I am helpless. A once powerful body trembles with sexual arousal. A powerful orgasm lingers unsatisfied between parted legs. An erotic flame burns hot, unquenched. I lie defenseless on the table, drugged, blue eyes half closed, staring up toward the ceiling. I have been well fucked. The great Ms. Marvelous has been defeated by a master gigolo named Darriz and turned into a purring sex kitten.
But it is not Darriz that stands above me. This man is someone different, someone new. He purchased me for a thousand dollars. It is a lot of money by any reckoning and now I belong to him and him alone, at least for the next hour. It is with both overwhelming dread and childlike anticipation that I wait to see what he will do to me. Will he slam his stiff cock into my tight but well-lubricated pussy? Or will he flip me over and give it to me in the ass, instead? Will his hands squeeze milk from my swollen tits? Or will he suck my hard nipples deep into his mouth until I scream for mercy? My breathing becomes heavy. He can do any and all of these things, I know. I am too weak to prevent it.
He stares at my half-naked figure for a long time. My long legs, wrapped in the sheer silk of thigh-high stockings, excite him. My exposed pussy, so wet and vulnerable, causes him to get hard. The sight of my round breasts, firm nipples jutting upward like ripe berries, makes him want to pounce on me. But, to my astonishment, he does not rape me. Instead, he takes me gently by the hand and lifts me up off of the table. He pulls my skirt down off of my hips so that I am covered. He helps me into a chair and buttons my camisole and blouse. He removes his hat and sits next to me. He rubs my hand while trying to revive me. His touch is tender and reassuring.
“Are you ok? Can you lift your head?”
I force my eyes to focus and look up into a familiar face. “Joel?”
“Yes, it’s me. You did not think that I would let you take on the Syndicate alone, did you? Not after what happened last time. You were lucky to make it back from Japan. If they get their hands on you again, who knows where they might send you?”
I am not surprised that he recognizes me out of costume. Joel and I have worked together for months. He is a hard-bitten newspaperman. The mask worn by Ms. Marvelous cannot hide details from his discerning eyes. It cannot change the length of my legs or the curve of my hips. It cannot disguise the slope of a slender waist or the shape of firm breasts. It cannot hide the whiteness of a sparkling smile or the blueness of virtuous eyes and it cannot change the color of golden-blonde hair. Even had he not expected to encounter me on this night, in this club, Joel Steiner would have recognized me. Even had we met innocently, two people passing randomly on the street, he would have known who I was.
My cheeks blush. He is seeing me at my most vulnerable. He has seen me naked. But, were it not for him, I would still be at the bar, a sexual plaything for the employees and patrons that had lined up for turns at me. “Joel…” I stammer. “I don’t know… what to say…”
He shakes his head. “The only thing that matters is that you are ok. The drug they gave you really wiped you out. I never thought that I would see the defender of Megapolis so weak and helpless! I wanted to come to your assistance sooner but there was nothing that I could do. I am so sorry for what happened. I am so sorry that I could not stop them from doing those… things… to you!”
I pause, not knowing how to reply. It is not just the poisoned ginger ale that is responsible for my weakened condition. But how does one tactfully explain a vulnerability to sexual stimulation? How does one describe a weakness that is so utterly personal in nature? My cheeks burn even brighter. I decide that the revelation of such humiliating truths can wait for another time.
“The drug will wear off soon enough,” I finally say. “My body recovers quickly from all types of narcotics. But how are we going to get out of here? You only own me for an hour!” He smiles but I can see the sweat beading on his brow. Joel is just as susceptible to my pheromone power as any other man. He has held my body in his arms and felt the warmth of my skin pressing against his own. By the way that he is sitting, I can tell that he has a massive hard-on. But he is a good man. He is a moral man. He is able to resist the urge to rape me.
“I would have bought you for longer but I only had the thousand dollars. I hope it is enough time for you to regain your powers.”
“A thousand dollars is a lot of money. Where did you get it?”
He shrugs. “I keep it around just in case, you know? The Purring Kitten isn’t the first backdoor operation I’ve snuck into. I’ve been around.”
