Crimson Flare: The Threat of Pitchblende
by marat

Chapter Seven

Pandemonium broke out on the disused subway platform. Acting without a sense of reason, Crimson Flare waded into the crowd of purple leather jackets which heretofore had been taunting her and demeaning her. Striking her first blows with a fearsome frenzy, she had dispatched three large gang members when two distinct and different responses occurred among the crowd: Led by Justin, several Normans focused on the superheroine and began to make their way toward where she continued to tear into the panicked bunch of criminals. This was made more difficult by the surging crowd moving against them, seeking escape.

In the rear of the crowd, Cos lay still on the floor and those Normans who paused over his body failed to notice the beginnings of revival, as his eyes and the corners of his lips twitched and his nostrils flared slightly as he drew a deep breath.

Only one figure was paying attention to the fallen chieftain. Chan, who was moving along the extreme rear of the crowd, saw the pale figure struggle to push himself from the floor. With a grim determination, Chan moved purposefully toward his reviving headman.

*****

Crimson Flare grabbed another of the purple jackets, lifted him over her head with the same ease with which she had held Cos. She looked blankly up at him, squirming in her grip, her bloodshot eyes and open mouth conveying a sense of detachment from her actions. The fear this raised issued forth in a bloodcurdling scream, a scream cut off as his body smashed into the pillar ten feet away.

She moved slowly now, in sharp contrast to the figures scurrying around her. It looked like one of those digitised shots in recent movies, where one figure is moving out of the time sequence of other figures within the frame. Now, each time she reached out to grab a running gang member, she missed him more often than she was successful. The anger, which had given rise to her initial violence, was spent as her requirement for drugs overcame the natural chemicals that had fueled her show of aggression.

She was tired. The five broken bodies that lay on the subway platform would measure the extent of her assault on the Normans. Two other bodies lay in pools of blood, the result of Cos’s wild shooting. But the Normans were fleeing and escape for Crimson Flare remained possible so long as flight remained the gang’s priority.

But flight wasn’t the highest priority for all gang members. Justin and the half dozen who had provided a bodyguard for Cos had the heroine in their sights. Their chieftain had been attacked and injured-who knew the extent of his injuries? -by this woman who now seemed likely to escape the price of this violence. As they approached her, they saw her decline from the powerful superheroine who had captured the admiration and love of Mitropoulos as America’s Darling to a costumed figure waving futilely at figures moving past her rapidly. The decline had taken place in mere moments.

She was breathing heavily, her mouth open, her eyelids heavy, her nostrils flared. A slight tremor could be seen in her fingers. Her shuffling steps took her aimlessly around the platform; she seemed unable to find the stairway to the surface. Her body screamed in agony, pleading for the heroin, which offered not solace but merely relief.

The bodyguards spread in a semicircle, surrounding the figure isolated in her own reverie. As the last of the fleeing gang members cleared away the space around Crimson Flare, Justin saw the chance to seize her. ‘Now!’ he shouted, rushing at her. The other six members of his troupe followed his lead.

Justin reached her first. He drew his fist back and smashed it into her temple.
Her head, covered in her vinyl cowl and mask, twisted, her body torquing in imitation. Her boots click-clicked a couple of times, then slipped out from under the heroine as she fell to the floor. By now, none of the gang members who had been in flight remained in the station.

The second purple-clad bodyguard to reach her sent a sharp kick into her side. This new pain seemed to revive her. But she could barely move, and, now surrounded by the hoodlums, her fate seemed sealed.

She was laying on her stomach, directly under one of the unshielded lamps. Her sequined costume glittered. Securely fastened, its tightness now accentuated even small muscle flexes, as she sought the regain control over her body. Her legs lay straight and together, the flesh-toned tights still able to glint in this direct light despite the dirt they had accumulated over the last several days of abuse. Her black leather boots likewise still found a sheen, lying toes down, heels together, scuffs plentiful. Lying in this position, the crack between her cheeks was shadowed, and the small movements of the muscles there gave a twinkly display to her observers. The black leather belt that held her empty holster had risen up to her waist. Her right arm stretched outward from her shoulder and bent upward at the elbow so that her gloved forearm and hand passed in front of her masked face. Her left arm reached straight out on the other side at a 45 angle.

