I wake up with a fever but I am not sick. My breasts are swollen and my breathing ragged. Hard nipples poke upward from beneath the cotton sheets like sharp beads. My smooth skin glistens with perspiration but is not the only reason the bedding is moist. I clamp my thighs together and groan. It takes every bit of willpower to keep my fingers away from my wet crotch. I want to finish the dream. I want to rub myself and continue to fantasize about the man that has been haunting my sleep. I want to bring myself off. I want to imagine his fingers stroking my clit. I want to imagine his thick cock penetrating deep inside of me…
“Oh, stop it!” I say aloud. “You are just making it worse!”
I quickly slip out from beneath the sheets and sit on the side of the mattress. The man has visited me in my dreams for the last several nights. It is not unusual for me to experience erotic dreams. I am a young woman, after all, celibate and oversexed, to be sure, and I have what might be considered stronger than normal desires. It is the Caantonium, I know. The same chemical that gave me my powers and transformed me into one of the world’s most beautiful women (or so it has been said) is also responsible for a completely idiotic and unexplainable sexual condition. It is called the Sartak, my condition, a state of being that absolutely prohibits having sex while at the same time always tempting me to do so. The scientists back at the Agent-X Program likened it to an addiction—I would hunger for sex constantly, they said, but if I gave into the desire it would likely destroy me. That is why they stopped giving Caantonium to female agents. They did not think that we could control ourselves. They think we will be a liability.
Well, maybe it is not as bad as all that. I do not “hunger for sex”, at least not all the time. Only sometimes. Times like now. I look down at my firm tits. For a few brief moments, I cannot help myself. My eyes close as hands gently caress the soft flesh. I coo softly as my fingers slowly slide over the protruding nipples. I can feel my super-human body begin to relax. My arms and legs begin to lose strength. With each pass of my fingers over my sensitive buds and across the flushed skin, I grow a bit weaker. It is my curse—sensual stimulation-- even when self-inflicted, it can steal away my powers and doom me to a state of blissful system shock. If it continues for too long and if I became too aroused, I might become helpless, so enraptured by the sensations rocking my body and the sexual fantasies swallowing my mind that I might never regain myself. And if, by chance, the worst happens… if I happen to climax…
“We do not want to think about that!” I say while finally gathering enough self-control to force my hands away from my chest.
Orgasms can kill me. Oh, I can probably endure a few, maybe three or four over the course of a couple of hours, but I will be left weaker even than a normal woman. Any more than that, and I will surely perish. It has happened to others of my kind. And when you are in a business like mine, fighting crime and making enemies, the last thing you want is to be weak. The last thing you want is to be helpless.
I think again of the man in my dreams. He is a total stud, of course, and I am sure that he is completely fictional. A figment of my over-sexed imagination. For one thing, I am positive that I have never seen him in real life. The clincher is that he is stronger than me. Not many men like that, I figure. But in my dreams, he is a super-hero, or maybe a super-villain—I am not always sure—but definitely a super-something. And the fact that he is stronger than me is a real turn-on. In my dreams, we never fight or anything like that. It is always the same. He conquers me with his eyes.
“Glorious, blue eyes!” I groan while falling back on the bed and hugging my pillow. “And dark hair and a great physique and a smile that can melt a girl’s heart!”
This is totally unlike me, I admit. Though susceptible to the occasional erotic dream, I have never become so obsessed with a particular man. In fact, the faces of my imaginary suitors are rarely, if ever, remembered the next morning. Call me a slut, but my subconscious has always been more interested in biceps and shoulders. My current dreamtime visitor has those in spades but I think it odd that I can remember his face when I have never in the past remembered those of any other fantasy lovers.
“Oh, well,” I whisper while wrapping long and wistful legs around the pillow. “Such desires will likely pass in time.”
The pillow presses against my silk panties but is too soft to provide any real satisfaction for an excited womanhood. I bite my lower lip and again fight the urge to rub myself. Masturbation is as dangerous to me as sex, I remind myself. And I cannot afford to be without my powers even for a few hours, not now, not when so much is on the line.
I toss the pillow aside as casually as a failed relationship and rise from the bed. Thoughts of dream lovers are pushed out of my mind in favor of those of a more serious nature. My reporter friend at the Gazette, Joel Steiner, has uncovered clues concerning the whereabouts of several missing young women. The evidence points to a white slavery syndicate operating out of downtown Megapolis. I have been pursuing them for days and only now does Joel have the information we need to put an end to their nefarious dealings.