I look at the man with newfound respect. I have always counted on Joel to get the scoop on the bad guys but never really given much thought to how he does it. Now though, I am less concerned with how he got in and more with how we are going to get out.
“We may have to fight our way out of here,” I say, “but I am not leaving without the other girl.” “The brunette at the bar?”
I nod my head. “She is as much a victim in this as I am. We have to rescue her!”
He agrees. “Time for Ms. Marvelous to make an appearance?”
“My costume is in my purse but I left it on the bar. If only--”
He reaches under his jacket and grabs something. When his hand comes out it is holding my clutch bag. “This purse?”
“How did you--”
“I grabbed it while you were being, uh… you know. It was pretty easy, actually. Everyone was watching the show.”
His words are unintentionally harsh and I doubt that my humiliation can be any more complete. A “show”—that’s all I was. The greatest super-heroine in all of Megapolis has been turned into a cheap whore by a couple of glasses of poisoned ginger ale and a big-dicked barroom gigolo. Sure, the spectators that watched me get thoroughly fucked may not have known that I was Ms. Marvelous, but did that make any difference? No one had tried to prevent it. No one had stepped forward and said it was wrong. Instead, they had lined up to take turns. The members of this club disgust me. They are the lowest of the low and through their actions they have, in a way, forced me down to their level. I feel dirty inside. Sick to my stomach.
I cannot look into Joel’s eyes. Only one thing is going to make me feel better. I take the bag from his hand and unfasten the magnetic clasps that hold it closed. I reach inside and locate a familiar pill bottle. I remove the cap and shake the bottle upside down over the table. Four small, wadded up pieces of cloth fall out.
“What are those?” he asks.
I pick up the largest of the wads. I give it a shake and it quickly expands, revealing itself to be my red and black costume. I shake the other wads of cloth and they transform into my boots and mask. “I always knew there was something odd about your costume,” he says. “But I have never seen anything like that!”
“Unstable molecules,” I reply. “As sheer as any fabric on the planet but almost impossible to tear. Though custom fitted to my body, the cloth can adhere itself to virtually any shape. It truly is like a second skin. Now, if you will be so kind as to turn around and give a girl some privacy…”
Joel is the one blushing, now. He does as I ask, though, and I quickly strip out of my slutty evening clothes. My panties and skirt are stained with Darriz’s semen and I toss them on the floor, sure that I never want to wear them again. The silk stockings, blouse, and camisole are salvageable, though, and I stuff them into the clutch bag, along with my shoes. I slide my legs through the bottom of my uniform and pull it up and over the tops of my hips. I slide my arms in and push my hands through the stretchy sleeves. I force my fingers into the very tips of the attached gloves and adjust the fit around my wrists. The costume goes up and over my head. I pull my hair free of the turtleneck and give it a shake. I draw the sheer fabric downward over my chest and wrap it over my breasts. A quick tug on each shoulder snaps the costume in place. It quickly conforms to every curve and angle of my svelte body.
The boots go on next. They are made from the same fabric as my uniform and hug tightly to my ankles and calves. The last thing that I put on is the mask. It adheres to my face like a second layer of skin. I remove a compact from my bag and check myself in the mirror. The mask hides the redness of my cheeks. It hides my shame. I return the compact to the bag and make some final adjustments to the fit of the costume. I look down at my chest and do my best to ignore the sight of swollen breasts and protruding nipples. Instead, I stare at the black star that stretches across the middle of my chest. The star reminds me of who and what I am. It reminds me that I am a protector of the innocent. It reminds me that I am a heroine. It reminds me that I am Ms. Marvelous.
The drug is wearing off. My body still tingles with sexual arousal but wearing the costume makes me feel better. It makes me feel confident. The blonde girl raped at the bar had been caught unawares. She had been ambushed. She was young and inexperienced and did not know how to react to the danger. But I am no longer that girl. I am no longer “Jody Smith”. Now, I am a super-heroine that has fought and beaten entire street gangs. I have danced with thugs and hoodlums. I have brought down some of the most powerful crime lords in the city. I will handle these people in the club. I will teach them that a bunch of white slavers and perverted sex addicts are no match for a super heroine. I will make them regret their evil ways!
