Alley
If her costume had been regular nylon, it would have torn. The wide split
that she did, the high leap, the dive through the window--all of it would
have left her covered with rips, tears, and runs. It would have left her
tan flesh peeping through the black second skin. But, her costume was perfect.
She made a note to thank Marcy for creating whatever this material was, then
went back to work.
One of the thugs took another swing at her. If the massive fist had collided
with the delicate features of her face...and she had been an average woman...she
would have been knocked into a coma. But she fanned a block with both hands,
rolled with the movement of the blow, and sent him tumbling into a concrete
wall. When she heard the report of his skull striking the stone, she knew
that it was over for him.
She smelled something--leather and sweat - the air shifted behind her, and
she shot out a back kick that caught the next guy in the belly. She drove
the force up under his rib cage, and heard a painful rush of air escape him
as his diaphragm surrendered to the blow. Now he hit the ground, and received
a roundhouse kick to the head. When she heard the report of her black leather
boot contacting his face, she knew that it as over for him.
Dark Moon stood over the two yobs. Black leather jackets. Shaved heads. They
were simple thugs and easy work. The young woman they'd tried to rape had
long since run, leaving the two criminals and the woman in the nylon costume
to fight it out in the cold dark alley.
The men had started off amused and aroused by this lean, athletic Latina
who'd come to rescue their victim by swiftly descending on a cable from somewhere
above. Out of nowhere. She was fit and large-breasted, with thick, black
hair that poured down past her shoulders and twisted in the cold wind. Her
lips were a glowing, wet red that reflected the dim light of the alley. And
she wore a costume: a second-skin body suit of black pantyhose nylon, opaque
and glossy. She wore black, high-heeled boots, and black gloves. She wore
a mask of the same material that rode the curves of her high cheek
bones.
When she read their minds, she saw their rage. They wanted to rape her and
kill her.
The fact that she had quick-roped from a rooftop that was a full six stories
above them, landed silently on her feet, and flung them aside like rag dolls
didn't tell them that they ought to pack it in for the night. Now one of
them had a badly fractured skull, and his raping buddy had all of the bones
in his face crushed as if by multiple blows from a sledge hammer. It would
take years of operations and therapy for either of them to ever function
again.
Dark Moon scanned her thoughts over them again. They were still alive. They
would live with incredible pain and disfigurement for a long time. Now it
was time to move on.
Dojo
Maria Cruz finished the stick kata,
sweat staining her gi and deep
breathes pouring through her muscles. She took the moment to breathe and
feel the energy of her merger with the weapon. This was a
bo staff, longer and heavier
than the jo that she had practiced
since she was a teenager. For a time, she found it unwieldy and awkward,
but today was a breakthrough.
"You're getting better and better," came from the
dojo doorway. The voice was throaty
and Hollywood feminine. It washed over her, and she let her focus
drift.
Karen was leaning in the doorway, her own
gi damp with sweat. She was tall for
a Japanese, curvy, ruddy and glowing in her white uniform. Maria had seen
her in the skin-tight red-and-black costume that she wore when she took flight
as the superheroine called Scorpio. They had fought villains side-by-side.
They had trained in this dojo for years. Still, she got a little ripple when
she saw Karen Horikowa. She always beamed sex and power. Maria let herself
smile, and felt that throb again. It was so easy to become a schoolgirl around
Scorpio.
"Thanks. It feels great."
"It looks great," Karen said. "You're getting better and better. I'm on my
way out, but I wanted to know whether you were up for grappling tomorrow?
I feel like I need some floor work."
Maria was already nodding a 'yes' to the other woman's question. She tried
to focus on the idea of the two of them rolling around on the floor as further
training for her role as the heroine Dark Moon. She knew that Karen could
feel her becoming aroused. Her Scorpio powers allowed her to feel and tap
into the sexual state of the people around her. She could feel the throbbing
between the younger latina's moist thighs.
"Well, I'm outta' here, Moon," she smiled.
She blew a kiss, wheeled around, and slipped out.
Maria Cruz walked back to the end of
dojo, collected her thoughts, and
started her kata
again.
Snakehead lit a cigar. He gloated privately for a moment; smokers that did
not have his super physiology had to feel that little tickle of worry when
they chanced cancer. He did not. He never would. He would never get sick,
get old or die. He could enjoy his stogie.
The cigars only came out on nights for celebration, and this certainly was
one. It was a touch-and-go affair for a moment there, but now the package
was delivered, the pay was in the bank, and he was the winner. Snakehead
could enjoy his smoke.
The whole thing had taken all of forty-eight hours. That was all. Two days
before that celebration smoke on the roof of Thorne Manor, a dry, sullen-eyed
man had sat across a bar room table from him. He was an out-of-place visitor
to the Black Dog Bar, in his suit and wire-rimmed glasses, but he spoke with
a quiet confidence. The hard cases who populated the place laughed and stared,
but the stranger carried out his mission. The visitor talked to
Snakehead.
"My employer understands that you have a connection to the super operative
called Snakehead," he said in a smooth academic flow. Snakehead, in his secret
identity t-shirt and jeans, leaned back in his chair, muscular arms folded
across his barrel chest. At that point, he was just a tough-looking Asian
guy in a tough bar.
"What if I do?"
"My employer is willing to pay him a large sum, larger than his usual triad
employers, to procure certain packages."
He was already hooked, but pretended to be unmoved. He pretended that he
wasn't Snakehead. It didn't matter that he had a superhuman body, could fly,
and could project myriad arcane forces from his very body, he still got excited
when a mission came up. What was the use of superpowers if they didn't make
those simple joys worthwhile?
"Go on."
The man showed him photos, explained conditions to him, and secured the services
of Snakehead.
The next night, he was crouching on a rooftop, dressed in the skin-tight
reptile skin body suit that made him Snakehead, and waiting. Finding her
had been too easy, but still fun. All it took was a long look at the photos
that his employer had given him, and a long period of holding the lock of
hair that they claimed came from the woman, and his power of sensing did
the rest. He saw a high-rise building. He saw the numbers 6 and 42. He saw shelves of books,
a cello, and martial arts gear. Asian art and scrolls were in neat piles
and stacks. He saw the forlorn neon sign on the old, abandoned sugar plant
on the other side of town. This all made sense. She lived in one of those
expensive loft apartments that had been converted from the abandoned warehouses
over on the squalid side.
"So, you can see the sugar plant from your place," he muttered to himself
as he touched the artifacts that would lead him to her. "You're an educated
bitch. You can handle yourself, and you're into the philosophical side of
things. Finding you should be easy enough."
He went out about midnight, flying, and planted himself on a rooftop that
would allow him to see his prey's lair. From where he perched, he could see
the balcony of her apartment, just one dark ledge among the rows and columns
of dark sleeping apartments. She would be home soon, and he would collect
her.
It was about three in the morning when the plan came together. For a man
who never sleeps or grows tired, or feels cold, the wait in the autumn wind
was no challenge at all. Controlling the rushing joy in his heart was.
"Hello, Dark Moon," he whispered to himself. "Have a good night of heroism?"
His laugher rose as steam in the air.
She was pretty much what the dossier and photo said: a shadow slithering
out of the darkness. He could make out a female form, an hourglass both
curvaceous and lithe, moving with this effortless grace and power. She leapt
up from the darkness between two buildings, climbing and volting from one
balcony to another as she free climbed the apartment building and made her
way to the apartment that he was watching. Her home.
"Home after a long night of fighting crime, huh? It's cool to be able to
live without sleep isn't it?"
When she reached her apartment balcony, he focused his eyes on her. Now he
could see her as if he was standing right behind her. From that far rooftop,
he could focus his eyes like magnifying glasses. She was pretty much what
the dossier said: "five-foot-ten, one-hundred-thirty pounds, 36-24-35...probably
of Latin heritage."
