Dark Damsel, Part/Chapter Two:
AVERTING THE ULTIMATE “BLOW” JOB
(Still) Written by Puz the Imp
(Lesee, picking up where I
left off… The two lesbian bimbos were lying in bed, in Hellen’s apartment,
doing stuff…yeah.)
(\ /)
W
Hellen Hussley thought about her life. Mostly, she
thought about what it would’ve been like if she hadn’t found her grandmother’s
super-powered cape among the truckload of antique junk that had been her
inheritance. She was still in the process of discovering what it could do. The
latest of those discoveries would probably have killed her if her (mediocre)
co-worker and (phenomenal) lesbian lover Lucile Rikardo hadn’t realised that
the cute little carrot-top didn’t smoke, but was really just making an excuse
to sneak away, and decided to follow her.
Since
Lucy more or less saved her life, and because it was damn hard to keep a secret
when you were caught drowning in your own juices inside a well-known
superheroine costume, Hellen had prompted to tell her the truth. So while she
rested her head on Lucy’s abundantly pillow-sized chest, she told her whole
story about how she became the Dark Damsel and the adventures she’d already
experienced as the superheroine. She even let slip the cape’s one major
weakness when Lucy asked why it’d spontaneously come apart when she
accidentally stepped on her lover’s unconscious costumed form. The rubber soles
of Lucy’s shoes had been enough to completely sap out whatever mysterious (read: Weird) force
that gave the cape its powers.
Lucy
laughed. It started with a few giggles, then a snort, and then went hysterical
for nearly a minute. Hellen let it go on in spite of her fears that Lucy was
thinking of another bad rubber/condom pun. Anyway, Hellen was happy feeling the
brunette’s breasts vibrate like an erotic gelatinous dessert.
“So
let me get this straight,” Lucy said. Here it comes, thought Hellen in
response. “All those evil rapists you’ve captured had to do to beat you was
follow the Surgeon General’s advice and put on some fucking protection?”
“Not
unless they were planning to slap me into submission with their dicks,” Hellen
retorted. “It only works if the rubber’s in direct physical contact with the
cape.”
“No
offence,” Lucy giggled, “but that is the lamest weakness ever!”
(No kidding.)
“I
know, I know.” Hellen sighed. “I just wish I knew how grandma got around it.”
“Around?
Hey,” Lucy suddenly exclaimed, “who was she? I mean, was she a superheroine,
too? Which one?”
The
name Hellen revealed to her was one of Metroburg’s legends: The Sultry Shadow.
Lucy’s
eyes widened. “Wow! Wasn’t she, like, the only crime-fighting woman in history
to retire with a perfect record?”
“Yeah.
Not a single defeat, capture, stripping, rape or gang-bang, alien-impregnation,
milking, (did I mention raping?) or even a knock-out in thirty-five years of
service to the city!”
“She
was even greater than Wonder Woman or Captain America!” Lucy said admirably. “I
wonder why there aren’t any comics or TV-series or Internet porn sites
dedicated to her.”
“Easy,”
Hellen answered darkly,” because she was the most desirable babe of the decade, and no
matter how badly the public wanted to see it, she never
once got screwed!”
“Makes
sense, I guess.”
Hellen
slid over on her side so that one of Lucy’s amazing nipples arrived within
tongue-distance of her…tongue (sorry, momentary lapse of
graphic imagination, won’t happen again).
() ()*
W
It was not a dark and stormy night. The wind wasn’t
howling like the warnings from a banshee of utter despair. Ominous light was
not being cast down upon the Earth from a malevolent full moon. Foreign wolves
passing through the area had better things to do than to scream challenges
against an unseen force. Black cats decided they’d spent too much time licking
and taking care of their fur to want to upset it by cowering in animalistic
fear. All in all it was the most anti-climactic night of evil re-emergence,
like, ever.
Four
disembodied female voices, swimming on the air, argued amongst themselves atop
a barren hillside overlooking the city. Their dialogue, though unheard by
mortal ears (not a problem for yours truly), went something like this:
“This
can’t be right.”
“Who
the hell had the map?”
“This
better be the right universe! Wore drives like an old lady on the Dimensional
Freeway!”
“I
do not!”
“Shut
up, both of you! This is the ‘Earth #0.0000002.1a’ reality, I’m sure of it.
Don’t you remember this smell from the last time we came here?”