Justin walked to her, a smirk on his lips. With a small move of his hand, he indicated for two of his followers to lift her up. The two brawny bodyguards did so, each holding an arm. They pushed her back against the wall, and lifted, so that only the tips of her boots touched the floor. In her tight crimson uniform, the roundness and separateness of her breasts was clearly discernable. Her predicament seemed to clear her head momentarily.

Her dry lips moved. ‘Wh- why don’t… you j-just… kill meee?’ she croaked, her eyes fighting the light.

‘That would be too easy, superbitch. That’s something that Cos taught us. It’s easy to kill. It’s so much more fun to make them live, and suffer. He taught us kneecapping, and he taught us how to cripple. And you better hope that you didn’t kill him, because we can make your life even more of a living hell than it is,’ Justin spat at her.

He reached out and took the sequined spandex in his left hand. Even in her condition, Crimson Flare felt fear overwhelm her pain as he looked her up and down, and licked his lips. Saliva rolled down his chin, and collected at its tip. He quickly wiped it away before his fellows saw it. His eyes were wide. A grin stretched from ear to ear.

‘Cut her open!’ he ordered.

Too weak to resist, Crimson Flare was unresisting as two more purple-clad gang members pulled knives from their jackets. The blades were used to cut away the sequins and fabric around her crotch, both the spandex and the synthetic material of her tights, exposing her muff of dark brown pubic hair and the now-raw intimate regions there.

‘Hold her!’

Justin dropped his trousers, revealing a mammoth bulge in his navy blue briefs. He stepped out of them as well, and grabbed the sides of Crimson Flare’s costume. Impossibly, the tactile stimulation of her uniform and body made him even more erect. His member seemed straining upward, seeking to enlarge itself against the limitations of nature. Pre-cum already appeared at the tip.

His face was ecstatic. Eyes wide, his tongue working the corners of his mouth, he struggled to bring his breathing and his body under control. He closed to the heroine and plunged himself fully into her in a single move. Crimson Flare’s restrained body jumped and a high-pitched squeal issued from her.

He sawed in and out, breathing rhythmically with his motions. Groans came from the powerless champion, and these eventually synchronised with those of her attacker.

The two stood, she with her back against the wall and her useless arms held outward, he with his hands first gripping her uniform at the sides then reaching up and seizing her shoulders from behind and beneath. This movement brought him closer to the helpless woman. Their bodies were now fully engaged, pressing together from the tops of her black leather boots, as he straddled her feet with his own, up their thighs, his bare, hers still covered by her tights, to their conjoined hips, then their stomachs, and chests. Justin’s grip on her costume tightened as he moved up and down, up and down, pressing his entry and withdrawing slightly again and again. His strength seemed to press her into the wall behind her.

‘Aaaahhgghh! Aaaahhgghh! Aaaahhgghh!’ Justin grunted, groaned, and exhaled his ecstasy with each thrust.

Crimson Flare’s head stayed upright as the violence of the rape increased. The pitch of her moans rose, but the two partners formed a sexual duet as their sounds coincided both rhythmically and harmonically.

‘OOOHhhhhhh! OOOHhhhhhh! OOOHhhhhhh!’ Crimson Flare’s bloodshot eyes alternated between a wide owl-like openness and a closed, tight, hard line that squeezed tears from the edges. In neither case did she see her attacker. But she was aware of what was happening.

Pain. Pain was everywhere. Her muscles ached. Every one of them from her neck to her calves. Her throat was unbelievably dry; in the midst of the violence of this assault she couldn’t slake her thirst. There was a pounding in her head and tears rolled down her cheeks. Her stomach was tied in a knot and the shooting pain leaped across her abdomen, never relenting, never fading. In her chest she felt her heart hammering, the rate of its beat increasing, always increasing, until it was indistinguishable from the rushing she heard in her ears. The sharp ache in her pussy was evidenced by the tinges of blood showing up on Justin’s prick each time he slid from inside her.

The gang members who suspended her by her arms allowed her to drop down onto Justin’s manhood, the much shorter crimefighter now leaning her head forward, the top of her cowl touching his chest.

As he pushed himself upward, he pushed downward on her shoulders, seeking to extend himself fully into her. Each time he pushed in, he stayed longer. Each push into her was stronger, and the grunts from both partners were louder. In the face of this, it was impossible for Crimson Flare not to begin lubricating, and his movements became vaguely easier and smoother.