I glance at the nightstand and the small radio clock sitting atop it. “Should be enough time for a cold shower and breakfast,” I decide. “Then I will slip into my costume and fly into the city. Joel said he wanted to meet atop the Gazette Tower…”
I always enjoy flying in the morning. My red and black costume reveals a lot of skin and I like the sensation of cool air brushing against my abdomen, back, and legs. My long golden hair is still wet from the shower as I leave the penthouse but dries quickly as I streak through the sky. The sunrise is beautiful even if dulled by a low-hanging layer of smog. It is going to be a great day, I decide.
The tower is below me and I am pleased to see that Joel is right on time. He spots me even before I touch down and gives a friendly wave. I return the gesture with a warm smile and we exchange the usual pleasantries. Joel is a hard-bitten newspaper man, hair already starting to grey even though he is only thirty-five, but he can never keep from blushing like a schoolboy when in my presence. I know he wants me but it isn’t his fault. It is the pheromones, of course. At least, I think it is. But he is a good man and able to resist the urge to throw me on the ground and fuck me. He tries his best not to stare at my athletic body and I return the favor by ignoring the rising bulge in his pants.
“Did you get the information?” I ask while keeping my fingers crossed. “The families of those missing girls are counting on us to find them.”
“I got it,” he answers while sneaking a quick peek at my legs, “and it is better than we expected. The syndicate is planning a deal for tonight! Sellers, buyers, the whole enchilada. Merchandise, too. Could be dangerous, though. I think we should call in the cops to help.”
“The cops? That would be risky, wouldn’t it? What with the moles in the department and all? I think it would be better if I handle it myself.”
He looks worried. “I don’t know, Ms. M. Word on the street is that these guys are good. Real professionals. Snatching attractive young women is an occupation for them, you know? You might be in over your head.”
I try to reassure him. “We’ve faced tough guys before, Joel. You do remember the Refrain crime family, don’t you? And the Gangrel? Not to mention a dozen other gangs. I’m as strong as ten men and an expert martial artist. Besides, my safety is secondary to getting those girls back to their families.”
The pheromones are making him sweat but he manages to look me in the eyes. “I just don’t want to… see anything happen to you, is all. The syndicate isn’t your normal criminal outfit. White slavers and reputed to be… selective… in who they kidnap. Only take the cream of the crop, if you know what I mean. Real knockouts and all of them athletes. Olympic quality girls, I’m telling you. I’m just worried that--”
I finish the statement for him. “That I might be just the kind of gal they want?”
He nods. “Something like that.”
I turn and look over the side of the building. Traffic is starting to build on the streets, below. The idea that flesh peddlers are coming into town to purchase young women makes me want to retch. “Listen, Joel. If we tell the police, there is a good chance that the news will get leaked and the meeting
will be canceled. We may lose our only shot at freeing those girls and saving them from lives of slavery. We can’t risk it.”
He seems to acquiesce. “But you’ll be careful?”
“Aren’t I always?”
Joel rubs a crooked nose, the one that was broken when he tried to save me from a rampaging hoodlum some months before. “Yeah, not always so much, you know?”
He fills me in with the information and gives me directions to the meeting place. Five minutes later, I know everything that he does. By the time he is finished, his dick is nearly busting from his pants and I figure I should not test his resistance to my pheromones any longer. During the time that we have known one another, Joel has been exposed to my unwanted power more than most men. Rather than build up immunity, though, he only seems to become more susceptible. It is better if we keep our meetings brief. Still, I try to reassure him with another smile before leaving. “It will be ok, Joel. In the end, it always is.”
“Alright, kid. Good luck. Call me when you wrap things up, even if it is late.”
I always like it when he calls me kid. I fly off into the sky, knowing that he is checking out my ass and really not caring. Let the guy have a good look, I think. Joel is a hero, too. Let him have a reward for the good things that he does.
And as I leave the tower behind, I think again of the mystery man in my dreams. Part of me wishes that he could be Joel. Even if nothing can ever happen-- and I know that it can’t—part of me wishes that the guy in my dreams could be real. Part of me wishes that my fantasy man could be a good guy, just like Joel Steiner.