“Yeah,
Deph’s right. I told you we got off at the right exit.”
The
conversation paused for a few seconds. Maybe one or more of the invisible women
were surveying the sight of Metroburg City.
“What
is this awful place?”
“Who
cares? It’ll be gone by tomorrow night.”
“Come
one, Wore. Fammy and I wanna have some fun before we erase the city. Remember New
Tokyo? That plague of Nymphomania we did was totally hilarious! We can’t keep
score of where we’ve been unless we know which cities we’ve destroyed.”
“Erased,
not destroyed. Erased, Pennylence! Once we’ve drained all the mortal souls
we’ve got to remember to remove all living memory of the city ever having
existed. We can’t have another accident like with Pompeii.”
“Yeah,
or Atlantis! Remember all the shit we had to sort through to burry that place
before anyone noticed that it’d just vanished without a trace from the face of
the Earth!”
“Don’t
remind me! Setting off all those natural (natural,
right) disasters gave me a
migraine for, like, half a century!”
“Poor
baby!”
“Shut
up, Wore!”
/\ /\
W
But that little matter of impending genocide wasn’t going
to cause anything particularly noteworthy for some time yet – Enough time to
get to know a few of Metroburg’s finest “other” superheroines. Take Super Slut,
for instance (why not, everyone else had!
Hahahahahaaa!!! Oh, I kill me!).
More could be said about her than Hellen Hussley’s judgemental opinion.
When
describing the infamous Hooters’ waitress (mild
mannered, and all that) who
by night infrequently became the most well-known superheroine in the city, it
would be best to start with her costume. High-heeled white pumps, a hip-length
white cape, a cute little white mask over the eyes, and that was pretty much it. Otherwise, she
was as butt-naked as the day she last got laid (Tuesday,
around midnight, with a five-ton mutated slug). Her old costume, it was said, had been a lot more covering,
but six years of experience had taught her that in the end she could save both
time and effort by removing the need for her inevitable captors to tear her
clothes off and thus make her have to sew it back together the following
morning.
As
for her superpowers, they were really more burdening than helpful. Like, she
had this regeneration thing (you know, a thing, you know) which, on the plus side, allowed her to
survive practically anything up to and including being run over by a
steamroller, but it also caused her breasts to swell and enlarge bigger and
bigger the more she got hurt. And then there was the pheromone stuff she used
to make her opponents sexually desire her, regardless of gender or even
species, which didn’t help much either because as often as not it back-fired,
causing perverted compulsions like to break into the public zoo at night and
invite the caged hyenas to have their way with her.
Finally,
there was Super Slut’s shape which, in all honesty, looked less like a human
being than a Barbie-doll. She’d been born a natural blond, but one particular
even a few years ago had drained all colour out of it, leaving her hair a
snowy-white that somehow resisted all brands of hair-colouring known to Man.
Oh, and that comment didn’t solely apply to the hair on her head (this is the part where I go Wink-Wink, Nudge-Nudge, and we all have
cheap laugh). Huge breasts
were, obviously, normal among superheroines, but Super Slut’s pair were enormous even by
their standards. Each milk-filled sphere was the size and sponginess of a
beach-ball.
(*) (*)
W
Metroburg Harbour was stacked with abandoned
warehouses, apparently reserved for the local villain population to have as
suitable space for all the various evil plotting, scheming and molestation of
intrusive superheroines that was so important to a villainous gang’s nightly
activities. The latter was currently taking place; Super Slut was more than
happy to be the life of the party, as it were.
The
Three-Jay gang hadn’t really been planning anything that evening. So it was
lucky that a real live sex-doll decided to show up and let herself be
overpowered by a spare plank to the back of her head. Two of the criminal
triplets took turns pumping Super Slut’s ass and cunt with their
unnaturally-sized manhoods, while the third was happy groping, squeezing,
stretching and nibbling on her gradually-growing tits (they
usually shrunk back to normal once her wounds healed, but this time she was
already fairly bruised from her last battle underneath evil). The three of them had been raping her
continuously for almost half-an-hour now. John and John-John-John cumming
inside her caused almost as much semen to spurt out onto the floor as was being
poured inside her.
A
cell phone started to ring. For a moment Super Slut’s orgasms were passing in
time with the ringing noise.
“That
yours, John?”
“No,
John-John-John. It must be John-John’s, ‘cause he’s still got his pants on.”
“Yup,
it’s mine. I’ll just see who it is.”