Each time he rammed himself home, her head bounced. The heroine’s eyes finally opened, and her sense of what was happening, and her powerlessness to prevent it, rolled over her. With a great effort, she raised her head from her chest, and looked up at the face of her attacker. She saw the face of a man gone over the brink, his mouth wide open, saliva flowing from both corners of his mouth, his eyes seeming to burst from their sockets. His tongue continually licked what seemed to be perpetually dry lips, without effect.

Justin’s hand released her shoulders and slid underneath her arms and up to her face. He cupped her jaw on both sides, turning her still-beautiful, still-masked countenance up to face him. With his own mouth he lunged at her. Thrusting his tongue into her mouth, slobbering her cheeks, biting at her lips, he grunted and sucked at her noisily.

His cock crashed into the helpless heroine, and when he climaxed, it went on seemingly forever. His sexual triumph over the invulnerable, untouchable champion was something he had anticipated and dreamed of. For him, it symbolised a triumph that would carry him ever higher in the Normans power structure.

Justin collapsed as he spent his wad. Sweating, gasping audibly for breath, he simply sat on the platform, his briefs and pants partly under him. He was unaware of what his cronies did next.

When Justin had finished with America’s Darling, the purple-jacketed Normans carried her a few steps from the wall. The four other bodyguards watched intently, waiting their turn. By this time, she was able to begin voicing her resistance, albeit weakly, her voice cracking. They placed her flatfooted on the platform and drew both her arms straight back behind her, pulling upward at the same time, forcing her to her knees. Eventually, she was released, and rested on her elbows and knees, still too weak to resist. Her ass was higher than the rest of her body and one of the bodyguards knelt behind her, preparing to take her there. Another went to his knees in front of her, lifted her face from between her glove-covered forearms to face his erect member.

‘C’mon, Darling. Once more. For free, this time,’ he said, almost gently.

The man behind her chimed in, ‘Can you believe this slut? Remember how afraid we were? She ain’t nothing. She’s got nothing.’

The Norman in front of the bowed champion backhanded her across the mouth. ‘C’mon, bitch. Open up!’ He slapped her again.

‘No. Please,’ she whispered. It was her first independent act in days.

‘“NO!” Did you say… “NO?!?”’ He brought his fist down hard on the side of her head, driving her face to the floor.

She hit the platform hard, though her head was protected by her vinyl mask. He reached down, and with a firm grip on her chin, her attacker pulled her head upward to face him again.

‘Let’s get it right, you cunt!’ he snapped angrily. ‘Open… up!!’

Still too weak to resist his command, she slowly, with foreboding, opened her mouth. At that instant, the Norman behind her began pushing himself into her cunt from the rear. Her mouth closed slightly because of the pressure and pain. All this gained her was another slap across the face.

‘Keep your mouth open,’ was the impatient order.

She fully opened her mouth again.

Her double rape began in earnest. The man behind her firmly gripped her sequined costume, pulling it sharply in his direction with each thrust. He drove his hips forward with an exaggerated motion, penetrating deep into her, again and again and again. Her grunts were soon replaced by moans.

‘Oh, c’mon, girl. Don’t you give up on me now,’ he said between breaths.

The moans actually stimulated his partner in front of the helpless champion. The vibrations that she sent through his prick charged him to greater heights of rapture. Her motion, begun by the other rapist, meant all he had to do was remain still, on his knees, as her mouth traveled up and down his cock. With each cycle, the tip of his manhood pushed against the back of her throat. She felt her stomach heave.

One of the purple-jacketed gang members who were watching the spectacle began to cheer his buddies on. ‘Yeah! That’s it! Teach the bitch a lesson she’ll never forget,’ he said, growing red in the face. ‘Look at her. America’s Darling, hah! America’s Slut, you mean. I want her next.’

The rapist behind her reached down and pulled her left arm up and behind her back in a deep chicken wing. This pushed her further forward, and, as she started to droop from the pressure, he told her, ‘Ohh, no. Up, little heroine. Up, up.’ Wearily, painfully, she pushed herself upward.

Crimson Flare heard what was going on around her. She could hear, all too clearly, the laughter of the observers, waiting their turn. She heard the grunting of the rapist in front of her. She heard the orders of the rapist on his knees behind her, ‘Come ON, you little SLUT!’

