Cutlass 6 - In The Hands of Catherine Helen Wheel

by Mr. K.

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“You may call me Catherine. Catherine Wheel.”

She smiled as she stood up from behind the piano. The music she was making with nimble fingertips faded as she stood, but she still seemed to move with the tinkling grace of a concerto. She swept the thick blond hair away from her face and over the white, leather shoulder of the suit that she wore. No spandex. No dark and brooding closet full of villain shadows. The light of the chandelier glinted off of her leather as she greeted the two heroines.

“I suppose you’re here to escort me to some prison out in space or to that one in the deepest depths of the ocean,” she said, her hands resting on her hips.

Cutlass crossed her arms across her wide bust. “Something along those lines,” she said.

Mother Night stood on one side of her. Cutlass on the other.

“So many people call me Helen. I simply can’t stand that. It sounds as though they are trying to say ‘Hell on Wheels.’ It’s just so still and jejune. I much prefer being called Catherine Wheel,” she said in a voice that was crisp and sharp on hard syllables, smooth and rippling when her words sank to meet the horizon.

“The torture and execution device,” Mother Night quipped.

“Fitting,” followed up Cutlass.

The woman in white leather – tall, blond and lean – looked at the two women as though they were a pleasant curiosity that had stumbled into her plush apartment.

“As you followed my trail of utterly atrocious deeds to find me here, did it occur to you that I left just the right set of clues to lure just the right heroines up to my penthouse here? I left an icon from your brand of magic,” she smiled, nodding at Cutlass. “And I left an a magical signature up and going like a strobe light – a strobe that only the powerful and mysterious Mother Night could sense.”

She swept her hand to indicate the tall, lead, redhead in the skin-tight black body glove.

“You two got together to come see what I had acquired. And why a fabled city crime boss is now dealing the arcane arts. I’m so glad you came up.”

The two heroines exchanged psychic glances. The woman stood, looked from one to the other, and took a deep breath as she scanned up one lush body and down the other.

“You two are so beautiful. You really are. I wanted to bring you up here to add to my circle of beauty. That’s what I call it. You know, I lured Emerald Shrike up here last night. You know her. She mentioned you two. We had words. She is a feisty one. She has that energy impaling power of hers. She would have killed me if she’d had the chance.”

She looked at their curves again.

“I did to her what I am doing to you. She is chained to my bed now. We are enjoying each other’s company.”

Mother Night raised an eyebrow.

“Doing to us? What ….?”

Her eyes were fixed on Catherine Wheel, across the room, when she heard a sort of crisp hissing in the air beside her, and heard Catherine Wheel whisper in her ear “I have a real thing for redheads.”

Mother Night snapped her head to the right, to look Catherine Wheel in the eyes. She was looking into the eyes of a woman identical to the woman who was across the room. This one, this Catherine in front of her, clutched her face, her jaw, and squeezed her face as though she was a naughty child.

Mother Night’s eyes were wide.

Just then an elegant hand took hold of her hair. As it pulled her head back, giving her a view of the ceiling, as another reached swiftly with a manicured hand and took hold of her right ankle. It yanked her muscular right leg outwards, pulling her off balance. Another identical Catherine loomed up in front of her. She held up her hand, spreading the fingers, turning the hand this way and that. She dropped it down so that it lingered between their two crotches. There was a pause. It slammed itself home between her thighs, curling fingers.

Mother Night’s cunt had thick dangling outer lips. Her labia minora was thick and protruding as well, but the outer lips were the ones that announced themselves in or out of costume. When she was nude, even with her unshaven thicket of red, they protruded and pouted between her muscular thighs. They would swell and they would grow flush with a burgundy flush. When she was in the black second skin that made her Mother Night, they were tucked and they were squeezed just so. They were nestled in the tight sheath and their outline spoke as though they were trying to edge their way through the skin-tight black body glove. They pouted in the distinct cleft of a camel toe.

One of the Catherines grabbed her vulva.

She squeezed and Mother Night screamed. Her head was yanked back and her muscles went into rigid spasm as the Catherines grabbed her from all sides. Her bones, her skin, her vagina all felt as though they were being torn and broken and torn and broken again.

One of them grabbed her breasts, grabbed them and sent that same painful power surging through her. She kneaded them. Mother Night.

