Adventures of The Golden Goose
Chapter 2 - Under new management
By FermiRefuted
Part 1: The Skip
On a Wednesday
Everyone hates staff meetings, and the Golden Goose was no exception.
“Folks, this year at the Daily Grind we All. Have. A Choice to make.”
The journalists of Gruntham-on-Sleet’s local paper were crammed into their only meeting room trying not to sweat. The atmosphere was thick with the mingled stench of nicotine and feet, rising from the matted 1980s carpet tiles beneath their swivel chairs.
“I came to England in search of Truth. Journalistic Truth. Personal Truth. My Truth.”
The Grind’s new owner reinforced each point with a bang of her fist on the sticky, coffee-ringed surface of the boardroom table.
“Now you might be wondering Why the most successful editor in the history of the New Troy Daily Herald and founder of Clapback Magazine poured her Life Savings into a little tabloid newspaper on the other side of the Atlantic…”
The muttering among the staff clustered near the door rose, and the sound of suppressed snorts and chuckles could be heard as well as one musical feminine giggle.
Karen Roth straightened up to her full height of 6’ 2” and reached into to the dusty trophy cabinet on the left of the interactive whiteboard. She selected the glass rectangle of the 2001 Regional Press Award, and, with a toss of her flame-red bangs, hurled it at the back wall of the room where it shattered into a thousand pieces.
The room fell silent. Tea cooled in mugs, and slack, unshaven jaws hung open.
“Does Someone. Have Something. To Share?” Growled Karen, glaring at the small crowd at the back.
The group of paunchy, balding men shrank away under their boss’s baleful gaze and a full-figured blonde woman in thick glasses was shoved forward. The girl bit her cosmetically-enhanced lip and tried to stifle a mischievous grin.
“Tanya Harrow, Skip.” She said, “Newsdesk. Honour to meet you at last. I just said how you probably got the idea from Ted Lasso, or that one where the copper goes to Lincolnshire?”
“I didn’t see that one.” Said Nigel Northgate, Features Editor, puffing on his vape pen despite The Policy.
“It had the bloke in it.” Said Val Diamond, Office Manager. “You know. The one with the face and the sex tape.”
Discipline evaporated as the boardroom descended into a directionless argument about which streaming service was really worth the subscription.
Karen closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply and forcing down her anger into a hard cold ball of vengeance around her solar plexus. She forced a smile and beckoned Tanya to join her at the front of the meeting room while the rest of the staff grumbled and began to think about another cup of tea.
Tanya shuffled over to her new boss, trying to look sheepish and apologetic but unable to hide the gleam of devilry behind her thick glasses. Up close, Karen realised they must be around the same age, but there the similarities ended.
Karen, with all the coiled tension of an angry rattlesnake, was a lean Amazonian powerhouse, sleekly attired in iron-grey houndstooth palazzo pants and a black turtleneck. Her body, toned to perfection by the best gyms and personal trainers on America’s east coast, throbbed with athletic strength. Her high-cheekboned face, highlighted with the subtlest of foundations and piercing green eyes, was framed by red bangs and undergirded with the strong square jaw of a marble Roman empress.
Her new employee – Tanya, apparently, was a foot shorter, with curly bleach-blonde hair pulled back in a tight Croydon facelift. Round, heart-shaped face bronzed with a even matt finish spray tan*, she seemed to mock Karen with her artificially pouted and parted lips. She batted long false eyelashes behind the thick lenses of a pair of gold-framed glasses.
Tanya’s zaftig figure was squeezed into an outfit which might have been office-appropriate if it had been three sizes larger. Her tank top was so tight that the ridges of her bra and her puffy areolas could easily be seen through the fabric. Karen licked her lips. Each of Tanya’s bouncing breasts was at least as big as the girl’s head.
Tanya’s matronly hips were crammed into a tight miniskirt which rode up even as she stood on the spot. The journalist’s thick bare thighs softly pressed together beneath the hem of the skirt, jiggling as she nervously shifted from foot to foot in stiletto heels.
Karen’s precisely-lipsticked crimson smile drew pack from pristine white teeth as she delicately placed an arm around Tanya’s shoulder and hissed into her ear.
“Funny Girl.”
Karen was rewarded with a shiver from her curvy subordinate. The redhead barked out a laugh so loud that Tanya jumped again and the rabble of hacks started to pay attention to the boss again.
“Hah! Hah. Let’s get a few things clear, folks.” Said Karen. “Your buddy Titania here made a Joke. She’s Hilarious. Unfortunately, I’m not as much fun as Titania.”
“Er, Skip, you can call me…”
“I know your God Damned Name, Titania.”
Karen brought down her hand in a wide arc, smacking Tanya’s well-cushioned bottom so hard that a plaster tile dropped out of the ceiling and broke over the head of Gareth Trago, football correspondent. The Daily Grind team were again stunned into silence.
“OOOOOH!” squeaked Tanya, clapping both hands protectively over her tender rump, but suddenly found her wrists pinned and twisted behind her back. Karen shoved Tanya face-first over the boardroom table. The blonde journalist wheezed as her ample breasts were crushed into the MDF surface, knocking the air out of her.
“I meant to say she’s Ridiculous. You’re all Ridiculous. Your little town – Gruntham-on-Sleet – is the Worst cess-pit of crime and public disorder in England and you and your Best investigative journalist, the Famous Titania Harrow – who I was Genuinely looking forward to meeting today, turns out to be a Fat-Assed little bitch who tries to Humiliate her new boss On.”
Karen smacked Tanya’s defenceless rear end again with a hand like a steel shovel. Tanya squealed and wriggled to no avail.
“Day.”
Karen smacked Titania’s soft bouncing pillows again, drawing out a more frantic wail.
“One.”
Karen delivered one final punishing swat to Tanya’s thrashing rear and released the blonde girl’s arms, dropping her to the desk with a thump.
“Oh, my days…” Tanya groaned. The shock and public humiliation left her unable to do anything more than wiggle her hips and rump as if daring Karen to spank her even harder.
“I’ve read your HR files.” Said Karen, voice as cold as ice. “I’ve read all your back issues for the last year. I know you all punch in after ten in the morning and clock off at three on a good day. I know what you all sit here masturbating to while the bills get paid from your crummy little BBC Local News Partnership grant. Well, No More. We are getting your circulation Up and we are going to Trim The Fat off this Nickel and Dime ‘rag’ you call a Newspaper.”
Karen looked around at the faces of chastened men, who unconsciously began to straighten up, suck in their guts and feverishly recall how to tie a half-Windsor knot.
“I’ll see each of the sub-editors individually for briefings on your new beats. Now Get To Work!”
The journalists of the Daily Grind, suddenly sweating in the now fraught atmosphere of the meeting room, quickly began to pile out of the meeting room. Seeing Tanya still squirming like a beached seal in front of her, Karen seized her employee’s blonde ponytail and dragged her halfway off the desk. Tanya’s stiletto-heeled calves wobbled like the legs of a newborn doe as she struggled feebly to stand up.