One of the bodyguards watching asked, ‘Hey, she’s not tied. Where’s her fuckin’ strength? I thought she had to be tied.’

Crimson Flare didn’t have an answer. Certainly, she was untied and her strength was in her. But she was so tired, and she hurt so much. She had never been this exhausted.

The gang member raping her from the rear came first. ‘Come ON! Come ON! Come ON, You SLUT!’ Each time he drove home, he exhaled and accentuated the word. When he spewed himself into her, he released her arm, which immediately went to floor to help support the humbled avenger; he fell forward onto her back and pulled his arms around her torso. Amazingly, she didn’t crumble to the floor under the additional weight. He let out what sounded like a growl as he did so. Crimson Flare screamed. Briefly.

A moment later, further stimulated by her cry, the gang member in front of her came also. He shot himself into her mouth and throat. It just kept coming and coming, filling her orifice, dribbling out the sides of her mouth, washing down her throat, and even blocking the passage that led from the back of her mouth to her nose. He too shrieked his triumph over the heroine.

Both men withdrew. As they stood, they looked down on the bowed figure of Crimson Flare, on her knees and elbows again. She was breathing heavily, moaning with each lungful of air. They restored their manhood to their jeans, smiling. ‘Whad’ya say, superheroine? Do you understand what your good for yet?’ The one in front of her reached down and lifted her face toward them. They saw some of his cum dribbling from both her mouth and her nose.

‘Oh, that’s disgusting!’ he sighed, mocking her. Both laughed as they humiliated the heroine by displaying her to their fellows. They all seemed to enjoy it immensely.

‘Get her up!’ said the one who seemed to be bidding to take over leadership of the bodyguards. Roughly, she was wrenched to her feet. One, a big man, held her in a double chicken wing. The small round mounds of her breasts pushed forward and her revealed sex thrust outward and upward toward the group now gathering. Her head hung down.

‘Please,’ she was heard to whisper.

‘Ohh, please,’ he mocked. ‘“Please,”’ he said again, sounding just like the pleading heroine. He threw a right cross that resounded through the station. It caught Crimson right on her jaw. Her head twisted to the side.

‘How about you please us? How about we really put you in your place?’ His voice was rising in anger. He next threw a right that caught her in the stomach. She gasped and groaned at the same time and tried to double over. But the double chicken wing prevented her. The helpless champion audibly gasped for breath. The large gang member holding her used this opportunity to exchange the double chicken wing for a full nelson, lifting her easily. Her black leather boots swung six inches above the mosaic.

‘When you’re with a real man, you aren’t much, even with your strength. Are you?’ he taunted. ‘You’re just a woman, decked out like a whore on a holiday. I bet you and that rich bitch were going to bring law and order to Mitropoulos, weren’t you? All you sluts are alike, always butting into something that’s none of your business. You’re outta your league, babe. You shoulda stayed home and let some guy take care of you.’

Another chimed in, ‘She’s probably not interested in guys. Just like all those “new women,” she’s just trying to muscle her way in to men’s places. But even this one doesn’t have the muscle power. Right, slut?’ He spat at her.

Crimson Flare reacted weakly to the spittle running down her face. Suspended above the floor, her helplessness was evident.

Justin approached the group from behind. He had a large smile on his face. ‘Aww, leave the little heroine alone, fellas. She’s had a tough day.’ He now stood directly in front of the crimson-garbed avenger, and he took her costume in his hand, rubbing the material between his fingers.

‘What, were you some kind of fuckin’ majorette in high school?’ he asked, sneering. ‘Is that where you got this costume?’

Crimson looked over at the unmoving body of Stacy, lying in the center of the platform. She remembered how she had saved the young Stacy from her attackers in high school. She remembered their conversations about making a difference in the city. She remembered that Stacy, a half hour ago, had tried to save Crimson Flare-to return the favour-from the drugs that were taking over her mind and body.

‘Bo, take her over there,’ came the order.

Bo, the big man restraining her, easily carried the superheroine back to where Stacy lay. Justin and the other bodyguards walked slowly behind.