“Now, you see my some of my power. My ability to be everywhere at once. Now, you understand. Also, does it feel as though your bones are breaking over and over and over again?”

It was true; where ever Catherine Wheel touched you, your experienced a maelstrom of pain.

Mother Night felt her boots, her feet, leave the floor. The pain made her whole body shake and convulse as they tilted her long legs up into the air. The pain made her shake and scream, as the hand on vulva never released its grip. The pain made Mother Night scream as they held her upside down so that she could see Tina – Cutlass.

“Hug me. Kiss me,” the original Catherine Wheel cooed. She was pulling Cutlass up against her. Both women were large-breasted and curvy. Both were wide in the hips and well-muscled in their sleek, skin-tight second-skin outfits. Their bodies fit together like S-shaped bookends.

Upside down and screaming in agony, Mother Night could see how Catherine Wheel was nuzzling her face into Cutlass’ hair. She was slipping a long, elegant hand up the curve of Cutlass’ waist. She was soothing and cooing as her palm curved to cup the heroine’s right breast.

Cutlass’ eyes were wide. Her mouth worked as though she was trying to form words. She gasped and she panted.

“You are so wet now, aren’t you?”

There was no way Cutlass could answer.

“You see how my powers work. You see why I like being ‘Catherine Wheel’ instead of ‘Helen Wheel.’ I can control the body. I can give you this.”

A blue spark swept Cutlass’ mind. Her whole body shook, and she finally found sound. She screamed as her costume’s crotch was suddenly flooded with her juice. It was hot and, even in her skin-tight costume, it ran down her leg. She felt her clit shudder and her cunt pour itself out. She came with a fury that sent her mind spinning.

Catherine Wheel laughed.

“See, I can give you that, or I can give you this, Tina. I can give you this.”

Now, it was Cutlass turn to feel a blizzard of pain sweep her body. Her skin seemed to bristle and betray her. It was as if her body was desperately trying to disconnect from the painful spirals that were twisting her brain. It was pain in a complete and pure wholeness. Her eyes rolled up in her head.

It felt as though her bones were shattering from the inside out.

If felt as though her back would break.

It felt as though her muscles were trying to free themselves from her bones.

It felt as though her vagina was trying to consume itself.

Catherine Wheel cupped Cutlass’ big breasts. She squeezed them until the heroine saw stars. Stars and a sudden blackness. She squeezed the firm, high mass of Cutlass’ breasts until she was simply Tina screaming in an agony that was ancient and all-consuming.

“I can use you as my little hurt toy, see?”

She stroked her hands down the Tina’s thick thighs, and the heroine collapsed to the shag carpet.

Still screaming in pain, Mother Night watched through blurry vision as Catherine Wheel embraced Cutlass and yanked her up from the floor. She watched as the woman in white wrapped her arms from behind and pulled the woman in black and purple up against her.

Mother Night, still upside down, felt her athletic legs forced further apart. She hissed and cringed as it felt as though they would make a wishbone out of her. The hand that had gripped the outline of her vulva released for a moment, and her body rejoiced.

Her body felt a new energy rise in it until the heat of a woman’s mouth and the edges of teeth sank itself down between her thighs. Her body shook and the hands gripped her tighter as the bite sank itself into her cunt.

Her eyes were squeezed shut. She wouldn’t see the slow moments when Catherine Wheel slid both hands into the wet recesses of Cutlass’ crotch. In her skin-tight purple and black skin sheath, Tina – Cutlass – had a thick camel toe. Catherine let her powers surge as she cupped and squeezed.

“There’s my sweety,” she giggled.

“You have such a pretty pussy!”

She shook the thick, puffy handful.

As Mother Night blacked out she saw Cutlass slowly sliding to the plush carpet.

Catherine crossed one leg over the other. She relaxed. She rested her booted feet. She relaxed. Everything was in place. Everything that needed to be chilled was. Everything that needed to be warmed was warmed. Her staff of professionals never failed to make things perfect for her guests.

As she heard the last tinkling of glasses being set out and silverware being arranged she sipped a glass of wine she had promised herself. She had brought in the beautiful art arrangements that she had promised her guests, and now the evening just needed to unfold.

