Crimson Flare writhed in exquisite anguish, her body alternately twisting, squirming, gyrating, and bouncing to the accompaniment of the most sensual moans she could have produced. Officers Westbrook and Blakeman stood in shocked silence upon entering the vault, staring down at the figure as she coiled and uncoiled before their eyes. The heroine’s finely honed muscles stretched and contracted under a smooth, dry skin as she debased her own honour in a decadent search for sybaritic pleasure.
The heroine was totally unaware of their presence, as she focused all her attention inwardly, reveling in the ecstasy that thrilled her, beginning in a deep pit in her groin and extending outward in all directions. She was only concerned with the sensations that poured from that dissolute well; that those sensations should thrill her sexual areas, thrill her entire nervous system; and carry her into a higher and higher ecstasy. It thrilled across the muscles and nerves of her thighs, taking the strength from her powerful body. Those round, smooth, well-developed extremities were frequently commented upon by her admirers as the most enticing and engaging feature of the avenger. But now they rubbed and pressed together and the feelings that enveloped them only had as a goal the sustenance of the delight that raced through every sinew and nerve in her body.
A flash bulb exploded the fixation on the twisting Champion of Women as a photographer from the Daily Plaudit snapped a shot of the bared, helpless heroine on the floor. Officer Blakeman turned on the small photographer in a fury, grabbing the camera from his hands and smashing it against the metal wall. The policewoman was another of those who, like Lynn Simms, had undertaken a new role in the community because of the crimson-clad heroine. She grabbed the back of his shirt and, faster than he could say ‘First Amendment!’, pitched him back through the doorway through which they had just passed. Blakeman positioned herself squarely in the doorframe, blocking the view of the reporters who had accompanied the officers.
‘This is a crime scene!’ she announced. ‘You gentlemen will have to leave and wait for a briefing that will follow!’ Her partner, Officer Westbrook, looked at her in momentary shock, then, understanding, began to herd the grumbling reporters from the doorway and down the hall.
Left alone in the vault, Maria Blakeman stooped beside the quivering heroine and began to remove the ropes that bound her. As the policewoman’s hand gripped the masked heroine’s bare upper arm near her shoulder, Crimson Flare gasped, her breath catching noisily, and then she moaned loudly. Maria recognised the exhausted sounds of an orgasm tearing away at the poor woman in front of her. The heroine twisted pathetically on the floor, desperately trying to bury her face in the body of the officer trying to help her, and, at the same time, she used the twisting of her hips to drive the probe inside her against the walls of her vagina. Maria heard the sobs and felt the powerful muscles convulse and spasm. Crimson Flare was cumming again. Involuntarily, Maria glanced down at the violently twisting hips, where the juices had stained the previously colourless tights; but for the sequins that covered her costume, she had no doubt that the dark tide would include the familiar uniform.
Maria Blakeman pulled the sexually devastated heroine’s head into her, holding her in her arms. Gently, with her free hand, she slowly undid the knots, one by one, never releasing the hapless heroine from the security of her embrace.
Crimson Flare held the dildo between her fingers, watching her honey roll down the object toward her satin-gloved fingertips. Although she now had recovered her strength, she was still shaken as a result of the effects of her recent bout with this probe. The Champion sighed heavily, dropping her hand to her side; her head slumped to her chest. The strong arms of the policewoman steadied her swaying body. Despite the cold of the refrigerated vault, Maria noticed how Crimson Flare’s arms were now clammy with sweat. The Maid of Mitropoulos had said not a word once the last of the ropes has been taken from her. Immediately after that had been accomplished, the crimson uniform had quickly been pushed down off her hips; the stained tights had followed and Officer Blakeman was shocked when the six-inch-long dildo was pulled from inside her.
Still on her knees, Crimson Flare dropped the object in disgust and modestly dressed herself. Crimson tried very hard to avoid showing any sign of the aftereffects of her trial. She moved deliberately, planting her boot firmly before pushing herself to her feet. As she stood, she brought all of her muscles into play to avoid staggering or swaying.
‘Are you all right?’ the policewoman asked. She hadn’t been completely convinced by the performance.
Honesty won out over image. ‘I think so,’ Crimson Flare said softly. ‘At least, I’ve got full control over my… faculties.’ Honesty only went so far. She couldn’t bring herself to say ‘body’, which is what she meant.
‘You shouldn’t have to face the media,’ Maria said. ‘But I need your statement for my report. You can go out the back door, but I want to know where I can get in touch with you.’
‘I can come to the precinct station when you’ll be there.’