The
guy who’d been purposely trying to enlarge her breasts dropped what he was
doing (literally) to answer the call.
“Yeah?”
he said. “Wow, how’d you know she was here? Yup, John and John-John-John are
fucking her right now. Uh-huh. Why? Do we have to, right now? Yes, ma’am.”
John
and his brother with the lengthier name finished tying and gagging the Super
Slut, and then wiped their members of on her bloated breasts.
“Bad
news, brothers,” said John-John, flipping off his cell phone. “Miss Big wants
us back at her mansion.”
“Which
one,” asked John-John-John.
“What
do you mean?”
“She’s
got lots of mansions,” John pointed out. “Alexia Luthor’s the richest secret
crime-lady in the world. That’s why she can afford lots of billionaire-estates
in addition to the top-secret hideout on the hill two miles south of the
East-Side mental institution in West Street.”
“Man,
she is so touchy about that secret lair. She’s even got all those assassins
paid to kill whichever idiot henchman that’s stupid enough to blow its location
to a superheroine. That and her secret identity, of course.”
“No
kidding! We’d get our dicks shoved down our throats if we were dumb enough to
leak out the fact that respected industrialist Alexia Luthor is really the evil
criminal mastermind behind 90% of all organised crime in the city known only as
Miss Big!”
Super
Slut, bound and gagged on the sticky, wet floor, tried to make herself as
inconspicuous as was possible for a full-figured woman with tits currently
larger than her own head.
The
Three-Jaw gang suddenly managed to stop babbling long enough for their brains
to simultaneously start working again. All eyes were suddenly upon the
overhearing, over-sexed superheroine on the floor.
“Well,”
John-John said. “Guess we gotta kill her now.”
“Shame,”
agreed John.
“At
least we can always get an easy fucking from Babegirl or Hippie-Chick,”
John-John-John pointed out.
“True,”
the others agreed.
(\ /)
~
The three identical brothers managed to stock up a
huge pile of explosives and really inflammable stuff from the crates and
barrels strewn around the corners of the old warehouse. They shoved Super Slut
right in the middle of the pile and got to work with her.
John-John
started by soaking her body all over by pouring out a full canister of oil and
smothering it over her naked flesh, especially her bouncier parts. John took
advantage of her temporarily-enlarged nipples to stuff one tiny bottle of
compressed nitro-glycerine into each nip-hole. John-John-John made a bet with
the others to see how many sticks of dynamite he could fit into her stretched
vagina. The bet ended at four huge sticks crammed tightly into her cunt, and
two more in her rear. Finally, they topped off the death-trap with a ball-gag
made entirely out of C4-plastic explosive.
The
triplets stepped back to admire their handiwork.
“Gentlemen,”
John announced, “I give you the Slut-Bomb!”
“Well,
Super Slutty,” John-John said, lighting the long fuse running from the TNT in
her pussy.
“We’d
love to stay and watch you get blown.”
“But
we gotta go see the boss lady.”
“See
ya!”
(] [)
W
Dark Damsel and Identity Pending, her very new
sidekick, had been watching the events unfold through the smudgy glass windows
set in the roof of the warehouse. Neither of them were much concerned with the
city’s mascot superheroine being one rapidly-shortening fuse away from an
expansive death.
“Do
you think we should be more concerned that the city’s mascot superheroine is
one rapidly-shortening fuse away from an expansive death?” asked Identity
Pending, idly stroking her partners shiny buttocks.
“Nah,”
Dark Damsel answered, mildly annoyed that the title character had to wait this
long before getting a good role in the second chapter of her own story. “Let’s
let her sweat a while longer.”
Identity
Pending was not that Dark Damsel’s sidekick would have preferred. In fact, it
wasn’t even a name, just a bi-product of Lucy’s inability to come up
with a catchy name that wouldn’t cause copyright infringement. What made the
naming a lot harder was that Lucy didn’t have any superpowers, or special
abilities, or even some martial arts talent, for crying out loud!
“How
about, Lady Lookout?” the shiny super-female suggested, since it basically was
her job to spy on the bad guys to make sure they weren’t packing any hazardous
rubber materials.
“Lame.”
Dark
Damsel glanced down at her shameless soon-to-be-detonated, slutty nemesis. “Do
you think,” she asked the curious pigeons pecked at the roof, “it would be such
a bad
thing if I, you know, just let nature take its course?”