"Cafe'-au-lait," he smirked. "Nice skin."
Her face was not clear on the photo, but, as he used his animal vision to
peer across the expanse, he could see her details now. She had perfect, pouty,
full-lipped red kiss of a mouth. It seemed to gleam red like a beacon as
that long, thick veil of jet-black hair swept across her face. She had a
perfect little up-tuned nose, and a black mask smoothly conformed to her
high cheek bones, encircling her eyes.
He nodded approval for her costume. For all intents and purposes, she was
wearing an opaque, nylon, pantyhose body stocking. The file told him that
her costume must have been made of something stronger that standard pantyhose
nylon; it could, reportedly, resist blades, fire, and bullets. As far as
he could see, though, Dark Moon wore a black, sheer, pantyhose second skin.
The large dark circles of her nipples were vaguely visible through the sheer
material, and he thought he could make out the outline of a g-string.
She wore black leather opera-length gloves, and glossy, high-heeled black
leather boots that came up to her knees.
The woman let out a deep sigh, stretching her back and craning her neck.
She paced around the apartment, clicking on the stereo and peeling her mask
away.
Snakehead smiled. He felt a certain kinship with this woman.
"File said you're dangerous," he said aloud on that cold rooftop. His quarry
had no idea she was being watched. Snakehead's mental powers trumped her
ability to sense danger.
"Let's see how dangerous you are."
The big man could fly, and he flew.
With his eyes fixed on the curve of the small of her back, he flew. From
the rooftop, across the chilly space between his observation post and her
apartment, his arms at his side, a grin on his face, Snakehead
soared.
Maria let out a long exhalation. She hadn't intended to spend the whole evening
dealing with the League of the Black Cat, but that's the way it worked out.
Thieves often seemed like a waste of time and powers. These were women who
thought it was fun to dress up in black latex and steal trinkets from rich
people. It just seemed like a waste of time.
True, her throat still hurt from the rope the one named Monica was able to
get around her neck, and she could still taste the spray they'd shot in her
face. It settled like a paste in her throat, gagging her during their group
beating of Dark Moon, but that was a pretty brief moment. Even when the women
had her pinned to the floor, choking her with the rope, jamming a dildo down
her throat, and binding her legs, she knew that would beat them. Ultimately,
she had pretty much made quick work of them.
It just turned out being a lot of hassle over some crazy broads who enjoyed
stealing pretty things. With menaces like Rook and the Congregation out there,
she felt as though she could have used her time in better ways.
The thing was over for tonight, and she would force herself to sleep--like
normal people.
She let her eyes slide shut for a moment.
There was barely a breath between the instant that she heard the sliding
glass window of her apartment explode, and the tidal wave of pain that exploded
in her back as a massive man's shoulder plowed into her. Dark Moon's body
became an arc in midair, her arms flung back, her boots lifting from the
floor, her spine curving.
She caught a glimpse of her ceiling.
Dark Moon's scream was a piercing blend of shock and pain that came up from
her guts, but it was drowned out by the crashing sound of a wall giving way.
The woman was a battering ram.
There was a time--it seemed like eons ago--that she visited her family's
walled manor home in Venezuela. There had just been a hurricane, and the
hovels of the people who worked her father's land had been flattened, literally.
The corrugated tin and fragile wood was piled in chaotic heaps, and, with
them, so much of those peasant's lives.
Back then, she couldn't help but mutter a prayer of thanks for the high walls
and wealth that protected her, making her life like a
castle.
Now her physical body felt like those huts. A storm had defeated her nylon-clad
form.
The world was a blur until the moment that Dark Moon found herself sprawled
in the porcelain wreckage of her bathroom. What ever attacked her was powerful
enough to drive her through one of the inner walls of her apartment, and
into her bathroom. Maybe it was her head that smashed the sink from the wall.
Maybe it was her impact on the toilet that shattered it. One way or the other,
water spouted from the traumatized pipes, showering the nylon-clad brunette,
and huge boot pressed down on the middle of her back. Her mind was swimming
with questions. What was going on? Who was this? How did anyone know who
she was and find her in this sanctuary?
She could smell the musk of a man, and she could feel the powerful presence
of a...of a powerful presence. It was the type of thing she felt when she
was first ambushed by the Rook. He was overwhelming. A force of nature. His
kicks were overwhelming. His fists were overwhelming. The crushing force
of his hands on her windpipe was overwhelming. She remembered the Rook, and
she knew that this was not he.
"Dark Moon, right?" said a male voice. Slowly, as best she
could, she looked up from the
nest of shattered glass and tile. Her vision was blurry, but could see a
squat, compact, powerfully built Asian man in a reptile second skin. She
was on her front, legs spread, arms outstretched. Her breasts were mashed
against the floor.
"I'm Snakehead. You're coming with me."
He grabbed the long, thick black hair and pulled back hard and slowly as
the big foot pressed down in the center of her narrow back. Her eyes closed
into slits and her mouth became a red curve of pain. He formed a bow out
of her body.
She started muster her strength. She wanted to rise, trying to press herself
up against him.
He sensed her desire to resist.
"Want up, huh?" He planted his weight and yanked with massive power. Huge
fists pulled the dark hair, and the woman went airborne. Her brain, which
could process so much at once, only registered the blur of her apartment
flying by, and the sudden cold of the night air surrounding her. He'd thrown
her through the wreckage of her place, and back out into the open air.
He'd tossed her through the window.
He'd picked her up like a toy, heaved her through the air, out through her
own living room, and through the shattered window.
He'd tossed her through the 16th story window.
Maybe the cold of the night sky and the wet supranylon of her costume caused
her nipples to harden and her skin to bristle with goose bumps. Maybe her
long, thick, shiny, black hair wrapped around her face like a sodden mask
as she fell, head first, her body like a long-limbed arrow angling down.
She would never know. All she could fathom was the sense of flying, falling,
and dropping like a stricken bird. The big man had thrown her, and she was
dropping to the street below, too battered and dazed to prepare her body
to land and take the impact.
Normally, she could land like a cat. That night, she knew she was too battered
to prepare for it.
Helpless.
Snakehead was sudden. She was a hair's breath from the concrete when the
powerful man was controlling her again, swooping down from the wreckage of
her apartment, scooping one arm under her legs, the other across her back,
and pulling her close to his chest. Carrying her, he shot upwards into the
night sky.
"Nothing personal, babe," he laughed. She was in a classic carry position,
cradled in his arms, her hair painting the breeze. She took advantage of
the moment, studying the details of her captor's face and collecting herself.
She was still alive, and that meant that she could fight.
As they touched down on a nearby rooftop, she struggled free from his grip
and fell into a crouch. Her body was wracked with pain, her head was spinning,
but she made ready. She'd fought big men like this; she ultimately left the
Rook with a broken back, and killed the violent giant called Rage.
Snakehead did not prepare for a fight. He simply walked to a corner of the
roof and reached behind some boxes.
"Put these on, ok," Snakehead said picking a pair of shackles from the shadows.
Cuffs. Long shiny chains. She recognized them as the sort of chains and cuffs
that she'd seen on shuffling prisoners on T.V. He had planned out the whole
scene. He had plotted out where everything would happen.
"Who are you?" she hissed. Dark Moon was in a tiger stance, the sleek muscles
of her legs standing out in wet, opaque, black nylon. His eyes moved up her
narrow waist and the high, round mass of her breasts. This would be a
joy.
"Ok...again...I'm Snakehead. Now, if you don't put these on, I'm going
to."
She was able to muster the strength to deliver a powerful roundhouse kick
to his knee, and a fierce upper-cut to the washboard of his midsection. She
was still cloudy, but able to gather an inner storm. Air rushed out of him,
and the mercenary suddenly understood the power of the woman he was sent
to capture. The force lifted him up off of his feet and dropped him to his
knees. There was a silent split second as she maneuvered, then a powerful
spin kick caught him in the temple.