After a pause, Maria said, ‘No. There are some cops there who don’t appreciate everything you do. When word of how we found you gets around, and it will get around, I’m sure they’ll be waiting to slap your face with it. They think a woman….’
Crimson Flare’s glance stopped the policewoman. She had had to deal with this consistently. The Savoyards, the Normans, JoJo, Ape—almost all the enemies she had faced—had all shown that they hated her less for her crimefighting efforts (and the successes she had enjoyed) and more because she was a woman. Now she learned that this hatred was present among the police, too. The beautiful Champion of Mitropoulos felt her heart fall to the pit of her stomach. She murmured finally, ‘Oh, all right. I know.’
‘Can you meet me in an hour at the Good Shepherd Hospital?’
That was where Karen worked. She simply answered ‘Yes,’ and, with that, the Maiden of Mitropoulos took a step from the vault and made her way to the rear exit. Her phenomenal strength had been restored and she again moved with her usual ease and grace. Maria stared after her with admiration and fear: Admiration for her strength and her ability to inspire; fear for her safety.
Crimson Flare was back in Karen’s apartment in a matter of moments. They were long moments for the Champion as she sped through the streets of Mitropoulos just as the rising sun was brightening the eastern sky. She avoided contact with any of the city’s nocturnal denizens. As she pushed open the door, Lynn was waiting.
The smile on Lynn’s face was wiped away the instant Karen removed her mask. The bluish bruise on the side of her head was still in evidence; the redness around her eyes had not vanished with the removal of the dildo. When Karen saw her blonde roommate, she burst anew into tears and Lynn rushed to embrace her friend.
‘Oh, Lynn, it was terrible. I have never been so frightened! I couldn’t control anything! I had no strength! It was like someone else was controlling everything!’
Lynn led the sobbing heroine across the room to the sofa and laid her down. The blonde nestled herself underneath her head, still covered in the vinyl cowl. As the heroine recounted the evening’s events, her friend slowly removed the black vinyl and began to smooth the short, matted hair beneath it.
When Karen reached the point of recounting Ape’s appearance at the fur salon, Lynn felt fear grip her insides. Her caresses extended down the face of her friend as she gently brushed her jaw line from the point of her chin all the way back up to her ear. When a tear rolled from her reddened eye, the athletic blonde carefully wiped it away. She gently brushed the bruise on the side of her face. Lynn noticed the remains of a bruise, a duplicate of the one on the side of Karen’s unmasked face, on the heroine’s bare arm. She knew from Karen’s description that similar marks would be found on her back and chest. From Karen’s tone and the pitch of her voice, Lynn could tell that Mitropoulos’ Champion was still feeling the pain and humiliation of her defeat.
Although she retrieved the memory only in bits and pieces, as she had drifted in and out of consciousness during her ordeal, the painful memory of Ape pulling off her costume, revealing her chest, came through in a vast wash of torment. Karen explained that Ape had tied her wrists, and, as soon as that had begun, weakness! —and not simply a loss of strength—had flowed across her and the unconsciousness in fact became less frequent, as if the sensation had excited her. She described how he roughly pulled her to her feet, restraining her by holding her arms; she only watched as Nancy pulled her uniform away from her sex and inserted the dildo she had taken from the black bag that Karen remembered from the MacLeod-Slaughter mansion. Karen told her friend how good it felt. Then, when she had been hogtied, the powerlessness worked on her psyche and fulfilled her fantasies of vulnerability.
It was long minutes before the devastated heroine could speak again. ‘I’m supposed to go to the hospital to meet the policewoman who’s making out the report.’
‘When?’
Karen turned toward the clock. She sighed when she saw the time. ‘In about ten minutes.’ She felt the tears welling up in her again. ‘I don’t know whether I can wear my costume outside again.’
‘That’s what Nancy is counting on. She wants to destroy you. Killing you is secondary.’
‘That sounds like a college psychology major.’
‘You said that they could have killed you. If they wanted to kill you, they would have. But Nancy stopped Ape. She has other plans. And that is a college psychology major talking: Twelve hours of abnormal and criminal psychology. I use it every day in my work.’
Karen sat up. She reached into her ear and removed the crushed sensor-transmitter. As she stared at the failed earpiece, she rolled it around on the palm of her satin-gloved hand. ‘This worked, at least until Ape smashed it. I need to find something that can’t be broken. I…’ she paused and took a deep breath, ‘can’t be broken again.’ She tipped her hand and dropped the miniature device to the floor. ‘I can’t be broken again.’