“Why am I always attracted to the bad ones?” I ask aloud. But I am alone in the sky. Nobody up here knows the answer.
I do not get far before I hear the alarms. They are coming from four blocks away. I can fly eighty miles per hour. You do the math. I get there fast, in time to see people running from the bank in terror. The police are nowhere in sight. No doubt about it—this is a job for Ms. Marvelous.
Like a red and black blur, I streak lower and land on the sidewalk, just a few feet from the doors of the building. A frantic bank teller bursts out and nearly runs into me. “They’re crazy!” she says after realizing who I am. “It’s like a game to them!”
“Who?” I ask while trying to get her to calm down. “Who is crazy?”
“The bank robbers! They are tearing the place apart. They don’t seem interested in the money at all!”
I escort the woman away from the door. “How many people are still inside?”
She takes a deep breath and seems to relax. “No one. I think I am the last. The robbers didn’t seem to care about us. I don’t know what it is that they want.”
“How many of them are there?”
“Just two. A man and a woman, but they seem dangerous. They have weird stuff attached to their bodies, like mechanical limbs or something. I’m not sure… I just wanted to get out of there!” “Stay here and wait for the police,” I tell her. “I will deal with these miscreants!” The screeching alarms go forebodingly silent as I enter the building. A small foyer leads the way to a main lobby, just ahead. I can hear laughter. The robbers are apparently having a good time. I open the doors and enter a cluttered crime scene. Furniture has been tossed about recklessly. Deposit tables are smashed. Computers lay in jumbled heaps on the floor. Potted plants are overturned and reams of paper thrown about. Across the room, on the opposite side of the checking counter, stand the masters of chaos responsible for this mess. As the teller had said, it is a man and a woman. They are dressed in dark green bodysuits. Simple black masks cover the upper portions of their faces. Strapped to their backs are strange packs.
The pair of criminals busy themselves by rummaging through the teller stations. They seem to be selective in what they take, though. Only the large bills seem to catch their attention. It takes a few moments before they notice me.
“Ms. Marvelous!” the man shouts as if pleased. “Look Diamondback! It’s Megapolis’ favorite super-heroine!” He walks to a control panel mounted on the wall behind the counter and flips a switch. A security gate lowers behind me, blocking the exit.
The woman smiles broadly. “I see her, Cobra! It looks like your plan worked perfectly!” “Plan?” I reply while motioning toward the disheveled remains of the bank’s interior. “It was your plan to destroy this place of finance?”
The pair laugh heartily, as if sharing in some grand joke. “Hardly! The robbery was simply a ruse to attract your attention. Once you were spotted flying over downtown, we knew that you would hear the alarms and come running or, er… flying… or whatever the case might be. It saved us the bother of tracking you down!”
“Tracking me down? What do you mean?”
“Get a clue, girl,” Cobra answers. “You are worth more than all the cash in this bank. A powerful and wealthy acquaintance of yours has grown weary of your constant interference in his business dealings. He has offered a great sum of money for your capture.”
My eyes narrow. “You are bounty hunters? And shall I assume that you work for Don Refrain, then? Is it he that hired you?”
Diamondback leaps over the counter with a gymnast’s grace. Though not large, her body is athletic and toned. “Be thankful that he wants you alive. You might as well surrender, though I hope you don’t. You do not stand a chance against the Serpent Squad!”
“Serpent Squad?” I ask while taking a defensive stance. “Yes, I think I have heard of you. You specialize in capturing super-heroines, do you not?”
“We’ve beaten a few,” Cobra confirms, “though none that possessed your inflated reputation.” He looks at his counterpart. “Diamondback is in it for the money. I just want to fuck you. Refrain said it would be ok as long as I didn’t bring you off too many times. He didn’t really define what ‘too many’ might be, though.”
Anger wells in my chest but I have to admit that I am also a little bit scared. The members of the Serpent Squad are known to be some of the best bounty hunters in the world. Luckily for me, I am only facing two of them. But Cobra’s tight-fitting bodysuit clearly reveals that there is a third serpent hiding in his pants. My eyes glance at it. The thought that he might make good on his threat and rape me sends a chill down my spine.
“But what about the police? Surely you realize that they will be here any second?” Cobra seems unconcerned. “This place is a fortress. They won’t get in until we want them to and by then we will be long gone.”