“Joel, there is going to be a lot of commotion in the next few minutes,” I say while returning the empty pill bottle to my purse and pushing the clutch bag across the table to him. “No one is going to be paying any attention to you or the girl. I want you to use the opportunity to sneak over to the bar and convince her to leave with you. I want you to get her out of here.”
He turns and looks at me. The sight of my lithe, genetically enhanced body, now in costume, takes his breath away. But his eyes are filled with concern and I can tell that he does not like the plan. “I can’t just leave you here all alone, Ms. M. There are at least thirty people out there and from what I can tell, they all either work for Benny Truiphant or buy merchandise from him. Maybe someone will get it in their head that they want to buy a super-heroine. That they want to buy you! This is the Syndicate’s headquarters—it is too dangerous here even for you. We should leave together!”
Part of me knows that what he is saying is true. Just like Masaharu Nagayasu, my one time Japanese master, there are plenty of evil people with enough wealth and arrogance to want to own their own super-powered slave. A shiver of trepidation interrupts my moment of confidence as I consider that a woman of my reputation and beauty would likely bring a good price.
“It will be ok,” I try to reassure him. “Getting the girl to safety is the most important thing. Shutting this place down is a close second. Call someone you trust at the police department once you are away. Tell them what is going on here and see if they can send some squad cars over. I should have things pretty much wrapped up, by then.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” I state with more certainty than I feel. “And who knows? Maybe Benny will show up. Maybe we can catch him, too.”
“Just don’t let him catch you!”
Our eyes lock and we share a long moment of silence. “So, will you do it?” I eventually ask. “Will you get the girl out of here while I handle the others?”
He agrees and says that he will continue to wait in the private booth until the action starts. I tell him that he will not have to wait for long. I am still weak, maybe half strength, but the hour is almost up. I do not want anyone to see me exit the booth in costume. I do not want some smart guy to put two and two together and realize that the blonde girl raped at the bar and Ms. Marvelous are actually the same
person. Instead, I fly upward and disappear into the shadows near a high ceiling. I float over the pillow pit and make my way to the front door. They do not expect anything. Sneaking past the gigolos and prostitutes is easy. The transvestite hostess is busy talking with a customer and has her back turned. I drop unseen back to the floor. I open the door a crack and then slam it shut.
“Aha!” I exclaim loudly while pretending to have just entered. “Just as I thought! The Purring Kitten is actually a front for the Syndicate! But I am here to shut this place down!” Every person in the place turns to look at me. I enjoy the astonishment painted on their faces. “Ms. Marvelous!” one of the bowtie-wearing gigolos shouts in dismay. “We’re busted!” “Benny isn’t going to like this!” a hooker screams.
Their first instinct is to run but the hostess stops them. She seems angry. “This is the most profitable gig we have ever had!” she declares. “We’re not going without a fight! Get her!” I look toward the four gigolos and quickly note that Darriz is not among them. Probably resting somewhere inside the club, I figure. Fucking me must have worn him out almost as much as it did me. But the others, including the boy that raped the young brunette, are still as vigorous as ever. The muscles of bare chests and shoulders ripple. Rock-hard abs and slender waists flatten into straight hips and solid thighs. The spandex of black stretch pants hugs their legs tightly. My eyes roam over their magnificent bodies and for a moment I almost lose it. Although I have been a heroine for a while and have
experienced so many vile things, I am also, in so many ways, still a naïve young woman. I was raised in a cloistered environment. I am innocent. I am virtuous. The sight of these half-naked men fills me with unexpected feelings. The confidence that I felt before is replaced by twinges of fear and desire. A fantasy of being ravaged by these four studs momentarily breaks my focus. But I quickly shake it off. I have to control the urges. I cannot allow the Sartak- my vulnerability to sexual stimulation- to weaken my resolve.