She crossed and uncrossed and recrossed her ankles again. Cutlass’ back, her whole body was firm and muscular. Still, she provided a soft place to rest her booted feet. On all fours, her head bowed to the carpet, she breathed with a slow and steady rhythm as Catherine Wheel used her as a foot rest.

When she needed to, she would tell her footstool to move this way or that. She wanted to use the rounded gluteus muscles of the submissive heroine at one point.

“Tina, sweetie, rotate this way. There you go.”

The woman called Cutlass was powerless. She did as her new owner said. She shifted her sleek body this way and that. She rotated and shifted, giving Catherine Wheel the small of her back. She raised her ass a bit, creating a little divot, a small scoop into which the blond dominatrix snugly fit her white leather boots.

The woman sipped again.

“You are perfect for this. You are an object. You are a piece of art. You are a piece of art to be shared. I’m very excited for my guest to have their way with you. They will be so jealous that I’ve added you to my collection of beautiful things.”

There a moment of crystal silence, then Catherine Wheel felt moved.

“Thrust your ass up a bit. There you go. I want rest my boot right … there.”

Cutlass moaned. Catherine Wheel adjusted her foot in its designer boot so that it nestled in the cleft between the red-headed heroine’s buttocks. Even through her costume, she could feel Catherine Wheel’s boot moving against her. Even though the purple and black second-skin, she could feel the heel of Catherine Wheel’s boot flirting with the tight pucker of her asshole. Cutlass moaned.

“I love the shape of your ass. Oh! Hang on.”

It only now occurred to Tina, Cutlass, that Catherine Wheel had a cell phone on the table beside her. She took a moment to chit chat with a disembodied voice on the phone.

“Yes, love. Oh, perfect. Yes. I can’t wait to see you. Ta ta!”

She clicked off the phone. “Oh, tonight is going to be splendid. I have so many beautiful people coming tonight. You and your friend in black will be a hit. Now, I won’t be able to touch you if you get out of line and try to ruin my party. I will have my copies wandering about, but I want them busy making the time beautiful for my guests. Do you feel the gift I put in you?”

She did. Tina felt some sort of thick, expansive shape deep in her womb.

“That shape, that object, that you feel up your vagina, is an agonizer. It channels my energy into wherever it is kept. There is one up Mother Night’s cunt also. If you resist, I will focus my mind on her agonizer. Likewise for her. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Just be sure.”

Mother Night could hear Cutlass screaming in a way she had not heard during this ordeal. It was an animal scream. It was as if something human had been ripped away, and only tortured pile of nerves was left.

When the screams died down, and whispered away, there was a silent pause. Catherine Wheel spoke.

“I’m going to hang you up from the ceiling by your hair for free use when my guests get here. You are my free-use treat for them. They will want to torture you and fuck you. They can do what they want. It may get a little messy. That’s ok. I’m putting your friend to work,” she said.

“Mother Night!”she called. Almost immediately, the tall lean heroine called Mother Night entered the room. Her wrists were bound, but she walked freely from room to room. It brought to mind, for her, how a habitat can be created for a captive animal. It can roam, but never go anywhere. This posh apartment was her home now.

“Mother Night, you will serve my guests when they come. They will need hors d’oeuvres and drinks. You will be handling that. You will also be free use. I have some guests who will be interested in our mouth. You understand?”

“Yes ma’am.”

When the first guests came, Mother Night was kneeling. Her back was straight, her posture taking and almost military bearing. Her shoulders were rolled back and her large breasts were thrust forward. A gleaming semicircle of silver had been careful laid on her shoulders. It was flat and wide.

She wore it like a collar. It held champagne glasses.

Mother Night kept herself perfectly still as guest after guest passed by and took their fill.

When the time was right, Mother Night crawled with a tray secured to her back. It was covered with another round, and another round of drinks. All the while, she could see Cutlass.

The curves of the redhead in purple and black dangled from an eye hook on the ceiling. She was tightly criss-crossed with chains. Her hair formed the rope.

“Free use, everyone!”

When it was time to entertain the guests, Mother Night decorated the top of the piano. With her black costume and striking red hair, she was beauty in contrast.

The evening went on to the wee hours.

Both women remembered their captivity in the hand of Catherine Wheel as Hexx continued her tale.

“There was also … some sort of cowboy dude.”

Mother Night raised an eyebrow.

“The Horseman.”