Snakehead lit a cigar. He savored
the smoke, he inhaled, and he smiled. This was another of those rare and
splendid moments to be thoroughly enjoyed. He had sniffed the Cuban cigar,
considered its shape and craftsmanship, them moistened it in Dark Moon's
pussy, turning and twisting it in the glistening pink folds of her
heroine. Just about every one
at the party had done that.
The guests waited, and enjoyed yet another bottle of Piston's rare wine,
as their host and his staff opened the toy chest. They hadn't known what
to make of it when he doused the helpless heroines with his strange foam,
but now everything was joyfully clear. Whatever it was, it had soaked through
their costumes, through their skin, and left the heroines paralyzed. They
could see that each costumed slave was rigid, and frozen in the position
in which she'd been twisted in that box, and each was now a possible
toy.
Snakehead crowded around the box with his colleagues, and ended up dragging
out the stiff form of Gold.
"Lemma work with that lady, would ya'?" Piston laughed. Gold's legs were
in almost a figure-four position, and her arms were bent in front of her.
Blond was wrapped around her head like a shroud. When the power of the chemical
set in, and she realized what was happening, he face registered shock. That
was how it froze.
"She can hear me, and see me, but the bitch can't move."
"Gotta' give my lady some special attention now," gloated the rocker. The
partiers leaned in and looked with a rapt fascination as he put the frozen
woman on the floor, grabbed one shapely golden leg, and pushed and pulled
until it was straight. Now it was easier to put her on her back, and work
the other leg, making it straight as well. The arms were soon just as straight
and unnatural in her legs, down at her sides, fingers straight.
Next, he spread her big thighs. It was difficult at first, but soon she was
spread wide for him, yet again. He owns me
again, she thought. She accepted the
overwhelming helplessness of having her body manipulated like a plastic toy.
She accepted the feeling of his strong fingers on her face.
He wanted her face to resemble death, so he pressed her eyelids shut, and
manipulated her lips into a senseless, wet, droop. He licked them to make
sure they glistened . This was the reason for creating his chemical; he wondered
what it would be like to have his beloved Gold as a death-like statue. Her
battered body was warm and yielding, yet stiff as a board. As he mounted
her, to the delight of all who watched, Vince was hard at work on his little
creation.
Vince was thoroughly smitten with Dark Moon. He always liked Latina women,
and the sculpted curves in black nylon and skin-tight leather were about
the best gift he could have received. The ways in which he'd used her so
far were just an appetizer, as far as he was concerned. They were destiny,
the two of them, and he was going to make the most of it. Again, he put her
on her hands and knees, this time up on a table. He considered her formation
for a moment, then applied his creativity. He pressed her head down until
it touched the table top, the ripe, round curve of her ass rising into the
air.
He tried to use a knife to cut the supranylon, but found his blade not equal
to the task.
"Snakehead, I need you to...uh."
The massive villain was already bending to the task. He had lifted a stiff
and helpless Scorpio out of the box, and was now ready to tear through the
costume of Dark Moon. There was no doubt that it was something more than
regular pantyhose material, and that no normal man could use his hands to
rip in asunder, but Snakehead was no average man. He had already beaten her
body successfully, why not this fancy costume of hers? He pressed his fingers
in on either side of her cunt, and pulled to either side. He smiled when
he felt the swollen meat of her cunt. The juicy, dark lips of her pussy
practically popped out when he tore the material aside.
The barrel-chested man couldn't help but beam. At that moment, right then
and there, he wanted to make a career out of dominating this woman. He wanted
to beat her again, toss her through a window again, search her again, and
choke her again. He loved defeating this woman. It wasn't like he hadn't
felt this sort of thing before; when he beat Crimson Avenger half to death,
he felt this way.
Crimson Avenger came to him like a gift. He had been contracted out to kill
a man , a simple average man who could have been taken out by a simple, average
assassin. He was about to seal the deal, having cornered the guy in his own
drawing room, when he was introduced to Crimson Avenger.
His first impression was of blond curls that practically glowed in the dark
room. She came at him, her bright red and black body suit and hip boots leaping
out at him as she foiled his plans. They fought.