When Karen stood up, Lynn’s eyes followed her. As the young blonde stared up at her friend, she realised how stunning a figure Crimson Flare was! The skin-tight sequined costume showed every nook and crevice in her body; her breasts, though small, became perfectly rounded mounds beneath that body-hugging spandex, reflecting the light from around the room; the colourless tights glinting as they showed off the perfection of her legs; and the highly-polished leather of her black boots flashing as she walked. And packed into that body was the strength of a dozen men. No wonder Crimson Flare was the talk of Mitropoulos!
‘I have to go.’
Officer Blakeman sat in a patrol car in the parking lot at the hospital. Crimson Flare found her with no difficulty and knocked on the glass on the passenger side of the vehicle. The policewoman gestured for the masked heroine to take a seat with her. When the door had been closed, the two women sat quietly for a moment.
‘How are you? You seemed so badly battered when we found you, I was surprised you were able to walk from the room under your own power.’
‘My body heals wounds quickly. I guess I can recover from any kind of mistreatment equally quickly,’ Crimson Flare replied evenly. ‘What do you need for your report?’ She didn’t think she would feel uncomfortable, but she was disturbed by the circumstances of this meeting.
Maria wasn’t ready to make the visit official yet. She was worried about the small figure sitting next to her. She cast a furtive glance at the discoloured tights that stretched downward from her crotch, the result of the orgasms dragged from her during her ordeal. ‘I shouldn’t ask what happened. But I have to know. I’m worried about your well-being. Can’t you tell me anything about what was going on?’
‘There are a couple of criminals who are trying to… destroy me.’ As soon as she said it, the Maid of Mitropoulos knew how it sounded. ‘They want to kill me, like any criminal in Mitropoulos,’ she hastened to add, ‘but this woman—Nancy, I don’t know her last name—wants to humiliate me, to destroy my reputation. She’s treating it as if she had a personal vendetta against me. And she’s using Ape Greystook as her tool to do it.’
‘Ape Greystook? He’s back?’
‘After some time in a Colombian prison. He’s combined the remnants of the Savoyards and the Normans into a new gang. He seems to be trying to establish himself as a drug lord. A few nights ago, at the MacLeod-Slaughter Mansion, I intercepted his first shipment. Now he’s in debt.’
‘Was that the night the city went crazy with crimes? I remember cops all over town were scared out of their minds.’
‘That was the night. It was all to cover the delivery of the drugs.’
‘There were a lot of cops who wondered where you were. So you were at the mansion stopping the delivery. But how does this relate to where we found you last night?’
Crimson Flare paused. She didn’t want to confide in a stranger what had happened at the mansion. She finally said, ‘When I went to the mansion, I lost my baton. Last night, I was trying to get it back.’
Maria reached down past the tense Champion to the floor of the vehicle. ‘Here it is.’ She handed the heroine the two-and-a-half-foot long rod. Crimson gratefully took the weapon from her.
‘Did they use it against you last night?’ Maria tried to imagine the power of the baton turned against a person, even a superheroine.
‘They tried to. But when Ape surprised me and beat me, that was how I got in that condition.’ She was relieved that she wasn’t required to reveal any more. It was true that Ape had surprised her, but she had wound up in the condition the police had discovered her through a more wrenching set of circumstances. She couldn’t tell the policeman about her weakness resulting from bondage, even though word of that was evidently already getting around Mitropoulos’ underworld. She had known that for some time. This new weakness, the weakness she so enjoyed, was different. It was different because it came upon her when her strength was snatched from her by bondage. When she had her strength, the ecstasy was in check, though she could still feel it tickling her, reaching out from the darkness in her own psyche to titillate her, to offer the promise of bliss. All she had to do was allow herself to be bound!
Satisfied, Officer Blakeman took Crimson Flare’s statement for her report on the break-in at Venable’s. When they were through, Crimson Flare heaved a deep sigh. ‘How…?’ she began.
After a moment, Maria turned toward her heroine inquiringly. The heroine’s green eyes were frightened behind her mask. ‘How many police…’ she said slowly, ‘how many… want to…’ She stopped, not knowing how to finish the question. She was remembering why Maria had asked her to meet her here, rather than at the station.
‘How many police want to see you defeated, maybe even dead?’
Crimson Flare nodded.
‘Not many. Not even a lot. But they’re vocal. Every time you wrap up a criminal, they talk about how you’re showboating, that you don’t understand what real police have to do. The other night, when you were at the mansion and we didn’t know where you were, one guy said that you were scared of real police work and that was why you weren’t helping.’ Maria was feeling anger herself now. ‘They talk about how, just once, you need to have your ass kicked; how they’d like to see you get—’ she stopped short.