But the gigolos are hesitating, too. Their eyes scan my figure lustfully. I can tell that they are as excited to see me as I am to see them. The sight of a nubile young heroine in a skimpy outfit is something that they have dreamed about. I also know that they are likely feeling the affects of the invisible pheromones radiating off of my body and into the air. I know from experience that my pheromones can drive men wild with desire. These boys, already addicted to sex, are probably ready to explode. I can see the bulges in their tight pants growing larger. I can see thick cocks growing hard. Oh god, I know that they are fantasizing about me just as I am fantasizing about them!
Yet, they are reluctant to attack a super-heroine. They do not understand how vulnerable I am. All they know is my reputation and that I am very strong. They know that I can hurt them. Surprisingly, it is one of their female counterparts that makes the first move. I see her out of the corner of my eye, large breasts bouncing up and down beneath a skimpy bikini top as she charges me. I let her get close and then judo throw her across the room. She hits the floor headfirst and crumples into a ball. That was easy, I think. One bitch down, four to go.
Two more of girls charge forward, hands reaching for me, fingernails scratching at my eyes. They wear spandex pants similar to those of the boys and I cannot help but notice that their bodies are gorgeous. Long legs and hourglass figures are athletic and sexy but, thankfully, they are untrained when it comes to martial arts. I deflect their blows easily and smack the first gal across the face with an open palm. This seems to knock a bit of sense into her and I can tell by her expression that she is suddenly wondering why the heck she attacked me in the first place. Her friend is more stubborn, though, and it takes a knee lift to her chiseled stomach to make her see the error of her ways. I grab them each by the hair and slam their heads together. Lights out. Two more girls down.
“Not that way, you idiots!” the hostess screams in frustration. “You will never beat Ms. Marvelous by overpowering her! She is only vulnerable to sex! Rape her! Take her down and fuck her brains out!”
“Oh, that’s just great!” I groan to myself. Does everyone know my weakness? This could get a lot harder if I am not careful!”
The gigolos and remaining whores look at each other with renewed confidence. They may not be good fighters but they know all about sex. They know how to bring a girl off. They are masters of the art, all of them, and are anxious to show off their craft. And they can see my jutting nipples, poking up like little marbles from beneath my costume. They can see the sheen of moisture that stains my bikini bottom. They know I am horny. They may not realize that I am the same girl that was raped at the bar but they seem to understand that I am juiced up. They know that I am aroused.
But I have other worries. The door to the bar opens behind me and the doorman enters to investigate all the noise. Before I even know that he is there, he clasps his hands together and clubs me across the back of the head with a vicious hammer strike. He is a strong man, a bouncer by trade, and the blow drops me to my knees. He wraps his arm around my neck and tries to rip my head off. He lifts me up off the floor and shakes me like a rag doll. My legs and feet flail from side to side. The flow of blood to my brain is cut off. The supply of oxygen to my lungs is blocked. I am stunned at how quickly my powerful body begins to wilt. Maybe the hostess was wrong. Maybe I can be overpowered.
But I remember this doorman. He is the same meathead that copped a feel on my ass as I entered the club. “No!” I hiss between gritted teeth. “I will not be beaten by a side of beef like you!” I grasp his arm in my hands and force it downward, away from my throat. I drive an elbow into his ribs. I get my feet under me and thrust a shoulder into his sternum. Free of his hold, I turn and slam him backward against the door. An elbow strike clips him on the point of his chin. Eyes roll into the back of his head. I grab his shirt and throw him across the room. He lands like a sack of mashed potatoes at the feet of the hostess.
“Who’s next?” I ask brashly.
A crowd of patrons and club employees has gathered to watch the fight. Maybe they want to take part in it. In any case, I am not really surprised to see that they are not running away. Despite my display of martial expertise, my enemies are reluctant to retreat. There is a certain expression on their faces and one that I have seen many times before. It is a mixture of fear and desire, caution and lust.
They fear me, these evil people, but they have become so enamored by my beauty and pheromones that they can think of little else but fucking me. They know that it is a gamble. They know that they might lose. They know that they might get hurt. But they cannot help themselves. They have to have me. They have to rape me. I shrug my shoulders. At least I will not have to chase them down.