“One more thing, Fellas! I don’t want to hear Skip, or Chief, or any of that jock crap in the office. I like a Flat Hierarchy. First name basis Only. So call me Karen. Except Titania here…”
Karen delivered another sharp whack to Tanya’s backside, now so sore that tears began to start in the blonde journalist’s eyes as she whimpered in humiliation.
“Who will call me Ms. Roth at All Times. Understood? Good.”
Tanya finally got her balance and dizzily tried to stand up straight as Karen released her platinum tresses.
The new boss cracked her knuckles as she watched the blonde journalist tentatively rub her tender buttocks and shudder from the pain.
“Ms. Roth…” said Tanya tremulously. “I… I had no idea you were going to be so… er… strict.”
Karen smirked.
“Your ass is hanging out of your skirt, Titania. If I see that again, I will spank you in the main office until you cry like a little girl in front of your entire team.”
“Ooh…” Tanya murmured and seemed to lose her train of thought for a second.
“Tanya?”
“Sorry, Ms. Roth. I… have you really been following my work?”
“Oh, I have. Your analysis of post-op fatalities in the overseas cosmetic surgery trade last year was better than anything I read in the national press. You’d be a decent journalist if you could fix that attitude. I have… plans for you, Titania. I’m particularly interested in a… close personal contact of yours. I need to put in a call to The Golden Goose.”
Part 2: the case
On a Thursday
Fortunately, the Golden Goose was available for a meeting the next evening. Tanya seemed to have a pretty good grasp of the heroine’s diary.
As Karen stepped out onto the damp cobbles of St Grubworth’s Lane she wrinkled her nose at the miasma of stale urine which hung in the air.
The crumbling church steeples and square tower blocks of central Gruntham stood out stark black against the burning crimson of dusk over the Sleet estuary. The city still had a faint rumble of traffic as the last commuters made their way home, but otherwise 7pm was a peaceful hour. Since the shift to ‘digital policing’ across the borough, no emergency sirens sounded in the town, just bestial howls of criminality and violence.
A high pitched hum from the far end of the lane broke Karen’s meditations and a pre-production Vespa GTV with a gleaming gold chassis screeched to a halt next to the owner of the Daily Grind.
Straddling the moped was the masked figure of Gruntham’s premiere vigilante, The Golden Goose, her secret identity concealed behind a venetian mask encrusted with feathers and glitter.
“Wow…” said Karen. “I’ve already seen the photos on the Sidebar of Shame, but you are even more impressive in the… flesh.”
“Nice to meet you too, babes. I see my reputation precedes me.” Said The Golden Goose, in a familiar broad estuary accent.
It took the heroine a minute or so to dismount the Vespa, painstakingly bracing her gold-sequined stiletto pumps on the slippery pavement surface before wiggling her ample bottom off the saddle and hoisting it into the air.
As Karen watched the process with relish, she got a good look at the woman who allegedly cleaned up crime in Gruntham by night. For their meeting, the plump heroine had squeezed into a tight golden bustier which sculpted her massive breasts into two thrusting, heaving globes. She was so close to popping out that Karen could see why the Golden Goose moved carefully. The leading edge of her pink nipples peeked out cheekily above the hem and remained visible despite a clear effort by the heroine to squeeze them back into the cups of her top.
The Golden Goose’s bustier wrap
ped snugly around her waist, creating a generous spare tyre around her midsection. The heroine’s pear-shaped hips, noticeably wider than her shoulders, jiggled softly as she posed and preened in front of Karen. The Golden Goose thrust out her rotund belly with the same pride she displayed her overripe breasts. Her navel was pierced with a fine silver chain terminating in a tiny silver bell which tinkled daintily in the night air. Below the waist, the only thing the Golden Goose wore was a tiny golden g-string which barely stretched across the vigilante’s hips and protected none of her pendulous extremities from the harsh pull of gravity or the leering gaze of any given passer-by.
Karen noted the similarity between the Golden Goose’s spray tan and hair colour and those of Tanya Harrow. I guess all these girls go to the same salons. Like the Florida Keys with warm beer.
“Tanya was in touch with me this afternoon.” Said The Golden Goose. “She says you’ve come from the States this week and brought a little bit of trouble with you.”
“It’s true”, said Karen. “Shortly after I arrived in England, my sources confirmed that a master thief by the name of Madame Razor has come to Sleetside for… reasons unknown. Golden Goose, this woman is dangerous. She’s raided banks and casinos across the U.S. and Canada and has a whole sideline in stolen art and antiquities. She’s left cops in the hospital, security guards on life support, and she stops at nothing to get what she wants.”
“What the bloody hell is she doing in Sleetside?” said the Golden Goose. “The only things worth stealing are copper cabling and lead off the church roof. And most of that was picked over by Punk Dennis and the Lost Lads before the pandemic.”
“There’s got to be something. Madame Razor doesn’t travel overseas unless there’s a score.”
The Golden Goose pursed her puffy lips and thoughtfully rubbed the jutting shelf of her rump.
“Hang on a mo’… did you say antiquities? Roman stuff old enough for her?”
“Absolutely.”
“The statue of Juno Nutrix” Said the Golden Goose. “They dug up a whole temple underneath the Bogler’s Wells estate last year, but the statue’s the finest piece of Roman sculpture anyone’s uncovered for 20 years. It’s unique, so it’d be hard to fence.”
“If Madame Razor’s involved, there’s already a buyer. She usually steals to order.”
“Security at the Gruntham Civic Hub is pretty crap, but it’s Relentless Boys territory. The Bad Doctor’s pharmacy runs out of there.” She sighed “Hate the idea of helping that bloke out.”
The Golden Goose swung a well-rounded thigh back over the Vespa. Settling herself on the extra-wide dual-pad saddle, she groaned and winced in intense discomfort. The Vespa listed and the heroine had to put a leg back down to stop it from tumbling over. Karen instinctively started toward the wavering vigilante.
“Are you ok?” she asked, clapping a steadying hand on the Golden Goose’s arm. The heroine’s copper flesh was warm and yielding in her palm and the Golden Goose let out a little coo of surprise. Pink lips parting, she turned her masked face and shimmering blue eyes up to the redheaded editor.
“I’m… a little bit sore.” murmured the Golden Goose reluctantly. “I… er… got captured earlier. The… burglar… spanked me after he tied me up. Over and over. It aches like bloody hell. It’s hard to ride like this…”
“Let me take a look.” Said Karen eagerly, hoisting and flipping her onto her stomach without waiting for a response.
Suddenly bent over the saddle of her own bike, the Golden Goose squeaked in protest as her bruised posterior was exposed to the cold night sky. Her tiny thong arced over her squirming hips, concealing nothing from the editor’s probing fingers which proceeded to explore every millimetre of her pink, well-tenderised buttocks, visibly throbbing from their earlier rough treatment.
“Oh, please not again!” squeaked the Golden Goose “I’m too sensitive down there!”