‘Say it,’ the heroine said.
‘No.’
‘—fucked,’ the avenger said quietly.
Without another word, Crimson Flare exited the car and quickly disappeared.
Lynn was waiting when Karen returned. She could tell that the heroine had not been cheered by her meeting with the policewoman.
As soon as she was inside the apartment, Karen was throwing off her uniform. Her bruised body stood naked in the living room, as she pulled off her black leather boots and then the stained, dishonoured tights. The deep bluish-black of the bruises on her body was already fading at the edges, while the depth of the discolouration on the side of her head was already visibly lessened.
The blonde girl knew that she would have to compose her friend following whatever had occurred in the meeting. But she was unprepared for the combination of despair and fury that spilled out as the frustrated heroine told her about the police. The one bright spot Crimson Flare had always held, the single belief that had always reconciled her to the dangers and degradations that were part of what she did, was the trust that the police appreciated her effort and contribution, that there was unanimity there about the worthiness of her efforts.
‘And now THIS… has happened to me and there are police who are overjoyed by the defeat and humiliation that Crimson Flare is suffering. Why have I got myself into this? Everything is falling apart! Stacy and I wanted to do Good. We wanted to make the city a better place. Now Stacy is dead. And I’ve become… become….’
Her friend wanted to say something to help, but there seemed nothing left to say. Lynn had taken on Stacy’s role of reassuring Karen about the value of Crimson Flare’s work, but a large part of that argument had centered on the support of the police. Now that case had been undermined by some Neanderthals among them. And the most valuable ally the police had may be lost.
‘…and I’ve become….’ Karen was speaking more softly now, but there was no lessening of her emotion. ‘I’ve become a… sex maniac. I live for the sensations of sex. Whenever I am not experiencing that kind of thrill, I want only to reach those heights again. Only my great strength keeps me in check. But when I’m bound, that strength is gone, and the desire takes over. There are even times I want to be bound, just so I can find that pleasure again.
‘What will I do?’ Her shoulders had slumped, and her small form seemed smaller than ever. ‘I can’t… I can’t… I can’t be Crimson Flare… any more.’
‘Karen, even if…’ Lynn was struggling to make sense to her friend. ‘Even if you… aren’t Crimson Flare ever again, you have to get better. You can’t go through the rest of your life like that. That road leads nowhere.’
Karen looked at her friend. ‘I’ve thought of that.’ The blank, depressed stare that covered her usually shining green eyes told Lynn all she needed to know.
‘You got your baton back,’ Lynn changed the subject.
‘Yes, the officer returned it. At least, it won’t be used to break open any more security doors.’
Lynn put her arm around the shoulders of her friend. ‘Why don’t you get some sleep. I’ll call Professor Brayfield and see what he can tell me about the investigations he’s been carrying on.’ Now she decided to take a chance. ‘Do you think you would be willing to go to see him? He’s one of the best in his field, and he had serious doubts about the earpiece anyway. Would you see him as Crimson Flare?’
Dr. Bill Brayfield stared longingly at the heroine who sat in front of him. He watched as her legs entwined and released, reflecting her nervousness and, he suspected, her pent-up sexuality; the sound of her tights rustling against the soft leather of his couch added to the stimuli distracting him as he attempted to understand the young girl’s problem.
‘So, until you lost your virginity you had complete control over your strength and your sexual desires; and your sex drive was not an impediment to your mission as you saw it?’ he asked, choosing his words carefully.
‘That’s right, Doctor Brayfield. I was strung out on drugs while I was held captive in the subway. Then to pay for the drugs I wanted, the gang made me serve as their prostitute.’ Crimson Flare spoke quietly, ashamed. ‘But,’ she added quickly, ‘once I was freed from my bonds and my strength came into play, the desire for the drugs was quickly defeated.’
‘And that desire has not returned.’
‘And that desire has not returned,’ she repeated, quietly, but with a measure of pride.
‘Has sex become your drug of choice?’
Crimson Flare was taken aback by the question. She had not thought of her condition in those terms. She was so proud of her seemingly easy victory over the drugs introduced during her time of trial that she had not seen the two events—drug dependence and loss of virginity—as related.
‘I—I called myself… a… sex maniac… a few days ago. Maybe… I… am.’
‘Every drug dependency has a trigger,’ the Professor said, leaning forward in his chair. ‘What triggers the demand in you?’ He already knew the answer.
The heroine’s eyes burned as she fought to maintain control. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt a tear roll down her right cheek. ‘What can I do?’ she almost whispered.