He was really amazed by how good she was. Her thing was nerve strikes, and
she was deft at shutting down his body, piece-by-piece. His superhuman physiology
kept him in the fight, but she was good. The bitch body slammed him once,
twice, then three times.
The target, the man he had been sent to kill, escaped but Crimson Avenger
did not.
He smiled when he recalled reaching up, grabbing her in the crotch, and sending
a surge of his energy up into her body. Her scream went right to his cock.
There was a new energy in him, and he lifted her off the ground, one hand
in her crotch and one around her throat. She gasped for air, struggled in
his grip, but could offer nothing as he now dealt out body slam after body
slam.
He recalled how joyful he felt watching her struggle on her knees. It wasn't
just that he was now physically winning, it was the art and simple beauty
of a defeated woman. He knelt down, conforming his body to hers, and cupped
the helpless woman's breasts. They were soft, round, and heavy in his massive
palms.
"I'm going to tear you apart, Crimson Avenger."
Quickly, he stood, grabbed hold of her hair, and took flight. Faster than
most fighter jets can fly, he soared, and maneuvered wildly, constantly glancing
down to see her condition. Soon her eyes began to flicker and roll back in
her head.
"Good enough."
When the city was nothing but distant, shimmering white lights down below,
he dropped her.
He remembered returning to Earth, standing over her prone form, panting,
aroused, and thinking about how perfect the moment was. No matter how powerful
she was, how fast, how virtuous, how strong, she was just a helpless woman
in red and black leather. He pulled out his cock and considered her red
mouth.
Now he was looking at the other end of Dark Moon, but was still transfixed
by wet lips, and the perfection of a heroine's defeat.
"Thanks. Here," said Vince. He handed a hand-rolled cigar to Snakehead. He
knew that the big mercenary wouldn't pass that up.
Dark Moon could hear everything that was happening. She could hear Vince
happily, proudly, passing out cigars. She could hear his offer. She braced
herself for what would come next.
"Please feel free to moisten them here,
people." She felt his palm pat
her big, thick labia. She felt fingers spread her open.
She could hear people sniffing the freshly-rolled Cuban smokes and jockeying
for a position in line. The first one felt like a thick, long, rough cock.
She knew that it was a woman who was using her pussy to moisten the cigar,
because of the long nails that pressed again her sex, and the skillful way
that she rotated the cigar as it entered the captive heroine's pussy. She
knew how if felt to be properly entered.
Dark Moon's vagina pulsed around the cigar, drooled juices, and accepted
its role as its pungent juices sank into the wrapping and the tobacco. If
her vocal cords could move, Dark Moon would have moaned, and cried out. Instead,
she just wet the cigar with the object between her legs, and waited for the
next.
The next smoker was a ham-fisted man. He gripped her ass with one hand, and
jammed a cigar up her pussy with vigor. She could tell that he was using
the heel of his hand to push that thing up into her sex. He stopped, then
started again, this time with a second cigar. It was nestled right above
the first, spreading her juicy, dark lips wide. Again, he used his palm to
shove that thing up into the Latina.
"That should do it," he laughed after a few moments. He wrapped a meaty hand
around both cigars, slowly, slowly pulled them out.
Seconds passed, then another started into her. This was definitely Snakehead.
There was massive force behind it, and he pumped it like a cock. Faster.
Faster. She gushed a river of pungent cunt wetness before he finally pulled
it out.
Scorpio couldn't see Piston fucking Gold, or Dark Moon being used as a humidor.
She was sitting up right, stiffly, staring at the party guests. Her legs
were spread wide, and her hands were resting on her knees. Her breasts were
bare.
CutLass was her chair. Some of the men had bent her into an all-fours position,
and now Scorpio sat on the ash-blonde's back. Neither woman could move a
muscle as a curvy blonde sauntered up to the paralyzed Asian heroine, a gravy
boat in her hands. A smile spread across her face as she tilted the delicate
silver and poured out a stream of hot fudge over Scorpio's breasts. The warm
stream ran between two firm, high, tits, then smothered her nipples and poured
across tanned skin.
The woman giggled as she raised and turned the angle of her hand, pouring
the sticky sweet stream over the woman's unmasked face. It ran in a stream
down her noise, dribbled off full lips, and clung to her chin.
"This party just keeps getting better!"
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