They stopped, Crimson Flare swaying like a stuffed doll in Bo’s muscular arms. Once again, she felt their eyes looking over her body. As she slowly raised her head to catch a glimpse of the gang, Justin’s hand lashed out and grabbed hold of her glittering uniform at the neckline. ‘It’s about time we removed the last bits of this slut’s mystery,’ he said. He pulled viciously at her costume, tearing it away from her body, the spandex yielding only grudgingly.

The small round mounds of her breasts seemed to be barely moving. At the peak of each, the light pink aureole sat, inviting. Justin’s hand next went directly at the left one, plucking the nipple between his thumb and middle finger, as he strummed the teat, teasing it to erection.

‘Ooooohhhhggghh,’ the heroine moaned. ‘No more…, pl- please.’

‘Crimson Slut, we have only just begun,’ responded the gang member in front of her. With his other hand, he reached down to her nether regions, still damp with her juices and lying exposed where her uniform was cut.

Her moaning grew in intensity as he pushed one, then two fingers into her, searching her interior. His thumb was also active, flicking over her clitoris, the nail rubbing the sensitive sex organ in a way calculated to raise her bliss, if her condition could be called that.

‘Aaaaagggghhhhhttthhh,’ Crimson Flare sputtered weakly. ‘Oohhh, god, please stop.’ There were tears in her voice. She was on the verge of being broken.

‘There are four of us here you haven’t entertained yet, and the others are ready for a second go.’

The heroine looked into the face of her dead friend. Tears filled her own eyes. She knew that she had failed. And if she had failed, that meant that Stacy had failed.

Justin continued to manipulate her. His fingers swept around inside her. He tweaked her blooming flower between thumb and forefinger. Crimson Flare threw her head back and drew her legs up, taking Justin’s hand with her. Too weak to scream, what emerged was a sickly, breathy groan. Under his expert ministrations, she was moments from an orgasm.

‘Uuuuuggghhh.’ Her voice was so weak even the men in front of her could barely hear her. Her legs began to move slowly up and down, her hips circling. This motion accelerated slowly, as her groans and whimpers increased in tempo.

Behind the group, Chan pulled himself up from the floor where he had been attending to the gang leader Cos. The lean pale form of the Norman chieftain was not moving and a pool of blood was visible under his head from the small caliber entrance wound invisible to the others. As he stood, Chan quickly moved to his left to seek protection behind a nearby pillar. He stole a look at them as Crimson Flare’s moans increased in volume until they were loud enough to be heard even by the warlord.

As Justin and the bodyguards stood around her, Crimson Flare’s body finally betrayed her. Beaten, battered, raped, she had maintained her dignity throughout. Now, under the digital ministrations and manipulations of the security chief, the orgasm building within her burst forth with a force she could not have imagined. The rush that seized her body made her shudder violently. Her thighs sought something to wrap around, and her legs stretched straight out from her hips, knees together, booted ankles crossed. Her arms, held behind her head in Bo’s full nelson, reached outward, her gloved fingers extending fully. The shriek which escaped her lungs filled the station.

As the heroine came, her juices literally exploded from inside her. Her first orgasm, the one Karen had feared would cost her her powers, seemed to rip away much of her insides. Her weakness apparent in the face of this intense rapture, she felt her heart thundering inside her. In a gradually diminishing series of pitiful moans, Crimson slowly came to rest, still held aloft in Bo’s grip.

Chan allowed himself a small smile. But it lasted only a moment as a quizzical look came over him. Still, he stayed where he was.

Crimson Flare literally drooped in Bo’s huge arms. At a signal from Justin, he simply dropped her to the floor. She grunted as she struck the tile.

The heroine lay still. The only sign of movement was the rising and falling of her chest and an occasional tremor. She lay on her back, her legs spread, and her arms cruciform. Behind her mask, Justin could see the blank stare of a broken spirit.

‘Let’s see who you are,’ he said, reaching toward her mask.

She made no effort to resist as he pulled the black vinyl from her face. All of the men surrounding the defeated champion peered intently at her.

‘Who the fuck is she?’

‘I don’t know.’ ‘Never seen anyone like that.’ ‘She’s cute, but I don’t know her.’ The responses were all of a piece.

Justin closed the conversation. ‘I guess no one will miss her then.’ There were a few chuckles.

‘Get the camera,’ he ordered, and one of the gang members trotted off. ‘We can make ourselves absolute rulers here. Get a picture of her masked and unmasked, so that there’s no doubt when the pictures are published. And we can show anyone who thinks about standing up to us what will happen to them. Stand her up!’