I boldly walk deeper into the club, nearer to the pillow pit. The crowd gives way and lets me pass. I am surrounded on all sides. All eyes are on me. They scan my long legs and curvaceous hips. They gaze hungrily at a slender waist and tight stomach. They linger long on my round, firm breasts. They yearn to consume the soft flesh of a svelte neck. They crave a taste of my full red lips. But my own eyes, wide and blue and defiant, stare back without fear. I want them to be looking at me. I want them to be focused only on me. A quick glance at the bar confirms that the drugged brunette is still sitting there. Her body is limp and her head resting on top of the counter. I look briefly in the direction of the hidden booth. “Now is your chance, Joel!” I whisper. “Now is your chance to rescue her!”
It is time for the battle to resume. The last two prostitutes feint at me but do not attack and I quickly learn why. While I am focused on them, other figures move in on me from behind. Two men grab me, one on each side. A third man grabs me from the back. A forearm wraps around my throat and pulls back on my head. I feel bare flesh pressing against mine and realize that it is the gigolos, finally deciding to join the fight. They drag me into the center of the room. Patrons hoot and holler, thinking that I am in trouble. They see the famous and beautiful super-heroine, Ms. Marvelous, gripped tightly in the arms of three young studs. The expressions on their faces changes slightly. The lust and desire is still there but the fear is gone. “Fuck her!” one of them shouts. “Fuck the bitch!”
I struggle against the boys holding me but find it difficult to get free. These guys have been lifting weights. They are strong. I have one on each side and another gripping me from behind. But that leaves a fourth gigolo with his hands still free. He moves around in front of me. I recognize him from before. He is the young stallion that raped my brunette counterpart at the bar. Apparently, she did not satisfy his lust. A long meat pole slithers downward from his crotch, beneath the tight spandex of his pants and along the inside of his left thigh. I remember his cock. I remember how it looked and how he used it to impale the brunette. I remember the anguish that was painted on her beautiful and innocent face. A dangerous thought flitters through my brain. I think that this man can cause me the same anguish. Vivid mental images of him unsheathing his sword and using it on me flash unwanted through my head. The images make me weak. My body trembles. He sees panic in my eyes.
The gigolo looks me up and down lustfully. “So, you’re the great Ms. Marvelous?” he sneers. “I thought Benny sold you to some guy in Japan or somewhere. And yet here you are, smack dab in the lion’s den!”
“Do her, Rocket!” one of the boys holding me urges. “Do her good!”
At the mention of the boy’s nickname, I cannot help but think again of his cock. It was kind of shaped like a rocket, I suppose. A powerful, eight-inch rocket capable of destroying the strongest of women. The idea that he might launch it into me causes a shiver to tingle up my spine. I try my best to subdue the unhealthy fantasies filling my mind but it is difficult. I imagine him spreading my legs and penetrating me. I imagine him fucking me hard and fast, just as he did to the brunette… “Stop it!” I scream to myself. “Do not let this happen!”
He reaches out with both hands and tweaks my nipples. I grimace as unwelcome sensations ripple through my slender, five-foot nine-inch figure. He lowers his hands and begins to unzip. My unwanted fantasies are close to coming true. But I refuse to be raped again. Not by this fool. My right leg extends. My foot finds his crotch. The look on his face changes to one of pain. He turns pale and squeaks like a puppy’s chew toy. He remains on his feet but his knees press together and he bends over like someone looking for a lost contact lens.
“I’m the lion, you idiot!” I snarl ferociously. Adrenaline is pumping through my body. I jerk my right arm forward and send the boy holding it spiraling through the air and crashing through a table. The boy on the left will not let go but I manage to get him in front of me and within range of my formidable
right cross. He sees it coming but is too slow to get out of the way. Blood spurts as I break his nose. He releases my arm and slumps to the floor, whimpering in pain.