“Are
you crazy!” Identity Pending was shocked at her irresponsible attitude. “Don’t
you know there’s a homeless-orphanage-children’s hospital across the street
from here! What the kids get hit by debris or something!?”
“Oh,
my god, why didn’t you tell me sooner!” Dark Damsel shouted. “I must protect
the innocent!”
“But
what about-?” IP started.
“She
is not
innocent by any human standards, okay!”
(\ /)
W
(Don’t I get to make a lot
faces in this chapter, eh?)
Super Slut wasn’t just a little surprised to have a
shiny black blur of movement suddenly storm in through the door, jet across the
room, whirlwind around her to remove the ropes and various explosives lodged in
her cavities, and in the end plant a high-heeled boot in her pussy, thus
extinguishing the fuse, but also cramming the dynamite sticks another few
inches into her body.
“Oops,”
uttered the dark-clad damsel. “I bet that’s gonna be a bitch to get out.”
Super
Slut twisted her face and moaned like she was being fucked by- (No, no forget I
said that! I don’t think there’s a simile out there that could compare with
what she was actually, physically, experiencing. Let’s cut the crap, and say
that by now her pussy was so well-lubricated that she could easily masturbate
out the TNT lodged in her).
Super Slut finished moaning and,
ignoring her careless saviour, started masturbating out the remaining TNT
lodged in her.
Resting her hands on her hips, Dark
Damsel narrowed her glowing red eyes at the over-sexed (how many times
have I said that description now?) aptly-named superheroine.
“Listen, you slut,” she said. “I’ll be straight with you (…). I heard every
word those three morons said, and that’s why I’m going to
follow them to that secret mansion. I’m going to apprehend Alexia
Luthor after we’ve gathered enough evidence to get her. And I’m
gonna that you with me so I can show you how a real
superheroine is supposed to behave!”
“Boo-ya!”
Dark Damsel rolled her eyes.
“Luuuceeee!!” she whined.
“Sorry, I got caught up in the
excitement,” Identity Pending shrugged.
Super Slut didn’t seem very excited,
though. “Yeah, sure, no problem, whatever,” she muttered, concentrating more on
trying to finger the last stick like a someone trying to tweeze a fly out of
their nose (…or something).
“I’ll watch your rears, guys!” IP
said enthusiastically.
Dark Damsel patted her on the back.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, smiling, as far as anyone could tell under the cover
of her costume. “But you’d better keep an eye on milky-tits here,” she added,
pointing her thumb over her back, and a few inches into Super Slut’s soft
boob-flesh.
() /)
w
“So, what
are we gonna do tonight, Deph?” asked the most feminine of the four voices.
“The same thing we do every night,”
answered the least feminine one. “Try to devour the world! One damned city at a
time.”
“Fine, we’re all looking forward to
that, but can we please get some corporeal forms yet? Come on, this whole
disembodied voice act is getting old, fast!”
“I agree. We’re not exactly well
equipped for vanquishing mortal champions like this.”
“Yes. But first we must review our
itinerary.”
“I remember; first we besiege a
mortal dwelling…”
“…then we corrupt the morality of
its inhabitants…”
“Which we didn’t have to do, since
they were pretty immoral from the start.”
“…then we take mortal forms and
await the arrival of the mightiest mortal champion.”
“Then we get to play with her for a
while.”
“Or him.”
“No, trust me. It’ll definitely
be a female this time.”
“Anyway. We kill the mortal hero,
and finally devour the souls of the city’s inhabitants before we erase the
place from existence and then move on to some other miserable dump.”
“Great! Now let’s move our spiritual
butts down to the Red-Light districts! They got some great
human bodies there we can copy for ourselves.”
Dark
Damsel came to a halt outside the great titanium gates of Miss Big’s secluded
mansion. Identity Pending, who’d been riding piggy-back on her all the way
through town, got shakily off, stumbled and lost her balance. Super Slut landed
beside them (did I mention she could fly, ‘cause she really could, you know!).
“Are you alright?”
IP leaned against her for support.
“I’ll be f-fine, as soon as the damn world stops s-spinning.”
“Then let’s go kick some evil ass!”
Dark Damsel grinned.
“Okey-dokey!” agreed Super Slut.
“God, I hate you!”
“Okey-dokey!”
“Urgh!”
(End part Two.
Next: THE GARDEN OF HORNY VEGETABLES)