Two Normans easily lifted the helpless avenger to her feet. Her costume was torn, dried cum covered her face and arms, bruises were visible on the side of her face. Below, at the cut away portion of her costume, lubricant still ran down the insides of her legs, discoloured slightly with blood. Dried cum could also be seen on her legs as well.

Standing unsteadily, she swayed as Justin took his time to measure his target. He unleashed a looping right cross to her cheekbone. The sound of fist on bone echoed in the abandoned hideout. ‘Hurry up with that camera!’ he called, almost as an afterthought.

Crimson Flare was dropped to the floor by the force of the blow. Still conscious, she gazed up into the lights. A trickle of blood appeared at the corner of her left eye.

The man with the camera came running up. For the next few moments, the gang took a series of photos. Crimson Flare had her mask replaced for some of them, removed for others. Then another series allowed each of the gang members to be photographed with America’s Darling in various humiliating postures. At least one of the gang members used his opportunity to actually engage in intercourse with the young, helpless prisoner. She came again, the force of this orgasm equal to the first.

‘So this is a superheroine orgasm,’ he said. ‘It’s much bigger than superheroine breasts.’ More laughter at the defenseless champion’s expense.

Pulled to her feet again, Justin and the gang members took turns pounding the costumed champion. Blow after blow smashed into her face and body, her cunt, her breasts, the back of her head. Staggering around the platform, she seemed powerless to protect herself.

Chan watched in amazement as the battering went on for minutes and despaired for his plan. Until he realised something. The superheroine was absorbing t a horrendous beating, but she was not being knocked off her feet. To the contrary, each successive blow seemed to have a lesser effect than its predecessor.

Justin finally took the torn parts of the sequined costume in his fists, spit into the face of the unresisting heroine, and threw her against the same wall against which the lifeless body of Cos lay. Seeing their unmoving leader, the bodyguards now moved to finish what they had started.

But as she struck the wall, Crimson Flare’s eyes snapped open. The pain of the last week disappeared from her body. The craving for drugs, the throbbing which resulted from the beating, the ache in her sex from her multiple rapes, all were gone. All she felt was the anger at what these men had done, and fear for her life.

She leapt at them.

The surprise that showed on their faces as the superheroine tore into them might have been expected, but not the cries of fear, which accompanied these looks. Even Justin, seeing the bloodied face of his opponent hurdling toward him was so taken aback that he gave vent to a cry. The cry was cut short as Crimson Flare smashed into his throat with a karate chop which crushed his windpipe and larynx, broke his neck and tore his carotid artery. He dropped like a sack.

In turn, each of the bodyguards was dismantled. One had his arm torn out at the shoulder; another received such a powerful blow to the chest that a lung collapsed when a broken rib punctured it. None survived their leader by more than thirty seconds.

The struggle over, the young woman looked over the battlefield. Unmoved by the gore that covered the walls, the floor, and herself, she walked the few paces to where her black vinyl mask lay. She looked down at it, then sat on the platform, fingering the mask delicately. She wasn’t even breathing hard.

She sat there for more than a minute, still not quite comprehending.

‘Welcome, Superheroine.’ It was Chan, now standing behind her.

She turned, but said nothing.

‘The least you can say is “Thank you,” Crimson Flare,’ he said softly, a measure of respect in his voice.

‘Thank you?’

‘I was the catalyst of your victory and your survival. I have been studying you, your activities, your powers, for more than a year now. It seemed your were an immature superheroine. I have spent much money and much effort to get you to blossom.’

Crimson Flare looked up at him, questions racing across her face. She returned her mask to its place.

‘I’m sorry about your friend.’

The heroine’s gaze crossed the platform to where Stacy lay. The dried blood around her was now almost black. She looked back at Chan. ‘What-?-‘

‘I think we can have a very profitable relationship,’ the gang leader said quietly. ‘I can make enough money to help defer your crimefighting expenses, and still live well. And the inheritance your will receive from Stacy’s estate will help cover our expenses.’

‘Our-expenses?’

‘Umm-hmmh.’

‘Am I supposed to say that this looks like the beginning of beautiful friendship?’

‘That would be appropriate. Crimson Flare-I am Pitchblende.’

The End