Karen’s hands twitched with excitement as she cupped the two gelatinous cheeks that the costumed crimefighter thrust up toward her. She traced her fingers over the cellulite dimples which cratered the heroine’s swollen rear end, enjoying the heroine’s embarrassed struggling as she pinched and tweaked every tiny bump on the surface. Finally, she sank her fingers deep into the Golden Goose’s rump, kneading the flesh like dough and forcing a long drawn-out moan from the chubby blonde.
“Just settle down, baby…” murmured Karen, easing her grip on the heroine to a gentle fingertip massage. “You just need a little care and attention…”
“What… what are you going to do to me?” said the Golden Goose in a quavering voice.
“Hold still, sweetie.”
With no apparent effort, Karen slid into the saddle of the Vespa, hauling the Golden Goose up and over her lap. The heroine cried out as she found her soft stomach now sagging between the steely thighs of her would-be informant. Entirely at the mercy of the newspaper editor, the blonde did no more than cup her own breasts protectively, anxiously trying to prevent the jiggling tide from overwhelming the creaking cups of her golden bustier.
“Ooof…” wheezed the Golden Goose.
Karen reached into her bag and retrieved a small bottle of anti-inflammatory salve, squirting a generous dollop into her palm.
“This was supposed to be for Tanya. She had a little accident at the office. But we can’t send you out to fight crime with this big booty of yours so tender and vulnerable, now can we?”
“But you… I…”
The Golden Goose’s jaw dropped, completely lost for words as the editor started to carefully rub the cooling cream into her hindquarters. As Karen retraced her all-inclusive tour of the heroine’s rump, she worked the salve into every ripple and roll of the heroine’s bruised derriere. Despite herself, the Golden Goose found herself settling comfortably into the editor’s lap, and began to arch her back and murmur with pleasure as she felt the redhead’s muscular palms kneading her fleshy behind.
“That’s… that’s so… soo… Oh, please…” gasped the heroine. “don’t stop…”
Karen traced circles around the peaks of the Golden Goose’s buttocks with her perfectly-manicured fingernails. The heroine whimpered, kicked her legs, jerked her hips and send a constant rippling, shimmying motion through her plump flanks. Taking a firm grip of one fleshy inner thigh, Karen twitched her index finger over the gusset of the Golden Goose’s too-tight g-string. As suspected, the heroine was getting as hot as a furnace, her vaginal juice soaking through the golden costume.
Feeling Karen’s finger probe the gates of her womanhood, the Golden Goose squirmed in the lanky editor’s lap in a fruitless effort to avoid being more thoroughly explored. She produced the opposite effect, forcing Karen’s finger inside her knickers, her nail scraping across the heroine’s labia.
“OOOOH!” squealed the Golden Goose, red shame rushing into her face and scarlet lust into her cunt as she felt her vagina moistening even further in response. Karen meanwhile enjoyed the gush of hot desire she felt inside the heroine’s wet sheath.
“Don’t you dare start coming here in this filthy alley”, she commanded the hot & bothered vigilante. She worked deeper into the Golden Goose’s knickers and she used the heroine’s own juices against her to push her first two knuckles into the curvaceous Gruntham girl’s sloppy vulva.
“OOOH, I CAN’T HELP IT!” moaned the flustered heroine.
“Madame Razor loves stripping and abusing superheroines who get in her way. That’s what she’s going to do to you. You’re the most helpless superheroine I’ve ever met. Five minutes in my hands and you can’t even escape from me.”
Pushing her fingers past the Golden Goose’s labia and into the slick grip of her vaginal tunnel, Karen felt the heroine tighten up and tense. She hissed into the heroine’s ear.
“Can you?”
“NOOOO! NOOOO!!!” the Golden Goose screamed, thrashing in Karen’s lap and almost tipping the Vespa over again. A torrent of feminine juice squirted from her cunt, splashing across the golden metal bodywork and staining Karen’s overcoat.
“Disgusting.” sneered Karen, continuing to thrust her fingers in and out of the heroine’s vulva as The Golden Goose orgasmed noisily and wetly in her lap.
“Please, just a little longer…” gulped the Golden Goose as she gyrated her hips against the editor’s wandering, probing, scratching hand.
“No. You don’t deserve it.” Said Karen, slowing down her thrusting to a gentle pumping motion and letting the heroine flop lethargically in her lap.
“Oooh… sorry…” murmured the Golden Goose contentedly. Karen slowly withdrew her glistening hand from the blonde’s sticky vulva, watching the heroine shiver and shake in ecstatic aftershock with every slight touch and scrape against her sensitive inner walls.
Rummaging in her clutch purse, Karen withdrew a pack of wet wipes and began wiping the dripping traces of the Golden Goose’s lust from her hands. The mess of sexual juice rolled in long streams down her wrist and soaked into her sleeve, and Karen felt slightly lightheaded as she drank in the musky scent. Suddenly, the blonde curly head of the Golden Goose popped back up with uncharacteristic alertness.
“Hang on. What if there’s a way to stop Madame Razor and mess up the Bad Doctor? I’m running out of fingers to count enemies on here…”
Like quicksilver, the scantily-clad heroine squirmed out of Karen’s lap and checked the moped’s fuel gauge. Turning back to the square-shouldered newspaper owner, the Golden Goose planted a brief but soft kiss on her perfect cheekbone.
“That was fun, babes, not often I get a breakthrough like that at this time of night. Now get off my Alibi.”**
“Oh… Uh… what?” Karen momentarily lost her train of thought as a pink flush rose unbidden up her finely chiselled face. The Golden Goose shoved the editor unceremoniously onto the cobbles. For the first time that evening, Karen seemed to have lost control of her knees.
“I think I need a pukka briefing on this Madame Razor bint somewhere a bit more private some time. Your office? I need to know what she’s been doing to all the American heroines. In detail. Proper granular. You know. For research.”
Karen brushed her flame-red bangs out of her eyes and fought to get her voice back under control as she scrambled back upright. The Golden Goose mounted her cum-stained Vespa with a satisfied lick of her pumped-up lips and a toss of her bleached tresses.
“Oh, one more thing, Karen… you know Madame Razor’s M.O. pretty well, yeah? When do you reckon she’ll hit the Civic Hub?”
“I… uh.. I’m just guessing, here…” said Karen, patting her cheeks down and surreptitiously breathing in the musky scent left on her fingers. “But… wow, uh… she usually works a full-time job as cover when she’s casing a new score. I’d say… Saturday night? Most likely?”
“Smooth. You’re my new favourite contact, babes.”
Karen felt her toned muscles tense up like a block of cold marble as she felt positivity radiating off the voluptuous heroine. For a second, she felt a bottomless void beckon beneath her. Then, willpower prevailed.
“Just one second, Golden Goose.”
Karen cupped the blonde’s round chin firmly in her steely hand and kissed her on the mouth, crimson petals mingling with pink. The Golden Goose’s collagen-enhanced mouth quivered and parted for Karen’s searching tongue. Karen was again rewarded with a submissive whimper as the roly-poly vigilante squirmed on her Vespa saddle.
“You will address me as Ms. Roth unless I tell you otherwise. Understood?”
“Understood, Ms. Roth.”
