The Disposal Section

Photomanips by Piston Thorn. Caption by Mr. K.

Abe looked across her to see what Seth was doing. Seth was always the most expressive of them. At moments like this, late-night moments like this, Seth was often wired. He would head bang along with the radio if something hard was on. He would chain smoke. He would rant against whichever “super bitch” they had in the car with them that night.

“This cunt thought she was so much! So bad!” he said back when they had Lone Star chained up between them in the back of the car. When they had Gold unconscious in the trunk, he drank from flask and cheered himself. “Did you see how I beat that slut?” he laughed.

Now, sitting with the unconscious Graviton between them, revisited that story of their defeat of Gold. He recounted how The Frequency had shut down her powers, and how they had all pounced on her. Greta had kicked her in the ribs while Abe had grabbed handfuls of her hair. Seth had punched her across the face. Once she went down, all of them grabbed a piece. Greta had used her long fingers to grab into the fallen heroine’s vulva while the two men bit her big breasts. They all laughed at how much fun it was to choke and smother Gold until she was a long, unconscious blond stretched out on the floor.

“Remember how we had her bent over and clamped down in the basement. Bent over backwards?”

Everyone in the car laughed, remembering how Gold was folded into a knot on the floor, bound over a series of bars that were mounted to the dungeon floor. The Frequency poured its power into her sex. With her head flung back, screamed out orgasm after orgasm.

“And now, this bitch,” Greta laughed from behind the wheel. She was always the driver when it came to disposal time.

“So, she came how many times?” Abe asked.

“The boss said that The Frequency made her cum more times than he could count, really. The Frequency knocked her out, sapped her powers and after that, he used it to make her cum over and over and over.”

“And that broke her.”

“That broke her.”

Abe reached over, took a handful of sodden, blonde hair and used it to tilt back the head of the unconscious woman seated between them. Her hair was soaked and tangled. They had seen to that. When they went to untie her from the chair, they had stopped midway and just looked at the gorgeous scene. The purple tights and yellow stocking boots of her costume were slick with her redolent wetness.

It formed a wide puddle on the floor. It dripped from the edge of the chair to which she was tied. When they did as ordered, untying her, they delighted in letting the masked woman slump out of the seat and tumble into her own juice.

Seth and done what he always enjoyed doing with captive heroines: He ripped off her mask. It was the type that was joined to the rest of her second-skin costume. It was also some sort of breathable PVC. He pushed his thumbs up the contours of her face, her cheeks, and up under the material of the mask. His fingers curled, and he pulled and yanked until the purple material stretched and finally tore. It came apart like a purple web between his fingers.

“Theeere we go!”

Just like he’d done with Lone Star and Ms. Freedom, he delighted in tearing off the anonymity of these super women. For Ms. Freedom, once he’d ripped it from the rest of her costume, he stuffed it in her mouth and taped it there as a gag. For Lone Star, because they’d already torn out the crotch of her costume, he stuffed it into her sex. With two fingers he stuffed it deeper and deeper until it seemed consumed by her vulva.

Now that he was getting a look at the Hollywood features of Graviton – her delicate turned-up nose, her high cheek bones – he had a different impulse. He wadded it in his hands and pressed it down into the briny woman spunk on the floor. The torn mask grew thick and heavy with juice as he swabbed it left and right, turned it over and swabbed it again against the juice on the floor.

As he turned and cleaned the chair with it, the other henchman, Abe, took a handful of blond hair and did the same, pulling Graviton’s head from side to side as he cleaned the puddle with her blond tresses. He twisted the blondness in two fists and soaked in the juices that had shot out of her. Graviton’s limp body rolled and shifted in their grips, ending up face-down on the floor.

Abe turned her head so that she could breathe.

“Cleaned up your mess.”

Now, the woman sat between them in the car, still knocked out. Her mouth was stuffed with her pussy-soaked mask. Her nipples were hard. Her eyes were closed.

“That broke her,” he repeated. “That broke her, and The Frequency finished knocking her out. She’ll be out for hours and hours. Maybe days.”

“And we aren’t killing this one either?”

“Remember, we are teachers. We aren’t killers. We are teachers.”

 

Now, the car slowed, Seth reached over and took hold of the hair on top her head. Graviton’s head had, again, sagged forward, tangled, wet hair shrouding her face. It was soaked and sticky, clinging to her skin and reaching down across her yellow and blue costume in lazy, drunken tendrils. Seth pulled her head up and smiled at her stuffed mouth, and her hard nipples.

“Sex coma.”

 

Moonlight was fractured by the trees in spot that they picked. It was the shoulder of a mountain road, deep in the woods. It overlooked a quarry that had been there since the Great Depression. As the car slowed, Abe laughed about how different this was from when they had Scorpio.

“I had my finger up her ass the whole ride,” one laughed.

When the car stopped. The one on the right, Abe, opened his door, stepping out and letting Graviton slump to one side. Seth pushed her out.

The Greta came around and all three laughed as they made a circle around the prone woman. Greta had made it a point to do what she always did when it came to a “disposal.” She wore high leather boots and a next-to-nothing leather skirt. That made it easier for her to squat over the face of the fallen woman and start frantically stroking her folds. Her two male compatriots already had their cocks in-hand and were stroking. Just as her cunt began gushing down on Graviton’s face, streams of pearly whiteness leapt out of them.

All three henchpeople groaned and cried out as the christened Graviton’s unconscious form.

She lay mute, conscious, and unmoving on the shoulder of a deserted road. She lay in the dirt, covered in sunk and womanjuice as the three got back in their car and drove away.

“Lesson learned,” laughed Abe.