“But how will you escape?”
“There is always a backdoor, sweet cheeks. And let’s just say that Mr. Refrain still has some connections inside the police department. It has all been arranged, believe me. You don’t stand a chance!”
“I have beaten Refrain’s lackeys before,” I say in an effort to sound confident. “I will beat you, too!”
“Prove it!” Diamondback shouts while rushing forward. Without slowing, the woman picks up an overturned chair from the floor and tosses it ahead of her. It is a good distraction. As the chair passes by my shoulder, her fist crashes into my jaw. There is unnatural strength behind the punch. My lithe figure spirals twice through the air before hitting the floor and bouncing into the side of an automatic teller machine.
The woman stands above me and arrogantly smacks a fist into an open palm. “Steel knuckles in my gloves,” she explains. “I’m surprised you are still conscious.”
“You will find that I am full of surprises,” I say while jumping to my feet. “And my knuckles are pretty hard, too!”
The punch is too fast for her to block. It connects on the bridge of the nose and sends her flying backward through the air. She lands on her butt and slides across the tiled floor. For the moment, she is dazed. Only the intervention of her partner that saves her from experiencing more of my wrath.
“Not bad,” he says coolly. “It takes a lot to knock Diamondback off of her feet. But don’t expect us to fight fair. We’re going to tag-team you the whole way.”
He attacks with a fine display of martial arts. His style is a combination of Tai Kwan Do and Jujitsu, but I have seen it all before. I block his blows and deliver a couple of my own. A few seconds later, he is sitting on his ass next to his partner.
“I thought you guys were better than this,” I comment dryly. “Maybe it is your reputation that is inflated?”
Cobra does not like this comment. He reaches toward his left shoulder and tugs on a piece of string. The top of his backpack opens. A pair of green… things… emerge from the pack. They are like thick ropes but not really. More like tentacles of some kind—
My eyes open wide as the tentacles suddenly lengthen. The first shoots forward with amazing speed and wraps around my waist. I grimace as its slimy coils tighten. My hands fight with it but the thing is strong. It loops around my body a second time and then a third. Before I even know what is happening, my one hundred and twenty-five pound weight is lifted off the floor and suspended in the air. “Gah!” I scream. “What is this thing!”
“Our reputation is well-deserved,” Cobra says while climbing to his feet. “As you shall soon discover!”
The second tentacle moves forward and wraps around my neck. I barely manage to slip some fingers between its disgusting outer membrane and my skin in time to prevent it from choking me. But as it tightens around my throat, I know that the peril is far from over. The tip of the foul thing slaps across my chin. It pokes at my mouth and tries to squeeze between my lips. It is thick, almost thicker than my fingers can encompass. Its sides are slick with some kind of goo. I am having difficulty keeping it away—
“Mmmrrrph!” I protest as it penetrates my mouth. The thing forces my lips to stretch wide. It slides between my teeth and over my tongue. At the same time, the coils wrapped around my throat continue to tighten. I struggle like a hell-cat but the tentacle binding my waist continues to hold me airborne. I cannot get any leverage! I cannot fight these things! I cannot--
“Stay calm!” the warrior’s voice inside me commands. “The first priority is to get this thing out of your mouth. We’ll worry about the rest of it later.”
I use both hands to clutch the slippery shaft of the invading tentacle. I use my considerable strength to pull it from between my lips. “Blah!” I exclaim while spitting a big wad of leftover goo from my mouth. “Absolutely disgusting!”
Cobra smiles sinisterly. “These bio-mechanical tentacles are state-of-the-art, my beautiful captive. You are defenseless against them!”
“We’ll see!” I say while squeezing the thing with every ounce of strength I can muster. The tip of the tentacle begins to quiver. Little streams of goo begin to squirt from cracks in its flexible shaft. The sinister smile of my opponent is replaced with a look of pain. “What are you doing?” he shouts. “Stop that!”
“Ah!” I answer. “So it is as I suspected. The tentacles are somehow controlled by your thoughts, aren’t they? And they provide sensory feedback to your brain, yes? That means you can feel what they feel. And if they feel pain, as this one is feeling, you experience it too, don’t you?”