“And I will brief you when I choose, about what I choose. Got it?”
“Yes, Ms. Roth”, the Golden Goose squeaked.
“And I expect you to provide… Tanya… with a detailed report of everything that Madame Razor does to you. To the, uh… artefact. This story is very much in the public interest.”
Part 3 – The Cruisers
On a Friday
The snug bar of the Bad Penny was filled with a decent cross-section of the lowest drug-dealing criminal scum that Gruntham-on-Sleet had to offer. Which is to say, most of them were decent enough blokes after a couple of pints provided you didn’t ask what they did for a living or how the crypto markets were doing these days. On a night like tonight, you were probably safe; the Cruisers had an open tab and the Good Doctor was paying.
Dr Damon Cruise, PhD, lounged back in the worn burgundy leather armchair that the bar kept reserved for him. On nights like this, he allowed himself to enjoy the perks of being the second most successful drug kingpin in town. Puffing out the blue smoke of a thick Havana cigar, he was meticulous to avoid any ash dropping onto his crisp ivory-white linen suit.
It’s not a bad life, thought Cruise, creating opportunities for the lads with the economy the way it is. One of these days the world would be easier for English graduates with ambitious Jamaican parents who really wanted their son to be an architect or a lawyer but no, mum, I’m not going to slave away in a shared house in outer London for years while my student loan piles up interest just so you can brag to your mates after church about a brass plaque with someone else’s name on it, the professions aren’t exactly a ticket to riches or prestige these days, but you can’t tell her that, oh no…
“Doctor Cruise, I want a word with you!”
One by one, the drug dealers let out a chorus wolf whistles like a chain of sexist car alarms setting each other off in a crowded multi-storey.
Licking her full lips as she breathed in the tang of thirty-odd half-cut male drug dealers, the Golden Goose sauntered into the bar of the Bad Penny, swinging her zaftig hips to clear a path to the Good Doctor.
As she pushed into the crowd, she proudly thrust out her jutting, jiggling breasts and felt the thrill of dozens of eager eyes locking on to her jostling chest. Pushing up her natural H-cup, her bustier exhibited almost a foot of plump cleavage for the delectation of the gang. She bounced past, as the Cruisers slumped back against the bar to get a good wide-angle view on the heroine’s heavily cantilevered pear-shaped figure. Their usual grumbles about the recent performance of Gruntham FC and the decline of the eel trade were replaced with a white noise of horny feedback.
“Bloody hell, you don’t get many of those to the pound...”
“She’s spilling out all over the shop…”
The Golden Goose could feel her bustier creak and strain with every precarious step she took on her stilettoes, but kept a confident, coquettish pout on her golden-masked face as she kept her blue eyes locked on The Good Doctor and let her slow parade through the bar keep his minions entertained. The well-dressed gangster lounged back in his seat and watched her shimmy through the bar.
She most definitely had his attention, but there were clearly power dynamics to be navigated.
“Fuck me, you could park a bike up in there…” said Ant “Popper” Pilsbury from behind her, nicotine-yellow fingers cupping and pinching the air reflexively.
The Golden Goose tossed back her bleach-blonde curls and flashed an ice-white smile at Popper.
“Never tried anything bigger than a Triumph TT600, babes”, she said, running one hand daintily over the swell of her generous backside. “But I usually patrol the abandoned racetrack on Thursdays, so you can show me then, yeah?”
Popper’s opioid-pale face twisted into a broken grin as he tried and failed to cough out a witty response. A ripple of laughter ran through the Cruisers and the Golden Goose wiggled her hips impishly, the feather trim of her tiny golden thong fluttering with the motion.
“Fancy a jar, Goosie?” leered Ernie the Blunt, lurching off his stool with a freshly poured pint of sulphur-yellow craft lager.***
“Down here, love” said the Golden Goose, tapping a finger invitingly on the soft, plunging shelf of cleavage created by her physics-busting bustier. Ernie balanced the fizzing pint as carefully as his impaired hand-eye coordination allowed on the heroine’s jostling bosom. The Golden Goose squatted to get her balance as the top-heavy glass trembled on top of the shifting surface of her right tit. The Cruisers cheered as she slowly slurped her pink tongue up the side of the glass to lap up the overflowing froth at its head.
“I’m going to need a straw for this, lads – it’s all over me!” the herone giggled.
Ernie obliged her with a thin stripey tube and a wink as suave as he could manage.
“Fuck me, is that plastic?” asked the tottering heroine.
“My personal supply,” grinned Ernie. “Started stockpiling them when I heard they were bringing in those woke paper straws.”
“That sure is a normal thing to do, babes. Pour us another one then, I’m out of balance!”, grinned the Golden Goose, patting her unoccupied left breast which wobbled agreeably under her palm. Multiple gangsters lurched to the bar to be the first to get her next round.
A light baritone cleared his throat behind her, cutting through the ribaldry and silencing the Cruisers. The Golden Goose jerked her head around and up to look into the dark eyes of Damon Cruise.
“Alright, Golden Goose, what, apart from advertising your wares, are you doing at our General Meeting?”
“Oh… right.” Said the heroine, “I’ve got a proposal for you, Doctor Cruise. Er… do you mind if I…?”
Arching her back and slowly and carefully raising her hand to avoid spilling any more lager, the Golden Goose tried to lift the glass off the unstable promontory of her breast. The Good Doctor wrapped his hand around her wrist, holding her in place. The heroine tugged feebly at his grip but didn’t dare to shake him off for fear of spilling her pint.
“Of course. You had a few more drinks on the go, correct? Over here, lads.”
The Good Doctor beckoned over three of his grinning dealers with freshly poured pints. He ceremoniously clinked glasses with the beers already balanced on top of her jugs, then added his to the load. With a whimper, the Golden Goose arched her back and squatted even lower as she felt both breasts squashed under their precarious burden and struggled to keep the glasses upright.
“Ooh… Doctor Cruise, please… I’ve got a tip-off for you… she’s going to hit the Civic Centre tomorrow night…”
“The Civic Centre is Relentless Boys territory. A bit of out of our league, eh? You know that perfectly well, Golden Goose. Another?”
“Right, but this is an opportunity for you to expand… Ooooh…”
The Good Doctor firmly placed another pint on the heroine’s increasingly flattened tits. With one hand now constrained, the Golden Goose tried to maintain her balance with as she felt a trickle of frothy lager seep down into her cleavage. As she wobbled unsteadily on her high heels, she started to feel dizzy. The tinkling of the glasses colliding in front of her face combined with the faint ring of the silver bell dangling from her navel and the mocking laughter of the Cruisers, into a maddening pandemonium of noise.
“Expand? You want me to start a turf war with the Bad Doctor? Get my boys beaten up or worse because a barely costumed superheroine recommended it? Do you think I was born yesterday?”