I look up and am relieved to see Joel sliding past the other patrons and making his way to the bar. He grips the brunette by her shoulders and helps her off the barstool. She is drugged and weary but manages to walk where he leads her. They make it to the door. I see him look back a final time before leaving. There is a look of concern on his face. He is worried about me. And then he is gone. The girl is safe. I no longer need to think about her. I can focus instead on the fight.
Three prostitutes are down and out. At least two of the guys are also finished. But the battle is far from over. Watching Joel has given my attackers a chance to gather themselves. It is then that the boy holding me from behind does something unexpected. He is still gripping me around the neck with one arm. As I reach for his wrist, his free hand slides downward across the bare skin of my back and slips beneath the sheer fabric of my bikini bottom. I gasp in surprise as his middle finger slides deep into my butt crack. The tip presses against my anus. He is inside me, now, his finger penetrating me to the first knuckle. He wiggles it back and forth and I suddenly go limp in his grasp. The adrenaline that was driving me is quickly fading. All that remains is sexual arousal.
It has only been an hour since Darriz made me purr like a kitten. Only an hour since I was nearly forced to climax. Forget about being at half strength. I’m lucky if I am at a quarter of my normal strength. And the finger wriggling in my ass is making me weaker by the second. He has got it in to the middle knuckle, now, and I am so lightheaded that I feel like I am about to pass out.
Two more sets of arms take hold of mine. It is the last two girls, the two that held back while the boys took the initiative. But now they are on me, soft flesh pressing against me on either side, hands stroking my shoulders and slowly moving downward to caress my swollen tits. Gentle fingers tease my hard nipples through the thin fabric of my costume. Sensations are rocking my slender body and I let out a loud sigh. I try to pull away from them but it is a half-hearted effort, at best. My body, sandwiched between them, is quivering with arousal. I watch, dazed, as they pull upward on the tapers of my costume and roll the fabric over the top of my breasts. I moan miserably as they lean in on me and take my sensitive buds between feathery soft lips. Talented tongues carefully toy with me. I am being defeated. Oh, god… they are doing me so easily… Joel was right… sensations destroying me… this was a bad plan…
“Fuck her! Fuck her!” the circle of spectators begins cheering in unison.
The girls have clearly worked together before. Maybe threesomes are their specialty. The one on my left slides her hand across my bare belly. The tips of her fingers draw soft circles atop my flesh. One of the fingers enters my bellybutton and she gently works it side to side and up and down. It feels… amazing… and part of me wants to surrender to the sensations. I am not a lesbian but this girl has such a tender… exciting… touch…
“No!” I shout silently. “Do not give up!”
The other girl, the one on my right, slides a hand lower on my body. Knowing fingers glide under my bikini bottom and across short-trimmed pubes. She urges me to separate my thighs and my body seems far too eager to cooperate. Before I even realize what is happening, my feet are far apart, legs straight and spread wide to the sides. Working by touch, she parts the soft folds of flesh that protect my hole. Oh, god… she is inside me, now… a finger penetrating into my most sensitive place… probing deep inside me over and over again. The fire started by Darriz is now a raging inferno. I stand there, almost helpless, surrounded by excited onlookers, as these two girls work patiently to destroy every last bit of my willpower. Soft lips toy with my tits expertly. Amazing fingers play games with my flesh. My pussy is practically dripping with excitement. And there is still the boy, holding me from behind, blowing soft puffs of warm air into my left ear, now sucking on my earlobe, devastating me. His finger is buried nearly to the hilt inside my ass and sapping the strength from my abused body. Two hands, one in front and the other in back, inside of my bikini bottom. Two fingers, one in my pussy and the other in my ass, probing deep into my body. All too quickly, I am forced to admit that I am finished. I surrender myself to the unbearable sensations rocking my world. The fight is over almost before it began. I, the great Ms. Marvelous, am defeated.
“Ooooohhhhh…” I moan helplessly. “No, please… aaaaaggggghhhhh… stop…”
The boy behind me is feasting on my flesh. Soft lips release my lobe and a moist tongue slides into my ear. He loosens his grip and begins to softly stroke the side of my neck with his fingers. There is nothing that I can do to stop him. I do not want to stop him. I want him to devour me. I want him to explore every part of my body.