Now it was the big man's turn to drift in a cloud of pain and confusion.
She dropped a merciless axe kick down on his spine, and he yelped in pain
for the first time in a long time. She was hurting him. She dropped another
kick on him, then spun down into a low roundhouse kick, smashing his
face.
The big man was rolling, and the woman...still dazed, was launching herself
at him. She sensed his grogginess, and tried to focus her own
rage.
It lasted only a moment. His body was suddenly animated again, sharp and
crisp. A big hand met her in midair, closing sharply around her throat.
Squeezing. They hung there like that for a moment. He was standing fully
upright now, straight and strong. His massive right arm was extended and
holding up the full weight of a lean, nylon-clad woman as if she was a toy.
He squeezed. Her eyes narrowed and watered.
Feeble hands reached for his wrist.
"Yeah, they said you were good," he grumbled.
He lashed out. The eyes of the woman in nylon couldn't perceive his movements
fast enough. There was a blur, and a blow, and the curvaceous woman was helpless
again.
Dark Moon had been struck before. Hard. The hardest had been the Rook. In
a battle, only three days before, he had leapt over Gold's fallen form to
kick Dark Moon in the face, It was like a world of pain existed in her skull
and she ended up stretched out next to
Gold. It was the worst one-shot beating she'd ever taken...until
Snakehead.
When his stiffened finger dug into her flat, toned belly - when some nerve,
deep inside her nylon-clad body screamed and went numb--she realized that
Snakehead had won this round. Her legs trembled and collapsed as her body
folded. A deep, throaty gasp escaped her bright red mouth as he dropped her.
The upward stroke of his elbow caught her on the point of the chin, forcing
her head back, arching her spine.
He caught her in a side-ways stumble, landing a spin hook kick across the
woman's face. Her head snapped side-ways with a yelp of pain, but he caught
her, again, before she could tumble. Another kick snapped her back the other
way. Black hair flailing, the heroine's body formed a painful curve, then
dropped to the concrete. Dark
Moon blacked out with a sigh.
"Well, at least you were good. Now
you're property."
He took hold of her curvaceous legs and rolled her on to her front. He made
a star out of her--legs spread, arms outstretched. Her face was to one side,
blanketed by a net of thick, black hair. She slept a battered
sleep.
Smoothly, he slid his hands up one leg, feeling the smooth texture of the
pantyhose material and the warmth of her skin through it. She was definitely
a kicker, a martial athlete with the type of thick, curvaceous muscle that
you usually only saw on women's fitness shows.
His palm continued up her thigh until it came to rest between her thighs.
Hypersensitive fingers felt the outline of a big vulva. His hand confirmed
what the mound in her nylon costume testified; Dark Moon had one of those
thick-lipped vaginas that stood out, thick and dark between the woman's thighs
when she was naked. She had one nice pussy.
"Good enough," he smiled to the deaf ears of the beaten
woman.
There would be no need for the chains, but the there is a joy in artistry.
He started with the leather-booted legs, pulling them together and locking
the steel rings of the cuffs around her ankles. He liked the way the boots
loved her strong calves; they were soft leather, and seemed almost melted
on to the nylon legs.
Limp arms offered no resistance as he linked the gloved wrists together in
front of her.
Again, he took her up in a carry. It was time to collect.
Thorne strummed his guitar in the half-light of his dressing room. It was
the slow contemplative strum, the type he used to show his groupies...his
women...his sensitive side. It was the sound he used when he did his ballads.
It helped him think as he made his way through some of his heavier plots
of his life. Tonight was a heavy night. This was a grand
scheme. It was a joyful night,
but a heavy one. He'd undertaken a big project, but it was worth it. This
would bring him closer to his brothers, Vince and Neal.
It was three in the morning. This had been a busy night. He had sent out
four people to collect four women, and they had returned with their quarries,
one by one.
First came the Rook. He was sent to collect Gold, and he did his job. The
six-foot-tall woman in her wet-look, shimmering golden body gloss was his
toy again. He beamed when he saw the light glint off of her costume. It wasn't
a set of golden tights, or a body suit; it was a liquid gloss that covered
her like a second skin. It formed gloves, boots, and a mask, but, otherwise,
she as protected by a second-skin of magical, golden, skin.
Thorne had seen how powerful she was. That golden skin could leave her unscathed
by conventional weapons. She could read minds and sense emotions. And she
could fly. He remembered the pilot of his private plane, an experienced combat
veteran, shouting through his intercom, his voice crackling with fear, that
a blond woman was hounding the plane. Next, she was on the wing, screwing
up the avionics and forcing them to land.
She had super strength. He had seen her toss his henchmen around like rag
dolls. That day on the plane, she was able to tear up the jet's metal as
if it were nothing. Whatever magic she'd learned in those caves in Norway,
it was powerful stuff. It made her a goddess on earth.
He had also seen her weaknesses, though, and that was enough to play into
his larger scheme. She was a heroine, and he liked heroines. Powerful women
with costumes and high ideals were, as far as he was concerned, a flock of
quarry just waiting to be hunted and captured. He'd gathered them over time,
using them as he saw fit. Maxim. Renegade. Graviton. Arachnae. Mystic. So
many of them ended up in his chains. The British heroine called Excaliber
was such a catch that he kept her, and still held her in
captivity.
Some, he would release. Some would escape, but there was a constant flood
of superwomen coming in and out as his guests.
When he learned that the clouding of Gold's sense would off-set her powers,
he set about devising method after method for capturing her and using that
lean, feminine, muscular body. He'd captured her several times, and now they
knew each other's bodies thoroughly. He loved the fact that when her powers
were down, the golden skin sheath was still there, but it acted only as golden
skin. Her strength would be gone, the protection would be gone, and he could
use his huge penis on her superheroine pussy as if she was any other woman.
He had done her over and over.
Now he had her again.
She walked in under her own power, but she was a captive. Her hands were
on her head like a prisoner. Now that was a sight; superheroine Gold in her
wet-look metallic-gold second skin costume with her hands on her head. She
started off as silhouette in his doorway - tall, long-legged, and blossoming
with the wide, round curves of large breasts and wide hips. As she walked
into his dressing room, he could see details--perfectly- sculpted athleticism
stood out in the muscles of her legs, her arms, her whole tall body. With
her hands on her head, the muscles of her upper body were flexed in her golden
sheath. And those big, round breasts... They were high and
frim.
Chronologically, she was a woman in her forties, but sported the super-powered
body of a twentysomething athlete.
Her eyes met his in a cool gaze that seemed to say "Ok, you have me again.
Now what?"
Thorn smiled and slowly rose from his chair. He put down his guitar and took
a good look at her. She was ball-gagged. He expected that. Her full, pouty,
bright red lips were stretched around a red rubber ball and leather strap.
The hair was what really blew him away.
The last time he saw Gold, she was wearing her hair long and straight, all
the way down to her lower back. It touched her sweet, little
shelf. It was still like that,
only now, all of it was pulled up, tied, twisted and wrapped around both
of her wrists, which were crossed on top of her head. Her wrists were bound
with her own long hair.
Still grinning and shaking his head over the hair bondage, he looked down
to see a thick metal belt secured around her narrow waist. A gleaming strip
of metal ran between her thighs, held in place by the belt, which seemed
to hum and vibrate slightly. Rows of rivets adorned it, and a padlock held
the whole thing in place.
Gold wore a chastity belt.
"My golden lady," he smirked. His eyes narrowed and the corners of his mouth
drew up like a glutton presented with his favorite meal. He scanned her back
up and down and shook his head in disbelief.