The Good Doctor took another pint from his men and motioned the others to keep them coming. The Golden Goose tried desperately to pull away from him but achieved nothing more than flapping her free hand and wobbling helplessly on top of her golden pumps. As the Good Doctor balanced the fourth pint on top of her left breast, she groaned in despair. The overflow of lager had now covered her tits in head and had lubricated them inside the cups of her overloaded corset. She could feel the ice-cold liquid seeping over her nipples, teasing them into stiffness. Butterflies exploded in her stomach as she saw a fifth and sixth pint
“Doctor Cruise… please don’t… I’m slipping out of my…”
“I think you can manage another round, Golden Goose.”
In quick succession he dropped both pints on the crowded surface of the heroine’s bust. With a suppressed whimper and a full-body shiver, the Golden Goose felt first one and then the other nipple pop out of her corset. The Cruiser’s cheered. The pink of her areolae bloomed around her jutting points, swollen to a raspberry-red at their tips where tiny droplets of lager began to form.
The Golden Goose’s corset, apparently running on fumes, continued to support the weight of her breasts from below while the pints squashed them flat from above. The heroine herself, whimpering and moaning, felt her wrist finally released, but could do little more than perch both her pink-nailed hands on her knees as she squatted into a twerking pose and endured the sensation of ice-cold beer dripping off her painfully sensitive nipples. Sweat ran down the back of her neck, matting her blonde ringlets.
“It’s… oh… aah… Madame Razor, Doctor… she’ll be turn…. Nnngh… raiding the district archive… archaeology…”
“You what?” snapped the Good Doctor “Madame Razor, the psycho thief from the states?”
The pint glasses tinkled as the Golden Goose trembled under the strain of keeping balance.
“I… I got a tip, babes… aargh… nnnh… hot one, you… you wouldn’t believe…”
“That’s bloody nonsense. I heard Madame Razor was lying low in Argentina after she trashed the Guggenheim. What are you trying to pull, Goose?”
The Good Doctor, with the delicacy of a connoisseur, placed one of his long ebony fingers on the fragile tips of the Golden Goose’s hugely engorged nipples, each throbbing at least as large as his thumb.
The heroine gasped and looked despairingly into the gang lord’s eyes as she felt an aching wave of tormented pleasure run like an electric shock from her beer-sticky nipples deep into her fluttering heart and her waiting, eager womb.
“Ooh. Oooh, Doctor Cruise… Those are my… my…”
“Talk, you little tart.”
The Good Doctor scratched along the underside of her inflated areolae.
“OOOOH. OH, SHIT. YES.” wailed the voluptuous vigilante, every nerve straining to push her sweaty titties further into the clutches of her tormentor. “YES. YES. MORE, DOC, I SWEAR TO GOD.”
“Not until you come clean, Goose.”
“EVERYTHING. TRUE. TRUE! TRUE! UUURGH… PLEASE! SQUEEZE ME, DOC!”
The Golden Goose’s hips started to buck and gyrate, her blue eyes rolling back in lusty abandon as she pleaded with the Good Doctor. The dapper drug baron, frustratingly, still seemed to be in two minds as he tenderly teased the heroine with his fingers.
“Snorkers,” he called over to a massive bouncer “Fetch us this week’s copy of Urbane Henchman, would you.”
“Yessir, Doctor Cruise”, grunted Snorkers.
The Good Doctor leaned in to whisper into the Golden Goose’s ear as she moaned and strained.
“I will twist these squashy little nips right off you if I find out you’re lying to me.”
“DO IT. DO IT. OOOOOOH YES PLEEEEAASE…”
“I appreciate you’re not thinking straight right now, just… take my threat in the spirit it’s meant, alright?”
Snorkers handed the gang lord a glossy magazine, the cover advertising an Early Release Special interview with Billy McFarland. The Golden Goose groaned, tongue lolling out of her mouth as she searched desperately for the plastic straw in her very first pint.
The Good Doctor flipped through the pages of the periodical. For a moment, he was very still.
“Oh. No, It’s Lady Bloodsport hiding in Argentina. My mistake. That means… hang on…”
The cogs of Damon Cruise’s brain started to turn. Meanwhile, the Golden Goose’s big collagen-swelled lips finally got purchase on the tiny plastic tip.
“Oh, right…” Said the Good Doctor thoughtfully. “So say Madame Razor hits the Civic Centre. Now my crew would scarper and raise the alarm, but the Relentless Boys don’t do that. Those lads take so much crystal they practically fucking bleed blue. They… fight. Madame. Sodding. Razor.”
A broad, gloating smile began to spread across the drug baron’s face. He ignored the chanting of his dozens of minions in the background as he chuckled to himself.
“This is brilliant.”, he grinned “This is beezer. That prick Spendlove won’t know what hit him. His hardest blokes are going to get into a fucking bloodbath, and then who’ll have the real muscle in Gruntham?”
“Is it… you, Doctor Cruise?” Asked Snorkers.
“It fucking is, mate.” Said the Good Doctor, turning back to face the trembling heroine. “Golden Goose, you’ve got my interest. What I don’t get is… oh…”
The feather-trimmed crimefighter was still squatting with her hands on her knees, meaty thighs jiggling with effort. But now, six empty pint glasses clinked on the proudly swelling shelf of her breasts.
The Golden Goose gulped down the last drops of her sixth pint, stripy plastic straw dangling from her lush pink lips. With a stupendously pneumatic roll of her body, wobbling calves to plump shoulders, she shimmied all six pint glasses off her chest to shatter on the floor.
“Thank you, lads.”, she grinned modestly, stifling a carbonated belch. “Now, Dr Cruise, I think we were discussing Madame Razor.”
The heroine’s hands rubbed soothingly across her noticeably swollen beer belly. The Good Doctor collected his thoughts for a moment.
“I… I’m still skeptical.” He said. “If Madame Razor roughs up the Relentless Boys, what’s to stop her doing the same to us when we come in after her?”
The Golden Goose tottered, slightly unsteadily, up to the Good Doctor. Reaching up to his smooth brown neck, she ran a pink glossy fingernail down his collarbone.
“I will sort out Madame Razor, Doctor… I need your help to set it up is all. I need ten of your blokes armed to the teeth at the County Archive tomorrow night and we will have a bit of fun.”
With an inebriated giggle she leaned against the drug lord, her heavy, tender breasts squashing up against his taut, flat chest. The Good Doctor hauled her up by the waist to steady her, enjoying the plump softness of her flesh squeezing through his fingers. She flicked back her damp, sweat-stained hair again and he gazed down into her gleaming blue eyes and trembling, eager lips. Briefly struggling to restrain himself, he smirked down at her.
“I like your confidence, Goose, but we’re going to need a little down payment on that fun tonight.”
He gave the heroine’s love handles a hard pinch. The Golden Goose’s jaw dropped and she squawked with surprise as she realised she was now held tightly by the gang leader. Struggling ineffectively, the Good Doctor was entertained to feel her already-stiff nipples become still more swollen as they rubbed through the silk of his shirt.
“Oh… but there’s so many of you…” she murmured, twisting her head to right and left to take in the leering gangsters.
“I count twenty-three stiff pricks in this bar who you’ve been teasing all night with your giant knockers and fat arse.” gloated the Good Doctor. “That’s forty-six balls you need to empty this evening if you want our help with Madame Razor.”