But it is then that I see Darriz. He is sitting at the bar, on one of the tall stools, looking at me over the heads of the other spectators. A broad, mocking smile dominates his face. Passion burns in his eyes. He is leaning backward against the bar and his body is rocking slightly. I cannot be sure but I think he may be masturbating. The sight of him, so arrogant and full of himself, fills me with rage. The anger burns hot within me, hotter even than the erotic sensations pouring from my tits, pussy and ass. I am not some adult-magazine centerfold! I will not be masturbated on!
“No!” I shout while pushing the girls off. “Get away from me!”
They seem surprised. I know by the expressions on their faces that they thought they had me, that I was finished. And I know that they were right. I was finished. I had become so aroused that I had nearly lost all control over my body. I had been so overwhelmed by the erotic sensations flowing through me that I had nearly lost control of my mind. I had succumbed to the Sartak, my vulnerability to sexual stimulation. But seeing Darriz mocking me, seeing him get off while I am raped, brings me back to reality. This is not a fantasy. This is not something that I want. It is as much an attack on me as a punch to the head or a kick to the stomach. I will not allow it to happen. I will not allow myself to be defeated!
I get my feet under me. The boy hanging onto my back is driven off by an elbow to the ribs. His hand remains inside of my costume, though, clutching my ass. As long as it is there, as long as the finger remains buried inside me, there is not a lot that I can do. The feeling of it twitching deep inside my body almost makes me quit. But I cannot quit. This might be my last chance and I have to make it count.
“Ah, geez, this is going to hurt!” I think while finally jerking away from him. I groan as his finger extracts from my anus. But the pain is good. Like the anger, it shakes me from the erotic system shock that consumes my body. Pain and anger. Sometimes, they can be a super-heroine’s best friends. “Bastard!” I cry out while driving a sidekick to his gut. “Get away from me!”
I follow with a spinning back fist that nearly tears his jaw from his face. The man who dared to violate me, who tasted the inside of my ear, drops to the floor like a stiff piece of plywood. The girls pounce on me. I feel their hands trying to restrain me. I feel them stroking my bare breasts, as they had before, trying to sap my willpower. The one on my right again reaches for my crotch. She makes contact with my swollen clitoris and I nearly fall to my knees as unwanted but powerful sensations electrify my body. She rubs me several times, over and over, working her finger in a forceful circle over the top of my tiny bud, and I moan like a schoolgirl being brought off for the first time. But though I am no longer facing the bar, I can still remember the sight of Darriz, masturbating. I lift my arm and wrap it around the girl’s head. I pull forward and down, flipping her over my shoulder and back first onto the floor. I bang a knee off the back of her skull. I turn on the other girl and bitch slap her across the face. I lift her off the ground and slam her down across the prone body of her friend. A final kick ends this farce. Two barroom hookers are no match for me! How dare they put their hands on my body? I adjust my costume, pulling the fabric down and over my engorged breasts. I turn toward the bar, eyes searching for Darriz. He is still there, still enjoying the show. He does not realize the danger that he is in. He does not realize how badly I want to hurt him. But he will learn. They will all learn. “Do not allow her to escape!” the transvestite hostess shouts.
I almost laugh. Do they really think that I want to escape? I may be surrounded by sex addicts wanting to rape me but escape is the last thing on my mind. An angry fire is burning inside of me. I want to fight. I impatiently slap away the hands that reach for me. I stride toward the bar. I pummel anyone foolish enough to get in my way. One man slides a hand between my legs but at the cost of a broken arm. Another grabs a feel on my right tit and gets a dislocated wrist for his trouble. Two other men are tossed through the air and land in distant corners of the club, never to be heard from again. A group of them try to tackle me but their attack is disjointed and they end up battered and bruised. And then I am there, at the bar, with Darriz, the object of my wrath, sitting alone in front of me.