"Damn, but you are fine! I don't care how many times I catch you and fuck
you, I can't get over how fine you are!"
He looked past the captive woman to nod in agreement with the big man who'd
captured her. Standing behind the statuesque blond, his arms folded across
his chest, the Rook--his black-and-white costume blending in with the half
shadows--nodded back.
"You know, we're old friends, Gold and I," Rook laughed. "And yessir, she
is a dish."
"Hey, I heard you got your back hurt," Thorne added. The big villain only
smiled. "That was my twin brother. I'm in fine fucking fettle!" The Rook
laughed.
Only an hour before, Rook had laughed
behind the rubber enclosure of a gasmask as Gold sank to her knees, clutching
her throat, coughing and looking at him through watery eyes. The sounds that
she made as the gas from his grenade filled her lungs were delightful, shallow,
and desperate. She tried to crawl, she tried to stand, but on limbs that
grew more and more numb by the moment, it was impossible. Each attempt to
stand ended with a curvaceous blond in a heap on the
floor.
The Rook moved forward, and knelt over the gasping Gold. He gently pushed
hair away from her face, and looked her in the eye.
She could do nothing as a massive hand grasped and squeezed her left breast.
She could only moan as he tortured her nipples. She was listless as he positioned
her on all fours and felt her buttocks. She could do nothing as a finger
roughly slipped into her pussy and sank in up to the knuckle. She could do
nothing as he sampled her, nothing but pass out.
Once she was out, it as time for arts and crafts.
The Rook explained to Thorne how he pulled her head into his lap (smiling
over recollections of her sucking his cock during earlier periods of captivity
to him) and took hold of her hair. She was wearing it very straight these
days, and down to the curve of her ass. That made it easy to take a long,
thick handful of hair, pull a limp golden arm up and use that captured blondness
as a rope, twisting and wrapping and tying it in knots around the wrist.
He pulled the other wrist across the first, and wrapped, and tied until all
of the blond was woven around her wrists, and Gold's hands were pinned to
the top of her head by her own hair.
"Creative."
His eyes fell to the metal that encased her crotch.
"Nice!"
"It's my own design," smiled Rook. "She's got a probe up her ass, one up
her pussy, and there's a special little clamp on her clit."
He held up a remote control, and touched a switch. Gold's eyes rolled up
I her head, and her whole body shook. Her tremors rocked her round breasts
and she dropped to her knees.
"See, the belt keeps a constant wave of energy flowing through her most sensitive
parts--her pussy and her ass. It
keeps her powers off. I can make it worse, as you see here."
She was in too much pain to scream against the ball gag.
"It also has an explosive charge in the cunt probe. She tries anything, and...
BOOM! No more Gold."
He turned it off. Gold's body relaxed, her eyes closed, and she slumped to
the floor at Piston Thorne's feet.
"Good job, brother."
He had his henchmen load Gold into his car.
Next came Satyr. He brought CutLass with him. Dressed in one of his designer
suits, his hair slicked back like a gigolo, Satyr entered the room with a
swagger and a rakish grin. This is the villain who could project
pheromones, entrancing
heroines and using them as sex toys. He'd done it to Gold once, and
had done a great job of seducing and defeating Excaliber. Thorne knew because
she had explained every defeat she'd ever suffered while under interrogation.
Thorne had sent Satyr out to capture the woman called CutLass, and here she
was.
"You did a good job. I've wanted to collect this little bitch for some time. Her
real name's Tina, you know?"
"Oh yeah?"
With a sudden blur of violence and anger, he took hold of her leather mask
and tore it off. The beauty stared up at him, beaten.
"Hello, Tina. Looking good, babe."
CutLass' costume reminded Thorne of something his back-up singers once wore.
She wore a swim suit-type body suit of black leather. It was glossy, smooth,
and cut low exposing the blossom of her milky cleavage. It was adorned with
the white silhouette of a chess knight just below her breasts. The high French
cut of the body suit bordered the shiny stark white of her spandex tights.
The black picked up again with the leather boots that came up to her knees.
The ash-blond hair was as shoulder length and swept down in stylish
curve.
Style. That's what Thorne really liked...always liked..about CutLass. She
had a sense of "look at me" and beauty that many other heroines didn't seem
to grasp. He'd only actually battled her once. That time she was more in
the way than anything else, but she made her impression. She had fascinated
him.
He had been making an escape from a mansion that he and his half-brothers
had been using as a lair. It was an isolated place up in the mountains that
he thought would be heroine-free. There he could plan his plans and torture
Excaliber, who'd he'd been holding prisoner for
weeks. He could take the time
to work on his plots and play his music. He could take Excaliber out of her
holding tube, or her box, or her rack, or where ever he had her that day.
He could fuck her, if he felt like it, or place her in the computer-run machine
he called Tabla Raza, which was slowly erasing chunks of the English woman's
memory, or in The Booth, which swathed her in purple light and explored every
pain center in her body with alternating energy surges. He could make more
pornos of her.
The mountain hide-away place was a joy for him.
He hadn't expected CutLass to come swinging through his window.
"We've met before, haven't we pet?"
She nodded like a child.
"I tried to stop you. I found your place in the mountains. I tried to capture
you and rescue Excaliber. I smashed through your window."
She recounted how she was able to beat throngs of his guards and henchmen.
Her martial arts were deft, and her energy limitless. Thorne nodded the whole
time, agreeing that she was ash-blond beautiful as she tossed a man twice
her size through a wall and fired off a back kick that sent a groupie through
a window. She had a perfect body that never tired and was used to
victory.
"You were doing pretty well until what? What did I do to you?"
She blinked, and fumbled to find the words. Satyr truly had her under control.
Her mind was cloudy and swimming in sex. She let out a little sigh, those
red lips glossy and moist.
"You strummed your guitar. You strummed it just once."
His face beamed as he recalled using "The Pitch" against her. It was a special
sound that, he had discovered, only women could hear. It could cause such
excruciating pain that they could not help but collapse in agony. That was
the secret weapon that defeated CutLass
on that day long before the moment that Satyr brought her to him.
He actually took photos of the woman on her knees that day, her hands over
her ears, screaming in pain. Another shot showed one of his groupie henchwomen
in tight jeans, earplugs in
place, straddling the downed
heroine's face. In another, his half-brother Vince was strangling her, big
hands working hard against her tender throat. The next shot was of two henchmen
kicking the woman, and another showed them dragging her by her long, shapely
legs to the Tabla Raza machine.
"I was going to totally erase that little, blond brain of yours, but I decided
to just learn everything I could, instead."
"I told you my secret identity, my powers, everything."
The next photos from that day showed his henchmen wrapping her curvy body
in chains and weights, and dumping her in the pool. They pulled the clear
cover over the pool, leaving her to drown. The whole time, he was blown away
by what a fox she was. He stood at the edge of the pool that day and looked
at the woman lying on her back on the bottom of the pool, dying in the chorine
depths, blond hair floating in a cloud around her placid face. Classy. Stylish.
He remembered laughing at the irony; she
was a woman endowed with super
strength, speed, mental powers, and an organic energy weapon called a mind
sword, but she was going to died at the bottom of a pool.
She escaped that day, showing him that those powers were something more than
he'd made out.
Now, backstage, she was crawling like a dog on the end of Satyr's leash.
Down on all fours, her ash-blond hair hanging down in defeated
curtains.
"You lived through that, only to become my newest prize, huh?"
"Satyr came and got me," she said. Her nipples were hard and jutting out
in the body suit. "I tried to fight him, but he released pheromones. I'm
a slave."
"Are you?" asked the rocker.
"I am."
"Really? Show me. Kiss it."
Kiss it.
His words resonated in the captive woman's head.
Kiss it.