Snorkers cleared his throat nervously.
“Uh… forty-five, Dr. Cruise. Let’s be sensitive to Staffy Steve.”
The Good Doctor’s eyes darted over to one despondent drug dealer who stood hunched at the slot machines.
“Oh, shit. Of course. Forty-five. Sorry about that, Steve mate.”
“You’re always sorry, Doc.” shrugged Staffy Steve without looking around. “Yet here we are again.”
The Golden Goose continued to wriggle helplessly in the Good Doctor’s grasp, responding with little gasps and whimpers as he pinched and tweaked her soft rolls.
“Come on then, Goose, what do you say? Join up with the Cruisers tonight?”
The peroxide-haired vigilante looked back at the crowd with a deep blush and a suppressed moan as she clenched her thighs tightly to conceal the sticky excitement running down her leg.
“I suppose there’s plenty of me to go around, Doctor… OOH!”
The Good Doctor seized the vigilante’s golden g-string and with one smooth motion whipped it down around her ankles. A bleach-blonde tuft of pubic hair accented the moist pink lips of her vulva, by now dripping with anticipation. Struggling to balance on top of her stiletto heels, the Golden Goose was unceremoniously shoved into the arms of the waiting drug dealers by their debonair boss. The heroine’s delicate flesh was pawed and groped by dozens of filthy nicotine-stained hands which tore off her bustier, leaving her trembling and all but nude in their clutches. Cupping her breasts, she presented the heavy globes to the gang with a blushing grin.
“OOOH… you lads certainly know how to treat a lady…”
The Golden Goose rolled her head and eyes back in heady satisfaction as two of the Cruisers clamped their mouths over her throbbing nipples and at last provided her tormented tits with lapping, teasing attention that she had longed for. She melted into their arms, unresisting as every member of the gang reached out to cop a feel.
Within minutes, the Golden Goose was sprawled over the pool table, her legs hitched up in the air by Ant and Ernie. As she whimpered behind her golden mask, a glistening trail of anticipatory juice dripped from her vulva into the green baize.
Paranoia Kyle carefully nudged the swollen dome of his glans up against the slick, quivering lips of her vulva. Like all the Cruisers, his dick had been achingly constricted inside his jeans since the Golden Goose sashayed in. The heroine immediately groaned and began to buck her hips in a frantic attempt to force him inside her. Kyle felt himself leaking precum and looked desperately to his boss for support.
“Make her wait for it, Kyle”, said The Good Doctor, over the Golden Goose’s head.
“Come on, Kyle love”, the heroine cooed, false eyelashes fluttering and hair splayed out in a blonde waterfall on the pool table. Eagerly pushing her cunt lips forward to kiss the pulsing purple head of his cock, the Golden Goose squealed with delight as she felt Kyle slipping another inch inside her. The drug dealer, unable to restrain himself, thrust himself deep into the vigilante’s tender sex forcing with a squirt of commingled male and female passion.
“OOOOHHH thank YOU babes…” groaned the Golden Goose, arching her back and kicking the air with her golden stilettoes as she thrust back onto Kyle.
“Bloody hell…” grumbled the Good Doctor.
“Sorry, boss…” shuddered Kyle through gritted teeth as he felt the Golden Goose’s slick vagina squeeze and tease his shaft.
“If you want the lads to listen to you… uuuh… ooh… Why don’t you try… setting an example… huuuh… Doctor?”, panted the heroine, licking her lips as she looked up at the crime lord and kept up her pumping rhythm with his minion.
“Right… right, yes, I will, and it will be me initiating this.” Growled the Good Doctor, unbuckling the black calfskin belt holding up his linen trousers. The Golden Goose parted her puffy pink lips in awe as he fished out a long, dark and upcurved cock pulsing with lust and with a shining smooth head as big as an unpeeled satsuma. The rest of the Cruisers murmured unintelligibly and the heroine increased the pace of her grinding hips as the crime lord attempted to remain erect in front of his men.
“Can I… haah… uuuh… have a… taste… Doctor?” moaned the Golden Goose.
“What’s the magic wooooaaaa…” groaned the Good Doctor, as the heroine used the momentum of Kyle’s thrusting to plant a sloppy kiss on the underside of the boss’s glans, flicking her tongue over his frenulum. The Good Doctor’s head spun and he braced himself on the table as he felt a surge of heat and pleasure run up his cock.
Moments later, the Golden Goose had her lips wrapped around the Good Doctor’s throbbing manhood, passionately tonguing around his crown while Paranoid Kyle continued to pump away at her cunt. Forming a thrusting, humping mass of sweat, saliva, lubrication and lust, the trio continued to gyrate away while the rest of the Cruisers numbered off to determine the running order. Within a few minutes, Kyle was the first to come, wheezing out his orgasm in a spurt of hot semen which blossomed into the Golden Goose’s womb. The heroine whimpered with delight around the Good Doctor’s shaft, relaxing her throat and sucking his glans deeper inside her. Her fingertips caressed around his hips, encouraging him to thrust harder down her gullet. The gangster groaned with the feeling of his cock being tickled by the moist passage of the Golden Goose’s throat and ejaculated a torrent of sperm. The blonde vigilante gulped down the drug lord’s come, a warm tingle forming in her stomach and vulva as she felt herself swelling with semen.
Paranoid Kyle and the Good Doctor slowly and wetly pulled out of the Golden Goose, who slurped up the last ribbons of come as they went. Rolling onto her side atop the pool table, she dipped a pink-glossed fingertip into her cunt and stirred idly as she made eye contact with the rest of the Cruisers.
“Who’s next, lads? I think I’ll take… three this time?”
For the rest of the night, the Golden Goose bounced on top of the Cruisers, writhed underneath them, left sticky pink lipstick marks on cocks, mouths and fingers and swallowed every drop of semen that the gang cared to pump into her. Every soft, pendulous part of her was pinched, twisted and slapped from one end of the pub to the other.
The Cruisers were intrigued to discover that the Golden Goose seemed to respond particularly enthusiastically to being teased and fingered to the point of orgasm and then spanked hard and on the backside while she came in the lap of her captor. This was new to all of them, the Golden Goose included. Still, she thought, sexuality’s a funny old thing. No telling what’ll grab you this week.
And so passed the Friday night.
By dawn, she was thoroughly glazed with the Cruisers’ come, hair slick and hanging down in matted clumps. The heroine squirmed on her knees in front of The Good Doctor’s leather armchair, gently bobbing her reddened, thoroughly tenderised breasts around the equally sore but still twitching penis of the gang boss while he scrolled through new emails and tried to stave off his twelfth orgasm.
“I’ll… uuuh… have Snorkers call you round a taxi, Goose. No way you’re walking back home in your condition.”
“It’s going to be so humiliating for me…” moaned the heroine, squeezing her nipples brazenly as her pillow-soft tits jiggled in the drug lord’s lap. “The whole town’ll think I’m just a disgusting tart for criminals… just the Good Doctor’s filthy whore…”
Cruise dropped his phone as he felt his balls contracting again and the familiar warm pleasure surging up from his loins. Gasping for air, he bucked his hips, semen squirting once again all over the wobbling surface of the Golden Goose’s breasts.