‘Trust me.’
Crimson Flare shot a hard look directly at the doctor. She had not trusted anyone totally—totally—since Stacey had died. She had not revealed herself fully even to Lynn, who had come to replace her late friend in so many ways.
Brayfield stood up and extended his arms. ‘You’ll have to put yourself entirely in my hands.’
‘I don’t know if I can do that, Doctor.’
‘You will have to. I think I know a way out of your dilemma.’ He noted the quizzical look behind her mask and smiled. ‘It’s more philosophical than medical. But it’s predicated on the fact that it wasn’t the loss of your virginity that triggered your current situation. You have studied martial arts?’
‘Yes, I have.’
‘Well, then you know how to fight someone with greater strength. The strength of this… dependency… is growing, isn’t it? It is becoming more and more difficult to resist,’ he said, thinking of her beguiling, entwining, legs, ‘isn’t it?’
She sighed. ‘Yes.’
‘It won’t be long before your strength will not be able to save you from its effects. But in jiu-jitsu and other martial arts, aren’t you taught to use your opponent’s strength against him?’ He saw the light go on behind her deep green eyes. ‘Move at your enemy’s strength, rather than trying to avoid it. This condition arose when you were physically addicted to drugs, while you were in a physically weakened condition. As long as that addiction and weakness were present, you didn’t experience the dependency on sex. But, as I said, your dependency isn’t about the loss of your virginity, or simply having sex. What you seek, from what you’ve said, is the orgasm. That’s the rush that you formerly got from taking drugs. And that rush…’ he smiled, ‘was accomplished as a result of your physical weakness.’
Crimson Flare smiled at the professor’s explanation, but the smile disappeared as he continued.
‘I will have to bind you,’ he half-smiled inwardly at that prospect, ‘and then re-introduce the drug addiction. And once we have that condition re-created, then we can remove both of the cravings. It’s like going back to the point in time where it was born, and killing it in the cradle.’
Crimson Flare remembered the dependency on the drugs. She remembered, faintly, vaguely, how she had debased herself for money. She remembered the mockery of the Normans, of Chan and Cos; she remembered the pain she felt when she didn’t have enough money to buy drugs. She saw herself moving around the subway station, her hands bound, trying to get money by offering sex. She felt her heart pounding in her chest as she realised that she would have to re-live those days. ‘How long?’
‘It will take longer to re-create your drug dependency than it will to break you of the hold of both of these terrors. The last time, from what you have told me, it lasted about a week, more or less. It should be about the same.
‘If you want, I can have Lynn here to help you through it.’
‘That would be… nice.’ She hated herself for using such a pitiful word for what Lynn would do.
Crimson Flare was naked except for her mask. Lynn was sitting next to her bed at the Doctor’s apartment. Lynn asked that her friend’s identity be kept secret, so the black vinyl protecting her face remained in place even though the remainder of her familiar uniform had been removed.
The heroine was bathed in sweat. It poured off her soaking the sheets that lay beneath her. Soft, padded straps running across her shoulders, hips, and just above her knees secured her body to the mattress. At her ankles were leather bondage devices that held her extremities securely but gently in place, spreading her legs obscenely on top of the bed. Her wrists were bound by soft ropes and, right now, they lay discretely on top of her dark brown muff. At the crook of her left elbow, the track marks had returned to mar the pristine beauty of her flawless skin. A week of drug use, intensely monitored by both Dr. Brayfield and her friend, had created an intense craving that had led to both the sweats and the periodic shaking that wracked her body. Lynn had remained constantly with her throughout the ordeal, the professor only entering the bedroom to check on the physical condition and to administer the carefully measured doses.
Brayfield had told Lynn that the lights in the room should be kept dim, in order that the Champion’s stimulation be minimised. He took advantage of this condition to observe the agony of the Maid of Mitropoulos through a small hole in the wall from his own bedroom, next door. It had been a long time since he had had a woman at his apartment and even longer since one had been in his bed. To have one so desirable, so venerated, and so beautiful was beyond his wildest dreams. To see her naked gave him an opportunity to vent his frustrations.
When Crimson had been returned to the physical dependence on the drugs, Dr. Brayfield began the careful process of treatment: a combination of hypnosis, injections, and massage therapy. This was coupled with the periodic untying of her wrists, so that her strength returned to overwhelm the desire for a fix. But then a return to bondage allowed for a residue of the power of the addiction to continually return, but not so strong with each application. It would be fortified by a fresh, but gradually decreasing, injection of drugs. This menu of treatment eventually achieved what Dr. Brayfield had hypothesised was possible. He weaned his heroic charge from her multiple dependences.