As if watching a movie she looked with sullen, tired eyes as his jeans
opened and the famed Piston appeared a few inches from her face. Unlike Gold,
she hadn't knelt before the The Massive in her past. Her heart
tremored.
"Not a full-blown blowing--just a kiss to honor it."
Kiss it.
Tina...CutLass...named after a sword and sworn to defend justice, pursed
cherry-red lips and kissed the big, swollen head of her new master's cock.
It was a loud, wet kiss.
A few minutes later, she was on her back, legs lashed together, arms pinned
to her sides, leather thong across her throat, and strapped to the top of
a car like a dead deer.
She'd been compliant and soft as the two men tied her to the top of the car
like a dead animal.
She heard the men talk about taking back roads, and how at this time of night
there would be nobody to see a hotrod with a beautiful blond strapped to
the roof.
She was CutLass, the captured prey. The ornament. She was Tina in leather
and spandex, strapped to the hood of a car.
She stared at the stars as they drove off.
Next came Snakehead.
When he heard the thump of boots at his door, he looked up. A big man in
costume filled up the doorway. He was sheathed in a reptile pattern second-skin,
and grinned from behind a mask. The package that was draped over his shoulder
had a round, perfectly-curved ass, and the sort of strong legs that he liked.
Fitness model legs.
And there were stiletto-heeled black, leather boots and
nylon.
"Snakehead, you're back!"
A pause.
"I am."
"And is this it?"
"It is."
"Put it there."
Snakehead moved to the table in two strides, and stretched the nylon-and-leather
woman out on her back. Limp limbs flopped and fell to her sides. Her head
rocked to the side , and her
sleeping face was placid.
"Did you have to beat it to get it this way?"
"Yes."
The rocker closed his square hands around her strong thighs and began to
knead them. They felt solid and athletic. The woman slept
on, her red lips pursed and
seeping breath.
"Ah, excellent. Tell me, does it have a big pussy? Thick lips? My brother
likes big pussies." Thorne's voice was absorbed in something between lust
and clinical interest.
"Looked good to me, sir."
He shoved her legs apart, and deft fingers sank into the moist nylon between
her thighs. He bit his lower lip and twisted his arm with way and that. There
it was, like a rare fruit, pouty and thick. He could feel Dark Moon's labia
through the pantyhose. He could feel it when it pulsed and trembled in his
palm. A moan trickled from the sleeping woman.
"Hey, I think she likes me!" he laughed to other man. Snakehead
chuckled
"Very good pussy. The breasts look firm, good and big, but we have to be
sure."
His hands moved up and took hold of the big, round mounds. He let his hands
melt all over the lush, high, full bust. Snakehead had to stifle a laugh:
this guy was enjoying himself big time.
"Very good."
Next, the fingers of his right hand traveled up and pressed in between the
glossy, red lips. They formed a lazy, wet circle around his hand, as he forced
two of his fingers back in her mouth.
There was a moment, a slipping away of darkness, and Dark Moon slowly began
to leave her veil of unconsciousness. Her eyes were drowsy, then wide and
livid as she realized there was something foreign crammed between her lips.
She started to struggle.
Snakehead was in motion, reaching down and clamping his huge hand around
her throat.
"Let him," Snakehead told the captive woman. "Just let him inspect you. Suck
his fingers, or I'll crush your windpipe. Want to die?"
He felt her surrender a bit. She first swallowed anger and shame, then put
full, Latina lips to work. They were pursed and pushed forward, forming a
seal around the fingers of a man who only wanted to test how well she could
suck.
"Suck!" yelled Snakehead.
She put herself to it, sucking hard on his fingers. She would have to save
her strength for a few moments while she recovered.
"Perfect. Very good. Wrap her up and load her up."
This was when Snakehead wished he had drugged and chained her. He was too
confident. He read the message from her mind just as two leather-gloved hands
shot out. One caught Thorne in the face, while Snakehead caught his blow
in the throat. The force sent them up and back, destroying furniture and
causing a disorder that the rocker disliked.
"STOP HER!" yelled Thorne, his shattered nose bubbling with blood. Snakehead
thought that his employer's yell sounded scared. This dark woman, raven haired
and curvaceous, who was springing
up from the table scared him.
Snakehead knew that she was expecting a fight from him, and that was why
he raised an open palm and showed the raven-haired woman his power. All she
would remember was a tongue of green fire leaping from his hand. This was
another of his special gifts.
Thorne was too blinded by blood and pain to see the lean woman in black nylon
go stiff. He could hear her throaty scream, and the sound of her curves hitting
the ground. He couldn't see her head flinging back, and her legs locking
together, her arms pinning down to her sides, but he heard the way Dark Moon
screamed in agony, and he knew that her brief moment was over. There was
a delicious, soft thud as the nylon woman hit the floor, defeated
again.
"WRAP HER UP!"
Snakehead mummified her.
Snakehead was good at this because he had patience. He could take the time
to wrap the special, reinforced tape around and over the toes of her black
leather boots. He was able to wrap it up, under and around the high, spike
heels. And then around, and around, and around up long, strong legs, shapely
thighs, across the round athletic ass, and around the tiny waist inch by
inch he wrapped the bandages. He used the bandages to wrap her arms to her
body, to press her ample breasts into a single mass.
He had the wrapping tight enough across her throat that it would be
uncomfortable, but not tight enough to choke her. Again, he became stiff
as he watched his hands pull the wrappings tight across her cherry lips and
brown skin. There was just enough space for her to breathe, but Dark Moon
was lost in a sea of bandages.
He mummified her.
As Thorne's hired help took her down to a waiting car, Snakehead went to
have a smoke. His boss was pissed, and mopping up blood, but his job was
done. Now it was all up to Boa to finish the collection.
Scorpio had learned not to underestimate the dancer. True, she was tricked
into showing up there alone, and the woman who'd done the tricking had the
upper hand, but she knew not to underestimate the woman in the dance tights.
The woman could not beat her in toe-to-toe battle, so there must have been
something in store. There was something that she did not
see.
"This will be brief," the woman said, stretching casually on the dance studio
bar. She was a statuesque, middle-aged blond who sported the strong, lithe
body of a dancer. Every movement had a grace and strength so rare that Scorpio
had to keep from becoming distracted. This woman was
dangerous.
Scorpio moved silently as she maneuvered and paced toward the blond dancer
who called herself Boa. Like her enemy, she moved fluidly in a footed,
second-skin body suit, Her feet moved smoothly and silently against the wooden
floor. Instead of the black, high-heeled boots that she often wore, this
new Scorpio costume--still deep red and blazoned with a black scorpio silhouette
on the thigh and bust--gave her stocking feet.
Scorpio moved silently in her enemy's lair.
"Very brief," the woman repeated. Her wide sensuous mouth blossomed into
a smile. She had battled Scorpo before, and the lithe Japanese woman had
ended up a captive. It was also on Boa's turf that time; she had lured Scorpio
to her loft apartment on the swanky side of town. She was in her snakeskin
body glove that night, and Scorpio wore exactly what the villainess had wanted
her to wear--high-heeled black boots, black nylons, and her red body suit,
glossy, tight, and cut high on the thigh.
"Perfect."
She knew that she could not defeat Scoprio in single combat, but on that
day, only a month before, it had been enough to have innocent hostages and
henchmen to display them with guns to their heads. It had been enough to
threaten to kill the innocent.
"If you lash out at me," purred the blond, "they will die. Simple enough?"
The Asian woman's silence was enough.
"Good. Now take off the body suit. I want you in just the boots and those
lovely pantyhose."
Expressionless, Scorpio did as told, sliding her thumbs under the shoulders
of her body suit and stripping it from her sinewy upper body. Red second-skin
material gave way to tanned skin and large, black nipples. Boa watched as
she pulled it down shapely legs and stepped out of it.