The heroine hefted her soft globes, licking up the rivulets of semen which rolled down them and beaded on her nipples. Below, her belly was plump and gravid with hundreds of ejaculations’ worth of gangster come. As she rocked back on her heels and struggled to push herself back to her feet, the Good Doctor found himself mildly impressed at the strength of her thick thighs. With a heave, the Golden Goose lifted the seminal fruit of his entire gang and sloshed unsteadily back and forth in front of him in her stained golden pumps.
Her tangled peroxide hair thrown back in a single sticky rope, the heroine’s eyelashes fluttered with pleasure as she slid a finger into her navel, ringing the tiny silver bell attached to her piercing there.
“Just look at me…” she said, rubbing the swollen circumference of her stomach. “Everyone’s going to see how I’m a fat, slutty cum dump for the Cruisers… when I carry all this through the market square… How you own me…”
“Er. Right”. Said the Good Doctor. “Point taken. Probably best if you do make your own way home then.”
“Just make sure your lads are on time getting to the Civic Centre tonight, Damon. Remember the kit list.” said the Golden Goose, swaggering to the door of the Bad Penny with a newly confident bounce in her step, her golden knickers trailing from one ankle along the beer-sticky floor.
“Yeah”, said the Good Doctor. “Right.”
Part 4: the Goddess
On a Saturday
The Gruntham-on-Sleet Civic centre was five miles out of town. At this time on a Saturday night, the only people on site were those members of the Relentless Boys who staffed the 24hr pharmacy, and those of their customers unable to stave off their craving for methamphetamine or crack cocaine until normal office hours.
Horrible Jimmy was in charge of the shift that night. Vascular veins popping all over his steroidally-enhanced neck and shoulders, Jimmy could comfortably bench 250kg and was feeling particularly tough that night after terrifying old Mr Grubblestone into literally shitting himself in the Italian leather seat of his custom Range Rover. Three bowie knives hung from the belt of his camouflage trousers.
When a physically fit and confident-looking female in skintight crimson latex strode into the pharmacy, Jimmy had half a mind to chat her up. Her leggings rode low on her hips, revealing steel-hard abs above an a freshly waxed mons. A crimson sports bra (was that Kevlar padding?) was stretched tightly across a tight gymnast’s chest. Her lean, lithe arms flexed with muscles like steel cables, and she wore heavy, metal-plated gauntlets. Her face was concealed by a dark-visored crimson helmet which left her square androgyne jawline and wicked scarlet mouth uncovered. The towering amazon paused in the centre of the shop floor, as Jimmy blocked her way and his boys drew their own weapons.
“So…” said the red woman, an buzz of American accent in her voice. “I’m visiting the County Archive. This the only way in?”
Jimmy snorted a pinch of powdered mescaline from a grip-seal bag in his pocket and gave the statuesque woman a rictus trollface grin.
“We’re just doing business here, darling. But if you want to step onto Dr Spendlove’s turf at this time of night, we’re going to need names. And faces.”
The red woman adjusted a shiny fitting on one of her gauntlets and flexed her shoulders, clicking something cartilaginous into place.
“I’m going to give you exactly one chance to step aside, bud.” She said to Jimmy. “So when I tell you the name’s Madame Razor, you have all the information you need to make your decision.”
Lance the Stabber laughed out loud before being hushed by Misdiagnosis Phil, as both men drew their shanks and crept up behind Madame Razor.
“That won’t fly with the Doctor, sweetheart”, leered Jimmy, flexing his left hand on the hilt of bowie knife number 3. “Let’s see how pretty you really are, then we’ll decide what we do with you.”
Horrible Jimmy grabbed at Madame Razor’s helmet with his right hand. He was right-handed, so he never wrote again. By the time the pain from his crushed fingers registered in his brain, the villainess was punching the last teeth out of the red fountain that was now his mouth.
The world span around Jimmy. The lads were shouting. He cracked his head on the concrete floor of the pharmacy, coughing up blood and drug-laced mucus as he went into shock. Unfortunately for the Relentless Boys, Damon Cruise’s assessment of their motivations was correct. They tried to fight Madame Razor.
***
An hour later, The Golden Goose trotted into the plaza of the Civic Centre. Smoke was pouring out of the Gruntham-on-Sleet all-hours pharmacy and the contents of the shop were strewn out over the block paving. The unlit windows of the other office and commercial buildings gazed down on the carnage in mute horror.
The Golden Goose daintily picked her way over the broken glass, shattered MDF and spilled prescription medication, swaying hazily on top of her stiletto pumps. Still feeling slightly the worse for wear after her encounter with the Cruisers the previous night, she rubbed her eyes through her golden-feathered venetian mask.
As she sauntered across the battlefield, her freshly-exfoliated breasts, cradled in a gold lamé bikini top, rested pendulously on top of the swollen bronze mound of her pot belly. Despite an indulgent afternoon on the bidet washing out her most intimate parts, the Golden Goose was still full of the cum she had swallowed the night before, so every step produced a majestic sloshing motion in her soft abdomen. The domes of her nipples, still tingling with pleasure from the gang’s abuse, poked out through the ultra-thin fabric of her bra.
Each of the Golden Goose’s steps was careful and delicate to avoid her far too-tight golden thong from riding down her luscious hips and derriere. Her peroxide curls and the rich orange of her skin glistened in the smouldering embers of the murderous fight which had taken place in the plaza.
“Help… help me…” gurgled Misdiagnosis Phil from underneath a smashed countertop. A hideous scarlet gash ran across his face and his one visible limb spasmed awkwardly as he tried to claw himself free from the wreckage.
The Golden Goose tottered over the rubble to him and bent down. Her hefty tits and stomach dangled invitingly before his one functional eye.
“What the bloody hell happened here?” She asked.
“Madame Razor… ripped right through us…”
“Where is she now?”
“She’s heading for the archives… didn’t give a shit about the drugs… just cut us up like… like…”
“You’re alright now, babes, just keep quiet.”
“Aren’t… aren’t you going to help me? I’m trapped!” wheezed Phil.
The Golden Goose leaned in close enough for her bleach-blonde tresses to tickle his cheek and put her glossy pink lips to his ragged ear.
“Misdiagnosis Phil, yeah?”
“…Yeah?”
“Thought so. The Knacker Square Sisterhood told me all about you. How you treated Tirimasu Tina last month. Can’t say I’m all that fussed to break a nail on your account.”
“That… that was a misunderstanding! I’m bleeding out here, love!”
“Just do what Tina did, babes. Call the Doctor.”
Misdiagnosis Phil started to shake underneath the rubble.
“You know what he does! Please… Goose…”
“Mind how you go, Phil.”
The Golden Goose planted a dainty kiss on Phil’s bloody forehead, before straightening up, settling herself back into her costume, and jiggling onward into the bowels of the Civic Centre.