‘You need to get some rest, Lynn. You’ve only had about two hours’ sleep a night for the past eight days. You are absolutely exhausted.’ Professor Bill Brayfield spoke soothingly to his former student. She was in no condition to defy the man who was both her mentor and her friend. ‘Crimson Flare is almost out of the woods. She’ll sleep for another few hours, so why shouldn’t you do so, also? If she wakes up sooner, I’ll call you. I know you want to be here when I untie her wrists for the last time.’ Wearily, the young blonde nodded. ‘Here. When you get home take just one of these—’ he handed her a tiny white paper envelope containing a weak sedative—‘and you’ll fall asleep immediately. You’ll sleep for several hours. When you wake up, come back here and we can wake her together. I’m sure she’ll need to see you when she comes out of her delirium.’ Lynn didn’t resist as the doctor almost pushed her out the door.
No sooner had the door slammed, Brayfield was moving quickly to the guest bedroom that was the quarters of Mitropoulos’ beautiful Champion. He stepped through the door and stared at her smooth, unmoving body, still lying on her back on his bed—on his bed. He already had his shirt unbuttoned and was tearing it from his pudgy torso. ‘You don’t know how I have dreamed of this, dearest Crimson. You’ll never know.’
In the dim light, her petite form shone. The straps that had previously restrained her shoulders, hips and knees had been removed. All that remained of her familiar costume was the black vinyl mask that covered the upper half of her face; even the shiny cowl had been removed, revealing her short, twisted shocks of dark brown hair. Behind the mask her eyes were closed. Her mouth was slightly opened, her breathing smooth but deep. The torments of the previous days had taken their toll. Her petite form looked even smaller than usual. She lay flat on her back, her head supported by the Professor’s small pillows. Her shoulders, lying still below her head were aligned in a smooth arch. Her small breasts jutted upward from her chest; in the near-darkness of the bedroom, the colour of her nipples and aureole were barely distinguishable from her tanned torso. The movement of her breathing expanded her chest noticeably, and he watched her flesh tighten just below her rib cage as her chest rose and fell. Brayfield’s penis filled and elevated when he got to her hips, a sheer miracle of construction: round, smooth, and muscular. At their base, in the centre, the tuft of dark brown hair hid the object of his anticipation. Sitting on top of this miracle of nature were her bound hands, bared now, crimson satin gloves tossed aside with her costume. Just above the angle created by the bound wrists her tiny navel peered up at him. Just below the unmoving fingers (he noticed how short the nails were; he was sure that she bit them, a sign of her insecurity), another angle was formed by her spread thighs, the lines of her legs determined by the bondage wrappings at her ankles that secured her to the bed.
With her wrists bound, she was powerless. Unconscious, she was unaware of his presence. Naked, and with her legs spread, she was accessible, asking for it. And masked, she was anonymous. The psychologist understood the full implications of his lust. He was not about to disappoint her.
‘No, you’ll never know.’ He fumbled with his belt. ‘All my life, I’ve wanted to have the beautiful girl. They liked to talk to me, they laughed at my jokes. They liked to be with me. But they never went out with me. They never would let me touch them.’ He stopped his tearing and fumbling and stood over the unmoving heroine. He reached down and passed his fingertips over her belly, gently brushing across her forearms and then the inside of her left thigh. ‘But you’re different, aren’t you?
‘You understand what it’s like to be the outcast.’ He pressed his hand upward on her sex, his middle finger seeking entry to her. She was dry inside, and his finger only penetrated as far as the first knuckle before the rough interior barred further movement. ‘You will be grateful to me. I’ve beaten back the very sexuality of your body, I’ve returned control of your body to you.’ He smiled. ‘What reward will you offer me? Your thanks?
‘Actually, my beautiful heroine, we’d reached this point two days ago,’ he confided. ‘The last forty-eight hours have been just for show.
‘My beautiful heroine,’ he chuckled. ‘I’ll bet you weren’t beautiful until you became a heroine. You understand the mask and the costume very well, don’t you, Crimson Flare? The mystery, the aura of virginity unsullied, the appeal of a powerful woman: you know how to use these.’ He raised her from the bed, so that the unconscious crimefighter now sat awkwardly with her legs spread, her ankles secured in the bondage devices near the corners of the mattress. Her head slumped toward her chest and her bound hands dropped to the mattress, coming to rest directly in front of her most private reserve.