"Mmmm. So you don't trim Very nice." Boa beamed at the jet-black thicket
of muff. It was wild and pressed below the nylon of Scorpio's
pantyhose.
"Give me your costume, Scorpio."
She tossed it to her captor.
"Now, stand still while I strangle you."
Scorpio stood still that night, her hands by her sides, breasts bare, black
hair and tanned skin shiny and slick in the track lighting. She tilted her
chin a bit, offering her tender throat.
Boa wrenched the bright scarlet costume into a one thick cord and slowly
pressed it to the Asian woman's throat.
Boa strangled Scorpio until she passed out that night. She used the heroine's
own red costume, twisted and pulled taut in her elegant hands, to encircle
Scorpio's neck. An honest, glowing smile blossomed as she pulled it tighter,
tighter, and tighter. She smiled and looked her prisoner in the eye as she
choked, and twisted, and squeezed with the material. Her own sensuous pink
mouth formed a broad smile. Scorpio's red lips curved into a painful arch,
her eyes closed, and her gloved fingers digging at her own muscular thighs.
Those red lips released a pathetic chirping gasp.
"Perfect," Boa whispered. "Delicious."
Scorpio's breasts are highly sensitive, but she could not moan or scream
out as Boa lowered her mouth to one of Scorpio's big, black nipples and began
to viciously suck it through her teeth. First this one, then that, she sucked
and strangled and sucked until Scorpio, in only her boots and pantyhose,
passed out, her right breast in the other woman's mouth.
She knew in the dance studio that Boa would try to strangle her again. That
was her way.
"Very brief."
Scorpio realized too late that she had walked through a laser barrier. She
had broken a beam. When the first poisonous dart lodged in her back, she
knew what Boa had in store for her. A strange, tingly numbness flowed through
the athletic legs and sculpted arms of the heroine. Her head sagged, hair
draping down, and she sank to her knees cursing herself for being taken down
by such a simple trap. Futile as it was, she struggled to come to her feet
and face the other woman.
Poison.
Her muscles felt as though they were hardening, stiffening into stone, fighting
her every step of the way until she surrendered to her submissive posture--on
her knees, back arching, hair hiding her face. She couldn't hear the ballet
dancer's feet against the floor, but she accepted the rough fist grabbing
her hair.
Boa used the reign of coal-black hair to shake her stricken victim from side
to side, first gently, just to show who was in power, then with vigor, enjoying
the kneeling woman's gasps and the jerking of her breasts. Paralyzed but
fully awake, Scorpio had to simply wait while the tall blond, pulled her
face up to the smooth, musty nylon of her crotch. She tried to inhale, but
got only the stifled heat and damp must of Boa's mound.
Boa looked down at the helpless woman whose face was half obscured by her
dance-tight-clad delta, hair twisted in her fist, eyes growing drowsy behind
the red mask. These were the most sensuous moments in life; when she was
pressing or squeezing the life out of someone, life had its true meaning.
"At times like this I wish I could sprout a cock and fuck your face. I wish
I could fill your windpipe with a cock and suffocate you, Scorpio."
She gave a grunt and pulled her face hard into her mound. The paralyzed woman
sank deeper into drowsiness, then took a deep gulp of air as her captor moved
away, and maneuvered around her. Boa took a step, spread her legs, and straddled
Scorpio's neck. She stood there for a moment, Scorpio on all fours, the bent
neck of the heroine wedged between her big thighs. She looked down at the
bend, submissive neck. She felt the warmth of the woman between her thighs.
She stood there just enjoying the feeling.
This mission was a gift from Thorne.
With a smooth rhythm, she rolled to the floor, taking Scorpio down, prone,
slumped between her big legs. She crossed one leg, and then the other, trapping
the helpless Asian woman's neck in a sensuous lock. Boa twisted her pelvis
and squeezed, cutting off the air and blood flow. After only a moment, Scorpio
simply melted into darkness. Limp arms sank to the floor and muscular legs
finally relaxed.
Boa gave an open-mouthed moan and shuddered as tremors rode through her clit.
Again, she savored having the defeated woman between her thighs.
Slowly, she opened her legs, letting Scorpio slump to the
floor.
"I have a gift for you, Scorpio. Something perfect for you."
She stood, walked to an athletic bag that was crumpled in a corner, took
something from it, and returned to the prone, beaten woman. First, she prepared
a red leather, black-trimmed hood. It was meant to cover the whole head,
had no eyes, and a gleaming golden zipper for a mouth. The wearer was expected
to breathe through a meager beak-like construction in the middle of the face
and a leather collar that could be secured with a large golden buckle.
Boa pulled Scorpio's head up and roughly fit the hood over her unconscious
enemy.
Next, she produced a satiny, shiny black-and-red sheath. It was exactly long
enough to fit Scorpio from neck to feet. It was exactly tight enough to pin
her arms and legs so snuggly that she would not be able to move. The fabric
was as strong as the hide of a battle ship.
Boa sealed Scorpio into the body glove.
"I'm taking you to Thorne," she whispered to the unconscious woman.
She kissed the hood's mouth zipper.
"He's going to love you."
She kissed the zipper again.
There were three men in the room. One was Piston, but all three were Thorne.
Vince and Neal were there, as well. They were his half-brothers, also musicians,
also big and arrogant, also with a love of heroines. She remembered Thorne
saying something about his brothers before, and now, here they
were.
Tina did as the men told her. She would have fought. She would have used
one of her three martial arts. She could have hurled furniture, and taken
men twice her size to the ground. She would have used her mind sword, the
psychic tool she'd used to cloud the thoughts so many villains, incapacitating
them or even cause physical damage.
Tina could have used the magic that was passed down to her from a
matriarchal line of British witches. But she did as the men
commanded.
"Take off that black mask," one of them commanded. Thorne had replaced it
just to watch her remove it at his demand. She reached up with both hands,
peeling the mask from her face. She let it fall to the plush carpet. Her
face was expressionless. Perfect, with it high cheek bones, turned-up nose,
and expressionless.
The pheromones of the super villain that captured her were still in her system,
so when Thorne injected her with "a little special something", and adorned
her with a glowing necklace that spoke directly to the parts of her brain
that controlled free will, she had no choices left. There was a moment of
struggle, but soon he had her walking about the room like a robot. Soon he
had stand like a statue. And soon she answered his question with a single
sentence.
"You are in charge, sir."
"CutLass, come parade for us," one of the men laughed.
She did as told, walking like a runway model on her high spike heels. The
room had bright overhead lights, and trickles of glow played on the white
tights and black body suit as she showed off for the captors. Her curves
and big athletic thighs drew applauds .
"Bend over, Tina."
Without hesitation she bent over and clutched her ankles. She looked between
her long legs at the men who commanded her and let the round curves of her
ass rise for them. She postured like an animal prepared for mating.
"Now this bitch has style."
"I always said that. Perfect make-up. Perfect hair. She's got style."
"Hey, Tina. Go over to that silver platter and pick up the toy we left there
for you."
She stood and took a slow walk across the plush apartment. She didn't even
take a moment to consider the thick black straps and the huge, black, rubber
cock that lay on the platter. She took it up like an old friend, and stood
on foot and then the other, stepping into the harness of the strap-on. She
turned once it was secured, displaying the huge, curved dildo that sprouted
from her crotch.
"Perfect. Now, go get Gold. Bring her in here."
Tina dutifully turned on those black, spike heels and left the room. She
walked down a dark hallway, her silhouette a mix of feminine curves and a
huge, fake, male member that sprouted from her delta. She was under control
and doing the work of her masters. She walked past walls lined with guitars
and platinum albums. She She reached a back room, and opened the
door.
Gold had no idea how long she had been out. Her wrists had been undone, her
hair let loose, and she now hung upside down. Her ankles were joined together
by metal shackles, and they were somehow joined to a fixture on the ceiling.