He does not seem worried, though. He scans my 34-23-34 figure lustfully. His hand moves up and down quickly, unabashedly rubbing a big power rod. I can tell by the look on his face that he is very
close to coming. His arrogance only adds to my anger, though, and I reach for him with my left hand and impatiently pull him off of the stool.
“You sick bastard!” I scream.
“Whoa!” he says while finally releasing his swollen dick. “I haven’t done anything!” I do my best to ignore the huge cock, knowing that just the sight of it will make me weak. Despite my anger and newfound strength, my pussy is still aching from the pounding that this man gave it. I am wet. My clit is fully swollen and sensitive. My breathing is heavy. It will not take much to make me purr, again. But he does not know this. He does not know that I am the same blonde that he raped just a short while before. He does not know how vulnerable I am. He does not know that he has power over me.
“You bastard!” I shout again while gripping him by the neck and pushing him back against the bar. “How dare you drug the women who come to this club? How dare you force yourself upon them?” He looks deep into my eyes and senses my weakness. One hand clutches at my wrist. The other wraps around my shoulder and pulls my body close to his. My swollen breasts press against a bare, sculpted chest. A musky scent nearly overwhelms me. “Just giving them what they want!” he smirks. He is much taller than me and his long cock rubs against my belly. I suddenly realize that I am not in control as he pulls me closer and begins to gyrate up and down, dragging his hot member across my bare skin. I try to pull back, to get away, but his left arm is wrapped around my body and holding me close. My lithe and athletic figure is the stuff of his fantasies and, I suddenly fear, his is the stuff of mine. He rubs against me frantically, like a dog humping its master’s leg, and I sense that he is about to climax. The thought of this African stud splattering me with his ejaculate is both disgusting and inexplicably exciting. But he has already stained me once. I will not allow him to do it a second time. “No!” I yell. “I will not be your sex doll!”
I break away from his grasp and step back. I force my eyes to remain locked with his. In my current state of arousal, I cannot risk even a single glance at the massive cannon that is aimed upward at me. But my body is on fire. The memory of how his cock felt, rubbing against my flushed skin, is hard to shake. It makes me remember again how it felt inside of me, when he fucked me nearly into unconsciousness. Ah, geez, I want it. I want it so bad.
“Don’t look at it!” I scream silently. “Don’t look!”
“Aw, come on, baby,” he says while stepping toward me and waving the thing in my direction. “Don’t be like that. I got what you need right here--”
His statement is cut short by a straight right to the chin. I am thankful when he falls face-forward to the floor and I no longer need to worry about seeing his huge tool. But the punch brings less satisfaction than I had hoped. I know that I can never hurt Darriz the way that he has hurt me. I look down on his unconscious figure and struggle with the desire to beat him some more. I am a super heroine, though. I’m better than that.
The sound of murmuring voices reminds me that I am not alone. I gaze into the mirror behind the bar. There is still a club full of sex addicts just behind me. I turn and face them and am pleased to see that they are backing away. Many are injured. Those that are not continue to eye my body hungrily but fear to go for a taste. I am more than what they have bargained for. They give way as I walk toward the door. I know that it is time to leave. I no longer have the strength to fight them all. It has not been a total victory, perhaps, but it has been a victory. I have hurt them. I have let them know that their presence will not be tolerated in my city. And, most important of all, I have saved a young woman from a life of slavery.
“You should find a new line of work!” I say while wagging a finger in the direction of the transvestite hostess. “This is the end of the Purring Kitten!”
I take pleasure from the way her face turns pale. Rocket is still holding his nuts. Darriz is unconscious. The doorman is in the corner, whimpering like a sad puppy. The others are looking at the ground, dejected. Yes, I think. I may not have gotten the boss but this was a still a victory. Progress has been made. I am well on my way to shutting down the Syndicate and their white slavery operation.
I hear a car pull up outside, doors opening and closing. I open the door to the club and turn to leave, half expecting to see Joel Steiner at the head of a group of cops. Instead, I come face-to-face with
the man I had originally hoped to find. He is the head of Syndicate and the reason that I came to the Purring Kitten in the first place. He is a sleazebag and his name is—
“Benny Truiphant!”