‘My beautiful heroine.’ Brayfield sensed the opportunity to find the area that had frequently been denied to him by other women and reached his middle finger toward her vagina, pushing her bound hands out of the way. He began stroking her hidden clitoris, trying to encourage it to bud under what he thought were gentle ministrations. He eased himself next to her, so that he whispered into her uncovered ear. ‘You understand me; you know the sense of being different. You understand how difficult it is to conform when you know that you’re different from everyone else. How did you hide your secret from prying eyes and wagging tongues, hmmmh?’ The attack on the unyielding blossom was harsher now, discomfort even showing through her unconscious visage. A small groan escaped her lips.
Brayfield immediately pulled back. ‘Oh, no, Beautiful. I won’t hurt you. You know I won’t hurt you.’ He removed his finger from inside her. ‘But you want me to do this. I know. You want to offer your thanks in the only way a real woman can. He reached down to her nearer ankle and easily pulled the bondage wrap free. Then, he pushed on her thigh, so that the leg extended directly to the front of Mitropoulos’ Champion. He admired the round smoothness of the thigh and the even sculptured functionalism of the knee. He kept his hand on her thigh for a long time as he absorbed the silky feel of the skin. He slid his hand underneath the leg and then moved it toward his own body, so that his fingers once again found the entry to her. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, for a second time the Psychology Professor manipulated the roseate organ he found there. Plucking the clit like the string of a harp, he felt her unconscious body shudder in his embrace.
‘That’s the way, Beautiful. Give yourself to me.’ Her head lolled back and her tanned, perfect throat opened itself before him. Gently, he placed his lips along the pulsing carotid artery, and he kissed her, softly. ‘Oh, my darling,’ he whispered.
His fingers were working more diligently now, opening her. He could feel her honey begin its lubrication to smooth and facilitate the movement. His fingers were not so dexterous as they had once been, years ago, but as his ring finger penetrated the heroine, he heard a soft sigh mixed with a moan. ‘Beautiful,’ he whispered. Pressing his two fingers in and out of Mitropoulos’ heroic Maiden, the pungent smell of her sex swelled around his nostrils. As the two digits circled inside her sex, he felt the smooth slipperiness invite him to go deeper. ‘Yes,’ he said into her ear, so softly it was almost like a breath moving across a pond. ‘Yes, it’s what we both want.’ He removed his hand and laid her back down on the bed. By this time his member had swollen to full size, painfully overreaching its own genetic limits. His balls ached as he brought Crimson Flare’s inner perfume to his nostrils. He rubbed the still-damp fingers on his upper lip and flicked his tongue to the fingers, tasting the acrid fluid. ‘Everything about you is heavenly, my dear superheroine,’ he confided.
Her body lay twisted on the bed, her right ankle still secured by the bondage wrapping to the lower corner of the bed, and her torso curved in the shape of a ‘C’ toward the upper part of the Queen-sized mattress. Her shapely left leg went off at a tangent from her hips forming, now, a 45° angle with the bound leg. The shadow he saw between her legs was enticing.
‘You won’t mind, dear.’ Brayfield was whispering anxiously now. ‘Together, we’ve beaten your demons. You won’t have the desire for helplessness that almost destroyed you. And that was because of your faith in me. You owe me much more than your thanks. I should get the reward that every knight in shining armour deserves.’ He moved to a seated position at the entrance to her sex. Placing his hands on top of the heroine’s hips, he began to slowly rock to and fro as he spoke more and more agitatedly to her.
Leaning forward, he placed the side of his face against her chest, gently rubbing back and forth against her, listening to her heart, kissing and licking her breast. The psychologist next rose and placed himself at her entrance, at the same time reaching down to remove the final fur-padded leather wrap from her ankle. That accomplished, he looked at her masked face, and in it he saw all the loves of his life. ‘Barbara,’ he murmured, and he placed his hands on her upper arms. He kissed her left breast, lingering to gently bite the nipple.
Then she became ‘Penny’ and he kissed her on the lips. For ‘Susan’ he felt tears roll down his cheeks and he rose up on his knees to stare down on the unmoving symbol of the womanhood that been denied him for so long. ‘Oh, dearest Susan.’ In the dim light the petite form of the masked Maiden could become the long lost love he so much wanted to be there. He lifted her up again and settled her onto the tip of his engorged prick. As she slid gently over him, he felt his heart hammering in his chest. The beating was so heavy he thought it was like it would smash through the ribcage.