I can tell by the expression on his face that I am right. I squeeze even harder. I twist the tentacle at sharp angles. Its hold on my throat loosens. I unwrap it from around my neck and try to rend it in two. I like the way Cobra yelps. But then, just as I think the battle is starting to go my way, his partner rejoins the fray. Diamondback’s pack opens. A second set of tentacles emerge. One of the sinister things moves forward and wraps itself around my left wrist. It pulls my hand away from the shaft of Cobra’s injured tentacle. We struggle, my arm fighting against the enemy’s bizarre bio-mechanical device. My right hand barely manages to retain its grip on Cobra’s slimy appendage. For several moments we fight for control. It becomes difficult to say if I hold the tentacles or if they hold me. But I only have two hands. Diamondback’s second tentacle, and the fourth that I have to deal with, wraps around my left leg. I kick at it in a futile attempt to knock it away. Its slimy embrace feels disgusting on the bare skin of my thigh. But worse is yet to come.
To my horror, the snake-like tip of the thing slides upward towards my crotch. At first, I try to convince myself that she is not going to do what I most fear. Surely, she will not stoop so low! But I can feel the tentacle drawing ever closer to my vulnerable womanhood. I try to squeeze tight my legs but the slippery thing wiggles between my inner thighs with ease. I gasp as it slides beneath the fabric of my
costume and makes first contact with my nether lips. It vibrates back and forth rapidly, quivering in an attempt to drill a path into my hole. My long legs kick frantically in a failed effort to shake it off. The thick tip works its way between soft folds of flesh. My body stiffens as it penetrates an inch into my love hole.
“Now I’ve got you!” Diamondback shouts in victory. “Let’s see how well you fight with that inside you!”
I squeal as the dastardly tentacle penetrates yet another inch into my tight snatch. I cross my ankles and keep my legs clamped tight together but I am not sure how much longer I can resist. The tentacle is just too slippery. It is just too insistent. It gains a third inch. I can feel it filling me, its thick girth throbbing and quivering as it tries to work its way yet deeper inside my body. And then, unexpectedly, a tingle of erotic excitement causes my aching pussy to respond. A quick flush of my own love juices mixes with the lubricating goo of the tentacle. My ankles separate. My thighs come apart. The thing penetrates me another two inches. Five inches inside me and then six. I moan as the thick shaft nearly tears me apart, stretching my tight pussy to its maximum in order to accommodate an unforgiving girth.
My head falls backward and I stare through glazed eyes up at the ceiling of the bank lobby. I am rapidly losing strength. My hands no longer struggle with the other tentacles. The things wrap around my wrists pull my once-strong arms out from my sides. My mind is swimming. The device inside me is ravaging my will to resist. More unwanted tingles of excitement cause my lithe body to tremble. Long legs scrape weakly at the air. I am still held aloft by the tentacle wrapped around my waist. There is nothing that I can do. The thing inside me penetrates another inch. I cannot take in much more of it, I know. I am nearly filled to overflowing.
“Unnnnhhhhh…” I groan.
“She is almost finished,” Diamondback states as if somehow disappointed. “Somehow, I thought the great Ms. Marvelous would be more of a challenge.”
Cobra is not so sure. “Good thing, if you ask me. She is so strong that I nearly depleted all of my battery power holding her. And one of my tentacles is severely damaged…”
“You were careless, that’s all. You should have restrained her arms before trying to choke her. She’s done, now, though.”
“Better make sure before we reel her in,” he replies. “Work her over a bit more.” “You do not need to ask twice,” Diamondback answers eagerly.
My body jerks as the tentacle in my pussy begins working itself back and forth inside me. In and out, in and out. Slowly. Back and forth, back and forth. A little bit faster. In and out, in and out. Two or three inches, teasing me. Then seven or eight, causing me to moan. A little slower, now. All the way out, a slow, agonizing, rub across my clit, then back in, filling me to capacity. In and out, in and out. My breathing becomes ragged. My back arches. Hard nipples jut up from beneath the sheer fabric of my costume. I moan again, this time louder, and they know that I am defeated. My body goes limp. In and out, in and out. Faster. Faster. I tense. The orgasm is near. Back and forth, back and forth, torturing me. All at once, my legs straighten. My arms go rigid. The tentacle pulls from me and again rubs across my clit. My body shakes. Then, just like that, I am done. Limp once more. Beaten. Humiliated.
