captive vagina to another? I can’t say, but I felt my throbbing rise as he finally pulled out and walked towards me with his hard meat pointing the way. I felt drool gather in the corner of my mouth.

“I knew I would have them to deal with, but I didn’t expect you. I was ready to trap them, control them, have them, but you were a little gift that I didn’t expect. Never got a chance to fight me, huh? Well, I’m going to make a lover out of you, just like I did them.”

With one push of a button, he made the chastity belt unclasp and fall away. Now, I could see how the device had dissolved my costume between my legs, front to back, crotch to ass. I shuddered as the air swept over my cunt.

Juice ran down my thigh.

I bit my lower lip and took a deep breath as he wet two fingers and pulled me up against his body.

He did it slowly, precisely, as if he knew my cunt and my asshole already. With fingers that thick, he could have fumbled into me, simply prying me open and painfully seeking my most sensitive places. This was far from the case.

He seemed to know exactly how to work me.

I felt my eyes narrow as they do when a wave of sex taking me, really taking me. My legs quivered and my lips parted. I heard myself whisper to him.

“Thank you, sir.”

Humiliatrix smiled. It was as though she could read the images pouring through her new captive’s head. Her eyes were fixed on the picture of Lethario. Her nipples were hard.

“Your heart is racing. It’s a powerful memory, eh? Being out of control, being at his mercy … you didn’t care for that in retrospect, did you? Let’s see what this next display conjures up for you.”

There was a sculpture on a platform in the middle of the room. There was a different red costume this time, a second-skin cat-suit-type body suit that was trimmed in black to match her boots, but it was still Scorpio. Glossy, slick black hair tumbled down one side of her face, and her head sagged down in unconscious defeat. The tone of the flesh, the pertness of her breasts, all of it was pure Scorpio. It could have easily been a real woman in the middle of the room, and the leashed heroine had to ponder it for a second before she realized that her captor had memorialized her domination of Scorpio with a sculpture.

A sculpture of Scorpio.

In the pain-staking portrayal, she was on her knees in a set of stocks. Her wrists and neck were trapped in the three holes of the wide board of a colonial stock. Her hair had been very deliberately pulled to the right side of her face

“I loved seeing Scorpio like this; I had to memorialize it. And each of these paintings, I did myself.”

Humiliatrix was an artist.

One shot was of Scorpio being carried by a group of men in fatigues and hunting gear. Her wrists and ankles were lashed to a pole, and they carried her like a big cat that had just been bagged.

“The Superheroine Hunt Club. I do believe you’ve been a guest of theirs, as well.”

There was a gorgeous painting next to it done in impressionist style. A large breasted blond in snake skin straddled the face of the fallen and prone Scorpio. This was when Boa beat her and dommed her, smothering Scorpio with the mound of her crotch.

Another looked almost as though it was a photograph. It was a close-up. Scorpio was blindfolded, with her moth stretched wide around the girth of a massive cock.

“I had such a great time with her.”

The gagged heroine allowed Humiliatrix’s powerful hands to take control of her. They closed around her arms, and she turned the bound woman in red to face her. The captor’s eyes seemed kind and warm as they gazed into those of her mute captive.

“It’s time to have a great time with you.’

The heroine that had been Mystic had a night club walk. Even stripped of her original purple costume she stalked on long legs and swayed her hips to that eternal female rhythm. When they allowed her to walk, and crawl on all fours through Humiliatrix’s palace, when she wasn’t bound in ropes or chains, or in a cage, she would walk to service her master or mistress for the evening, and she would walk with that smooth seductress walk.

Even with a dildo strapped to her crotch, she swayed her hips like a timeless, redheaded goddess.

She pushed the curtains of the room aside, smelling the incense and letting her eyes adjust to the semidarkness of the room. It was lit only by candles, and the floor was filled from end to another with rugs and lush, thick pillows. Turkish tapestries hung from ceiling to floor. The captive was on her knees in the middle of the room. The curtain lingered in her fingers.

This was the captive heroine from the beginning of the tour. This was the woman in red who watched as she serviced two men at once. Her costume was similar to Scorpio’s, but was her own unique body sheath. Mystic had no idea who the captive was, gagged, bound and lead on a leash, but she was obviously a new favorite of Humiiatrix.

The heroine in the red body glove was joined to a plate in the floor with a long, thick chain that connected to a collar around her slender neck. Her wrists were cuffed. Her ankles were cuffed. She was no longer gagged. She looked up at the redhead with the artificial cock sprouting from her crotch.

“You were Mystic,” the heroine in red said. She had an English accent. Cockney. East end of London.

“You were captured by Humiliatrix. You were broken by her.”

“I belong to Humiliatrix now.”

“And you’re here to take care of me.”

“She owns you now. She sent me to emphasize the point.”

The kneeling woman saw that the giant dildo was glistening with some sort of lube. She let the curtains close.

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