‘I love you.’ Both of the figures were upright, she straddling his thighs with her own; he both knelt and sat on the bed, his arms wrapped around her naked torso, pressing now her breasts against his own. Every nerve in his body was sensitive to her presence, and he could feel the outlines of her breasts against his chest. Her arms passed over his shoulders, and her still-bound wrists kept their embrace around him. Her head slid from his shoulder to lie now against his chest, as he had wished for a woman to do so often. Brayfield pushed himself deep into the unresisting heroine. As he embraced her more and more tightly, her sex clamped tightly over his organ both stimulating it and increasing his frenzy. He pulled her desirable body tightly against him and he rose up from his semi-sitting position onto his knees. ‘Oh, god,’ he gasped.
His body moved slowly, to some extent uncertainly. He rose and fell on his haunches, lifting the unconscious woman with him. Her head rested comfortably on him, her short dark hair in his face. He loved the sweaty smell. Up and down, the two rode his ecstasy together. His hands felt her spine and the muscles of her back, finely tuned and powerful. The power of this woman only served to excite him even more.
Tears poured from his eyes and he pushed her body away, until her wrists locked against the back of his neck. Gently, as gently as he had ever done anything, he slowly brought her body back to the mattress, following her with his own. Now he lay on top of her, and he began the familiar rhythmic motion of intercourse. ‘Oh, dear god,’ he thought. ‘Nothing I have ever done is comparable to this!’
He stared down at the masked face of Mitropoulos’ vigilante guardian. He was sure she smiled as he pressed his manhood deeper into her and he wrapped his feet and ankles around hers. He moved his hands down from her back so that he cupped her cheeks, his middle fingers massaging the crack between them. He pushed himself up and shrugged her arms off his shoulders. Now he was looking down on her naked body from the point of view of her conqueror, her lack of resistance convinced him that he was in charge. ‘That’s wonderful, Angel,’ he said softly. ‘Just give yourself to me.’ Next his hands moved to her smooth, powerful shoulders and her used them to both stimulate and support himself. His rhythm was faster now.
Each time he plunged into her, he groaned loudly. He had stopped talking to her as the act became less about his frustrated love and become more about his sexual desire. He had mastered Crimson Flare! She had become his woman! He was her first and greatest partner, her saviour. The power of his intellect had helped her to restore her strength, to resume her heroine role.
His groans were faster now, one almost indistinguishable from the next. Each time he rammed himself into her, he saw her whole upper body shudder from the collision. Stimulated inside her, his prick finally exploded in a series of convulsive blasts, releasing a lifetime’s pent-up desires and frustrations. ‘Aaagghhh! Aagghhh!! No!’ He didn’t want it to end. He wanted to remain joined to the greatest woman of her age, and he wanted her to know that he had saved her. Sweat mixed with tears as his head lay on top of her chest. He blubbered his curses at man’s inability to extend interminably the bliss of the moment.
Brayfield was spent, exhausted. He could still feel the grip of her sex on his now-shriveled prick; he didn’t want to withdraw from her. Frozen in position, he felt himself start to slide out of her slippery canal. Desperate to hold the joy a moment longer, he shifted to press again into the Champion of Mitropoulos. Instead, the small movement completed his exit. The sense of loss enveloped him; the knowledge that his triumph ended slowly crept over him.
He lifted her and pressed her against his body, the sense of loss wringing him emotionally. He pressed his face against her chest, kissing her again and again, eventually taking her breast fully into his mouth. He sucked her noisily, unashamedly, knowing that this would be his last opportunity to create a sensual memory of the experience. As he did so, he remembered the feel of her skin, the tingling of his prick, the sensations that had excited every nerve in his body. He recalled the excitation of the explosion inside her and he sniffed her body, trying to memorise every detail of her odor. The recognition of all of these elements stimulated him anew, and his penis rose again, as from the dead, pressing itself between their two forms. Overwhelmed by the reminiscences and sensual memory, unable to restrain himself, he exploded again, covering both himself and the object of his adoration with the white, sticky streams of his affection.
‘Yes, Lynn, it’s over. Why don’t you wake her up?’ Professor Brayfield straightened his tie as he spoke quietly to his former student.
Lynn looked at her friend lying on the bed. Her bound wrists rested on her dark brown muff, hiding part of it. Her legs were spread, secured in the bondage devices at the lower corners of the mattress. She seemed to rest comfortably.
‘I’ll leave you two alone together,’ he said as he began to leave. ‘Wake her first, then undo the bonds.’ He smiled. ‘Her uniform is on the chair.’ He pulled the door shut behind him, then moved quickly to his bedroom next door. He would watch their reunion in his own way.
End of Chapter Seven