My flaccid figure is laid on the floor. The tentacles slowly uncoil from my body and retract, leaving trails of slime streaked across my body. The vile things rest on the floor next to me like dozing pythons. The Serpent Squad stands over me and looks down on my athletic but helpless figure. Cobra can barely control himself. His cock is ready to tear a hole his bodysuit. His eyes roam lustfully over my lean body. He loves the curves of my hips and the taper of my waist. The sight of my swollen breasts, barely contained within the second skin that is my costume, fill him with desire. Golden, disheveled hair and the virtuous pout of my lips make him yearn for a taste. He wants me. My eyes are closed but the sound of an unzipping fly tells me that he intends to take me.
I try to catch my breath. My mind is full of erotic thoughts. Fantasies of being raped. My will is almost broken. But I am not defeated. Not yet. The orgasm was a fake. My strength-sapping climax had been an act, a last-ditch effort to fool my attackers into thinking that I am no longer a danger. If they work for Don Refrain then they know what he knows. They know that I am vulnerable to sexual stimulation. They know that I will lose my powers if forced to climax. That knowledge gives them an
advantage. But it works both ways. I can use it against them. I can let them think that I am beaten. Let them think that I am helpless. Then, when they least expect it, I will attack.
But as Cobra rolls me onto my back and pushes my knees apart, I am not sure that I can take advantage of my charade. Yes, the desperate ploy has bought me some time and allowed me to escape the tentacles, but have I simply delayed the inevitable? I am weak. Really weak. The Sartak is filling my mind with every kind of sexual desire. “Oh, god…” I moan to myself. “I am so aroused…”
I can feel him between my legs. I dare not to open my eyes for fear that the mere sight of his stiff member will finish me. I want him so badly. I want to feel his cock inside me. I want him to finish what Diamondback’s tentacle started. I want him to--
“Stop it!” I shout inside my mind. “Do not surrender!”
But my orgasm is so close. The knowledge that a man is kneeling between my thighs fills me with unwanted but undeniable anticipation. I whimper like a schoolgirl, sure that his cock is only inches away. The touch of his fingers causes my body to tremble. He pulls back the fabric of my bikini bottom. His hands move to my inner thighs, pushing downward and opening me wide so that he can move his waist closer. And then I feel it, the fat tip of his member, brushing for the first time against the soft lips of my pussy, working its way patiently between thin folds of pink flesh and into my wet hole. “Can’t let him inside me…” I groan. “…all over if he penetrates me…”
I force my eyelids to open a crack. He is above me, his face sneering. This is no fantasy, I realize. This is for real. Cobra is a bounty hunter. He is intent on raping me. Almost as bad, or maybe even worse, is that he works for my arch-enemy. Don Refrain is a truly evil man, a man that thinks nothing of destroying innocent peoples’ lives. The crime lord hates me. I have thwarted his plans on numerous occasions and sent his son to prison. I have revealed his dark nature to an unsuspecting world and ruined his reputation as an honest businessman. “What might he do to me?” I think. “What might Don Refrain do if he gets his hands on me?”
The fat head of Cobra’s cock penetrates my hole. I moan loudly and nearly lose it. But something inside urges me to fight on. Something, an inner strength perhaps, forces me to clench my fist and slam it off of his jaw.
“No!” I scream in rage. “I will not let you do this!”
The powerful blow catches him completely by surprise. His head snaps back and he rolls off of me, stunned. The slimy tentacles originating from his backpack wriggle. I grab one of them in my hands and use it like a whip. I snap it across Diamondback’s face and chest with everything I have. She squeals like a stuck pig as I jump to my feet and wrap it around her arms and shoulders. I tie the thing off as best I can behind her back, partially restraining her. But her own tentacles are still free—they rise off the floor and flail in the air madly. They are on me in an instant, groping and pulling at my body, trying to get a grip on me. One of them works its way down and across my back. It slides between my legs and presses against the opening of my aching pussy so forcefully that it lifts my butt up into the air. I groan and nearly collapse to the floor as it works its way deep into my gap and tries once again to invade my body. But I am still behind her. She is working blind and unable to adequately control the long tentacles. I figure it takes a lot of concentration to make the things move the way she wants them to. A chop to the back of her head proves me right. Her legs buckle and she drops to her knees. The tentacles go limp and fall to the floor. Working quickly, I pick them up and wrap them around her body several times. By the time I am finished, Diamondback is tightly bound in a series of slimy coils.