The chastity belt still held her most intimate parts hostage, rendering her
helpless. Her arms dangled as limp as the long curtain of
blond.
She hung upside down. Just like when Bandit captured and tortured her, she
was hanging upside down in the dark. With Bandit, she knew that the torture
would be crude and brutal, but this, being Thorn, it would be sophisticated.
While Bandit, only two years before, used a horsewhip, Thorne would probably
use that machine of his. She never did figure out what the device was that
Bandit used up her ass, but Thorne would penetrate her in the same way, making
sure that she knew each and every step. Thorne might also tie ropes around
her breasts and run them through pulleys with weights on the ends, but everything
would be shiny and new, not old-west-crude like Bandit's
gear.
Time had bled into a blur, and blood pounded in her ears, but she knew that
she was in a room, secluded, bound, helpless, and waiting to be used. How
was the only question. What was he coming up with?
Thorne had captured and fucked her time and time again. He'd eaten her pussy
and made films of it. He'd jammed her up against a men's room wall in one
of his clubs, her big legs spread, her head swirling from a chemical spray,
and penetrated her blond sex with "the girth".
He'd sat back and laughed as one of his leather women straddled her face
and smothered her. He tossed a glass of wine on her face, reviving her, then
had the woman sit on the bound Gold's face again.
He had strangled her in a pool, once, his hands wringing her windpipe. He
held her that way, her lips parted, and fucked her mouth with vigorous thrusts
of her his hips until she passed out.
There was the time that he simply strummed his guitar once, and she found
herself on her knees, screaming, paralyzed as pain ripples through her nervous
system. She was as helpless as a kitten as he rolled her up in a ball, her
ass high in the air, and undid his jeans. She was amazed that a prick as
big as his could open her ass so easily.
He could have had her over and over since the Rook took her, but instead
he left her hanging upside down in one of his rooms.
Waiting.
When the door opened, and the cock-festooned CutLass walked in, Gold knew
what was going on. As CutLass neared her, Gold saw the absent look in the
heroine's eyes, and the way she seemed to walked under someone else's will.
She saw the slack, moist droop of her moist lips, and wondered if Tina would
be able to talk at all. They had her.
"You're going to fuck me for them, aren't you? They're using you."
"Yes," said Tina. It seemed a struggle to even speak.
Gold choked back a ripple of fear; she was so weakened by the chastity belt
and the beating that she took that there would be no challenge involved in
using her like a toy. Thorne would have his way again.
CutLass ran her hands up Gold's sleek, slick thighs, the reached up, undoing
the shackles and letting Gold drop to the floor with a violent impact. The
tall blonde let out a throaty moan as her body hit the deck. She could only
do as told as CutLass took her by the long mane of blond and led her out
to the living room.
"Crawl for them, Gold. They want to see you crawl."
There was no hesitation. The mistress of Nordic magic, the golden-skinned
woman who had battled Thorne and a dozen other villains over and over, when
to all fours at the feet of the brain-washed heroine. Gold crawled like a
dog. With the chastity belt keeping her in-check, the golden magic woman
was lead about like a bitch.
The men applauded as CutLass, wearing her huge strap-on, brought in Gold,
wearing her chastity belt. Gold looked up to see him...Thorne...and his damn
half-brothers sitting there, huge grins on their faces. They were in all
their glory,
"There's my golden bitch."
"Look at those tits."
"There she is. Take that belt offa' her so we can get started."
CutLass' hair fell across her eyes as she undid the thick metal belt. There
was a clack and a clatter as the device fell away. It no longer mastered
Gold's most sensitive parts, but the damage had been done; it would be hours
before she would back and full power. Her golden body sheath was still visible,
but easily passed through. She gave up to the fact that she would be mastered.
Tina fell across the golden woman's back, kissing licking her skin. She buried
her face in Gold's hair, inhaling and reaching around to grip the woman's
breasts. Her mouth formed a lusty curve and her hips began bucking and pumping
by instinct. The big prod jabbed aimlessly and ruthlessly at Gold's ass and
wide-open pussy, missing...missing...glancing off her big thigh. It finally
found purchase, slipping easily and roughly past the swollen pussy lips and
burying itself in Gold's sex.
There was a silent scream as Gold's full, red lips opened in a painful circle
and quivered. Almost instantly her hips began to rotate and push back against
the dildo woman.
Gold groaned and sank her head forward. Her pussy was full. She knew that
Tina possessed enough physical strength to tear her apart with that dildo,
and she tensed as the slow fucking began. She looked down to see her long,
golden clench around the fabric of the shag carpet. In their shadow, she
could see the strange beast that they formed--one heroine joined to the other,
one head hung low and nodding, the other rocking with the motion as her hips
pumped against Gold.
Gold bit her own moist, red lips.
She closed her eyes and moaned.
Those fingers clawed the carpet.
The men watched with bated breath.
"Thorne..." Gold groaned. Her words had to struggle to get out from around
the sex waves that were churning in her. She never opened her eyes as she
spoke to the man who was in charge.
"You've...seen me...like this..." She gulped air. "Before.
You've...had...me..."
Thorne instantly grew weary of her attempts to get into his head. "Hurt
her."
CutLass heard his command. There was one deep inhalation, then a powerful
thrust that sent a shudder through the golden one. Her face suddenly tensed
with the fierce pain of a brutal penetration.
"Tina, fuck her like a man!" yelled one of the men. "Look her in the
eye."
Gold didn't resist as the woman rolled her on to her back. The fake cock
never left her swollen pussy, and the women ended up in a classic pose--Gold's
muscular thighs were spread, her knees up, her high heels digging into the
carpet. CutLass knelt between her legs, on her knees, hands gripping Gold's
waist. She then moved her hands up, squeezing Gold's arms to her side and
crushing in. With her super strength, she squeezed the helpless woman and
fucked her.
Her cleavage seemed to almost glow in the track lighting, and not a hair
was out of place. Style.
Gold looked up at the vacant eyes, wondering how much of this
CutLass...Tina...could even understand. Thorne's face loomed up over the
two women, and he smiled down at Gold.
"Tina, put that toy in Gold's mouth. Show her what the rest of her life will
taste like."
Tina's movements were quick, she pulled out roughly, slithered up Gold's
body, and jammed the dildo back into the blonde's throat. Gold had to open
wide to accept it, but as she did, Tina squeezed a button on the underside
of the shaft. Torrents of fake jism quickly over flowed the captive's full
lips.
Again, she looked up at Thorne, who now stroked his cock over her face. A
drop of semen fell into her eye.
Vince crucified Dark Moon.
Vince fancied himself a bit of an artist. Ever since he was a kid, while
Piston learned his guitar and honed his attitude, Vince designed what he
said would be the album covers. He built things and painted things. He study
sculpture.
Vince looked for the art in everything.
That was why Vince crucified Dark Moon.
The cross was made of two thick pieces of iron. They were actually beautiful
chunks of metal, dabbled with blue and red. They would have looked perfect
in a modern art gallery. Vince had welded them into a cross, created a base,
and put it up in his studio. He maneuvered the lights in the studio so that
it was cast in just the right shadows, and just the right
light.
When he was given the gift of an unconscious superheroine , he knew just
what to do.
Thick metal cords would do for the woman's
bondage. He pulled them tightly
against the sinewy arms, the nylon, the leather. He pulled them hard against
the groaning woman's limbs, pinning her to the steel. He did the same to
the narrow waist, and between her breasts in a crisscross. All the while,
black hair covered the sleeping face. He could just see the vivid lips pouting
behind the curtain of disheveled hair.
When it was all done, a small army of henchmen lifted the cross up, and then
everyone stood back to look at Dark Moon on the Cross--a study in contrast.