“That should hold you!” I exclaim joyfully.
“But don’t forget about me!” a male voice says from behind me.
“Cobra!”
His hands are on me before I can react. One wraps around my left shoulder and pulls my back tight against his chest. The other slides down over my ass and between my legs. His fingers rub across my nether lips like old pros. He finds my swollen clit and proceeds to torture it relentlessly. I moan loudly and go limp in his strong arms. The inner strength that I had previously found seems to abandon me. Once again, my mind is swallowed within the velvety embrace of uncontrollable sexual imagery. Erotic sensations are rocking my slender figure. My head falls back against his shoulder. Soft lips caress the erogenous zones on my neck. A hungry tongue teases the line of my jaw. He blows puffs of warm air into my ear. My nipples become hard like diamonds. My pussy is dripping wet. An orgasm, once denied,
grows strong within me. I am quickly approaching the point of no return. He is playing my body like an instrument and I am nearly ready to explode.
He senses my weakness. “You’re mine, now, super-bitch. Your sweat papaya juice is dripping all over my fingers. In a few seconds, you will cum and lose your powers. Then we will have some real fun. I am going to fuck you until you scream for mercy. I’m going to make you call me daddy. I’m going to bring you off a dozen times before dragging your used up ass back to Refrain trussed and bound like the sex
slave you are.”
His words insult and anger me. I squirm in a failed attempt to escape his grasp. I manage to spit out the word “Bastard!” between pants and moans.
“Ah, don’t be like that,” he snickers. One of his tentacles is wrapped around Diamondback and out of action. But the other one, the one that I had injured, lifts off the floor and wraps around our bodies, locking us together in an erotic, one-sided embrace. His fingers resume their work. I moan helplessly, sure that this is the end.
“It won’t be long now,” he assures me. “I can feel your body tensing. You are nearly ready to climax.”
The slimy feel of the tentacle embracing our bodies brings me somewhat back to my senses. The thing is not as strong as it had been before. I am weak but so is it. Goo drips from the foul thing like a kind of blood. It is injured. It is slippery. Maybe I can use that to my advantage. Maybe there is one, last hope.
I muster my concentration and hope to the gods that my flying power still works. I launch myself upward toward the high ceiling. Surprisingly, my slender body slips easily through the coils of the tentacle. I am free but the effort takes its toll—I crash back to the ground a few feet away, my breath heavy and strength nearly depleted.
Cobra, frustrated, lashes out at me with the tentacle. It slaps me across the face harshly. The blow stings and leaves a streak of slime across my cheek, but also serves to invigorate me. As he tries to hit me a second time, I grab the snaking thing in my hands and give a hard tug. I gather up the excess slack and pull again. Cobra fights against me, matching his strength against mine, and for a moment it is not clear who will win. In the end, though, only one of us can prevail. Only one of us is a super-heroine.
I pull on the tentacle a final time and draw the bounty hunter too me. I am behind him. I grab his backpack and pull on it with all of my strength. He screams. He protests. But I do what has to be done. I tear the backpack from his body. Streams of slime spray into the air. The tentacles quiver a last time before falling limp onto the floor. Cobra collapses, unconscious.
I look down on the man in disgust. Large ruptures on his back expose sparking wires and torn nerve endings. I examine the backpack and am amazed that such technology exists. It repulses me that a man would willingly allow such things to be attached to his body. It worries me that such things can make a normal man almost a match for a super-heroine.
It is mop-up time. I leave Cobra and his counterpart wrapped in the coils of their own hideous tentacles, gift-wrapped for the police. I adjust my costume and take some time to regain my composure. I raise the security gate and leave the bank amid the applause of thankful employees and customers. No one is more thankful than me, though. I am thankful just to have survived. But I am also worried-- I know that the Serpent Squad will never relent until they fulfill their contract with Don Refrain. They will not rest until they capture me. I need to find out more about them. I need to deal with them before they deal with me.
But as I take to the sky and head for home, I know that such concerns will have to wait. There is still the matter of the missing girls and the meeting scheduled for tonight. They are counting on me to rescue them, I know. My own safety has to be a secondary concern.