Soft curves against metal.
Unconscious head sagging, hair pouring down in black
streams.
Gleaming metal cords against nylon.
It had been difficult getting her this way. "Like her, brother?" Piston had
grinned. He crossed his arms and grinned as he watched his brother unwrap
the beaten woman. The neatly-done layers of bandages took almost and hour
to remove, but Dark Moon was a delight the whole way through. Once a limb
was free, it would flop to the floor. Her legs fell open once he had undone
them. Her head sleepily nodded to one side.
"She's beautiful," he whispered.
"Thanks," she replied. Dark Moon could feel the confusion, tension and shock
that penetrated the two men. She moved through the gap that was there. First,
she took out Vince. She struck up with a palm strike that caught him just
below the ribcage. His lungs went into spasm, and he released a gust of air.
The big man seemed to deflate as he crumbled to the floor.
Next, she caught Piston in motion, a low booted kick connecting with his
knee. The rocker, the collector or heroines, buckled to the floor in pain.
Vince would be no help to him and the woman in the black mask and black nylon
bodysuit was on him.
He was reaching for a guitar, cringing from the pain in his broken leg, when
Dark Moon stopped. She stopped. She stood there. Her arms dropped from a
fighting position, and her mouth went slack.
Satyr didn't have to put his arms out in some sort of hocus-pocus magic-user
way, but her loved the drama of the moment and decided to play it up since
he was trapping a new heroine. He approached the woman from behind, letting
his pheromones precede him. He saw the muscles relax in her back, and her
big legs. She sighed, and slowly gloved hands reached up to touch her
breasts.
"Leave Mr. Thorne alone, and come over here, Dark Moon."
There was blur of black hair as the Latina spun around and approached the
pheromone producer. She stopped just an arm's length from him and looked
him in the eye. Dark Moon was already panting. A moment before she'd been
a powerful heroine unleashed. Now she was a slave again.
"Christ, Satyr, I need some help over here," growled Thorne. Watching the
villain brutally fuck Dark Moon would be a joy under normal circumstances,
but he was pretty put off by the leg. He always prided himself on the fact
that, with no super powers or special abilities, he was able to overwhelm
superheroines. He always loved to gloat over the times he'd defeated and
used Gold. The fact that he continued to keep Excaliber as prisoner was a
particular point of pride. Experiencing pain was not in the
bargain.
"Beat that bitch to a pulp!"
The Thorne brothers and some of his groupies were already in the room and
helping their icon off the floor when Satyr's right cross crashed into the
Latina's face. Her head snapped back and she fell...right into the arms of
Boa.
"I heard there was a party going on," the
blond beauty smiled. She had her long elegant hands hooked under the
nylon heroine's arms.
"You're slick, lady," said Satyr, his mouth broadening into a toothy grin.
"Didn't even see you slip in. You know, she's been a real problem." He
nodded at the woman who was sagging in Boa's arms.
"So I hear. Gold is under control; CutLass is fucking her. They've got Scorpio
under control, aslo. But this bitch...well, I guess you've got her
now."
Satyr nodded. "All I have to do is let out a burst of pheromones. It gets
into the woman's...any woman's...system, and that's all she wrote. Look at
her."
Dark Moon's eye were vacant, her moist, red lips slack. It was happening
again. The one type of defeat that actually caused fear for her in the past
was happening again. They had her mind.
As her free will was fading, she remembered being defeated and captured by
Succubus and Incubus. It was a cold night, and her breath formed clouds as
she battled the two elegantly dressed aristocrats in an empty near the
waterfront. She had freed their captives, and now the young Latina was using
deft martial arts and her ability to sense each movement just as the enemy
made it to defeat them. Both of them were on the ground when Gold swooped
down to assist her.
She understood for a second that Gold wanted to warn her of something, then
Incubus and Succubus spread a web of their power into the air. Her muscles
weakened, and Gold dropped from the sky.
And now it was happening again.
Succubus and Incubus walked the two heroines to their captivity. All the
while Dark Moon was aware of , and tortured by, the fact that she was being
used as a puppet. Her nipples grew hard and her labia grew swollen as the
two curvaceous women walked at the behest of the two
villains.
And now it was happening again.
They stood the two heroines next to each other in their posh apartment's
living room. Statues. Her mind screaming as Incubus started in on her, and
Succubus took Gold.
"She won't fight back," said Incubus.
"She won't fight back," said Satyr a year later.
Boa brought the woman back to her feet. Dark Moon stood, no fight left in
her.
"Show me your roundhouse kick," she told Satyr. The slickster bounced on
the balls of his feet, then launched a textbook roundhouse kick into the face
of the nylon-clad woman. Again, her head lashed back. As she fell, another
kick caught her in back of the head. Boa was going to match Satyr kick for
kick. The soccer mom in snakeskin giggled as Dark Moon tumbled
forward.
Thorne was out of the room , having his legs tended to, and would slap the
table with frustration over the fact that he missed what happened next. Like
a blur in black and white, silently filling up the room, the Rook was suddenly
there to join in the fun. With a barrage of skill honed on the battered and
captured body of Gold, he shot out two front snap kicks. Both caught her
under her chin, knocking her back to Boa.
The blond shot up and upper cut, hitting the heroine in the base of the skull.
Finally, drugged and beaten, Dark Moon collapsed to the floor. She was on
her side, legs spread, one arm covering her face, the other covered by a
blanket of hair. Her face was one of sleep, and not a brutal
beating.
Boa took hold of the dark-haired woman's shoulders as Rook grabbed her thighs.
The worked together, rolling her on to her back and stretching her out.
Large, firm breasts rocked softly. Her head nodded to one side.
They spread the legs and arms of the unconscious woman, making a black, nylon
star out of her. Boa added some artistry to it, taking hold of her victim's
hair and spreading it out in a web behind her head. Her eyes met Satyr's,
who was down between her legs.
"Rip it open," she rasped, her voice heavy with lust. She nodded at the nylon
that covered her crotch.
"Don't need to," he said with a smile. "I hit her with my love stuff. She's
all mine...or, ours, that is."
Snakehead chimed in. "She has a little space she can open down there. Guess
it's for if she needs to take a super pee while fighting crime or
something."
They shared a laugh over the fallen form of the curvaceous
woman.
Satyr kept his boyish tone as he spoke to Dark Moon. Through her beaten
blackness, he knew that his voice would connect with her mind. His sex hormones
were that powerful.
"Hey, chica," he said. Just like that, Dark Moon's eyes fluttered open and
she looked up at him.
"Yessir?" her voice was a whisper. Her eyes were drowsy.
"Open your costume for a fucking. Oh...open your pussy lips as well."
"Oh, yessir."
Brought her gloved hands down and easily opened a small panel. His eyes fell
on the sudden flash of pink as she did as told, spreading her lips with the
fingers of one hand. Just as Gold had when she battled Satyr, Dark Moon panted,
licked her lips, and watched as her nipples hardened in her
costume.
The Rook must have seen something in her arousal because he muttered "Just
like Gold."
He looked at Satyr. "Why don't you do the honors, my man."
The hormonal villain's big weapon responded, driving with one pelvic thrust
into Dark Moon's sex. She was wet, and tight and her whole body shuddered
when the massive member slipped into. Satyr's eyes slid shut in a rapture.
"Oh God...So good."
The willing heroine's eyes rolled up in her head, and she opened her succulent
mouth. As if taking a cue both Rook and Snakehead released giant cocks. Rook
was first into her mouth, drowning himself in her oral heat. As he moved
his hips, fucking her mouth, Snakehead pressed the big mushroom of his penis
down on one of the hard nipples. He rippled with excitement as his cock skin
met warm nylon. He rubbed in circles o her big nipple.
After they had her, they cleaned her up, and their employer chained her to
a cross.
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