***
The Gruntham County Archives were like Aladdin’s Cave, if Aladdin had been the kind of hoarder who piles up old washing machines in the garden of a Council house. As the Golden Goose sauntered into the shadowy concrete & rebar warehouse, she took in the mighty edifice of lumber and decay.
Mouldering boxes of district and parish records lined the walls, and tarpaulins were wrapped around crates of mud-caked builders’ rubble which might one day be investigated for their archaeological value. Long-forgotten storage units full of museum exhibits and library books from the many closures of the last decade squatted back in the shadows. An entire mezzanine floor sagged under the weight of medals, weapons and problematic colonial trophies from the abandoned barracks of the Snarkshire Fusiliers. The damp, musty air hung heavy, with only the clicking of the heroine’s heels, the faint ringing of the silver bell on her belly chain and the rustling of a trillion carpet moths and their larvae to break the silence.
On the upper mezzanine, the Statue of Juno Nutrix gleamed behind a steel security grille. Carven entirely of pink jasper, its craftsmanship was evident even from many metres below. The tall, stately figure of Juno herself was sculpted nude, with her lips parted and head thrown back in either pleasure or distress as a pair of foliate-headed male figures**** skulked at her feet. Each male figure reached up to squeeze one of “Juno”’s large and prominently rounded breasts, which the goddess thrust out, back arched, nipples pointing at the sky. The goddess’ hands rested tenderly on the shoulders of each of her attendents, apparently encouraging and comforting rather than chastising. Each of the male figures grasped a large and erect penis in his free hand, sculpted in as high resolution as any other work from the Graeco-Roman tradition.
Whatever the bizarre theological implications of this relic from the pagan past, the statue was easily the most valuable piece of art in the building and consequently stored well out of the way in a sealed chamber.
The Golden Goose had barely finished this thought when two grasping hands like iron manacles sank deep into the soft flesh of her upper arms, pinning them to her sides. The heroine was unable to muster more than a squeak of surprise before stiffening up with the instinct of a prey animal encountering a new and unfamiliar predator. Too paralysed with fright even to turn her head, the Golden Goose glanced down to see the low archive lighting gleam off a sharp array of razor blades protruding from the heavy armoured gauntlets which held her fast. Dark stains between the cutting edges belied the brutality of their earlier confrontation with the Relentless Boys.
“I wondered when you were showing up”, hissed Madame Razor through ivory teeth. “Are you going to be a good girl for me and keep your trap shut?”
The Golden Goose bit her lip and shuddered as she nodded reluctantly.
“You know what I came for, right?” said Madame Razor, her red-lipsticked mouth a hair’s breadth from the heroine’s ear.
“You want the statue…” breathed the blonde vigilante. Her head, dizzy with fear, sank back onto the hard, muscular shoulder of the villainess.
“And you’re going to help me get it, Goose. I knew your two-bit local security would be easy to get through, but this place is a maze. I’ve been trying to find my way up there and I keep getting lost in stacks of your crappy little town’s old junk. I swear I went up three flights of stairs and still ended up back here on the warehouse floor.”
“I’ll never… never help you, Madame Razor” whimpered the Golden Goose. With the thief’s hot breath tickling her neck, the blonde heroine realised that her dread was again condensing into a hot ball of excitement in her diaphragm. She could feel the juicy lips of her vulva start to swell and grow sticky as she struggled fruitlessly in the hands of her captor. Unable to lift her own arms, the Golden Goose tried to tug at the waistband of her thong, knowing that soon her surging desire would start soaking into her gusset.
“Is that so?” chuckled the villainess, barking a dry canine laugh into the heroine’s ear. “And here was me thinking you’d be a pushover.”
Madame Razor shoved the Golden Goose away from her, and the voluptuous vigilante stumbled to regain her footing on her precariously high heels. The taller woman stalked around her shorter, curvier opponent, mockingly ruffling her long blonde curtain of hair and forcing the heroine to push it back out of her eyes before dipping her hand low and pinching the tender chub of her thigh so hard that the Golden Goose squeaked, jerked away and lost her balance again, arms flailing.
As she fell, the Golden Goose braced herself and again wished, too late, for kneepads. This time, she was caught by Madame Razor. The heroine sagged back in the sinewy arms of her assailant, head tilted back, reluctantly offering her tender throat and bountiful chest to the merciless thief.
Madame Razor’s pale skin was almost luminous in the shadowy gallery, her thin lips pursed in a perfect scarlet cupid’s bow smile, her breath hot on the Golden Goose’s dewy skin. The villainess’ athletic shoulders were square and lean with flushed tension, and her rock-solid abs rippled with effort beneath the scanty covering of her stab-resistant sports bra. The heroine felt herself swooning as she gazed up into the featureless black visor of Madame Razor’s Helmet, trying to recall why the smooth but firm grasp of the thief around her pillowy hips felt so familiar.
Madame Razor’s hand explored the peaks and valleys of the Golden Goose’s plump figure, pausing to squeeze or tweak whenever she found a new round fold of flesh to torment. The Villainess grinned with sadistic delight with every futile whimper of protest offered by the heroine.
“So, Golden Goose.” said Madame Razor with an insulting squeeze of one of the heroine’s love handles, “Since you won’t cooperate, I’m going to have to persuade you to get out of my way, the same way I did the guys at the front entrance. But it’s hardly fair like this, is it?”
“Fair to who?” Squeaked the Golden Goose, quivering with anticipation in the thief’s grasp. She gently raised her hands to touch Madame Razor’s ultra-toned chest and the six-pack of her stomach and trailed her long pink fingernails over their muscular solidity, feeling each pulse beneath the smooth white skin.
“Funny. I mean, we can’t expect a sweet little princess like you to take a beating the same way those boys at the front could do. So I’m going to give you a generous head start to get away from me in this archive before I come after you. And when I catch you… I will do whatever I like to you. Understand?”
“Yes, Ms. Roth.” Breathed the Golden Goose submissively, delicately running her tongue over her well-filled lips.
There was a moment’s pause.
“What… what did you just say?” said Madame Razor.
“Er. Er, nothing. I think… er… I got my wires crossed for a second. Babes.” Stammered the Golden Goose.
“Right.” Said Madame Razor. “Okay.”
The villainess heaved the Golden Goose back upright. Once again the heroine tottered unsteadily, knees knocking, as she regained her balance. Madame Razor allowed her blonde opponent a moment to primp and adjust her costume before clamping her hands around the vigilante’s thick waist and growling into her ear.
“One more thing. Since I’m being so generous to you, I think I deserve a handicap. Agreed?”
“Yes, Ms Razor.” The Golden Goose said haltingly.
“Take your panties off. Now.” Growled the villainess
“Oh… that’s… that’s so cruel…”, murmured the Golden Goose. Closing her eyes and blushing deeply, she slipped her thumbs into the waistband of her thong and began to tug it down without a moment’s hesitation.
“I don’t see why”, sneered Madame Razor, watching the narrow scrap of gold lamé slide down the fleshy globes of the heroine’s rump. “Your ass hangs out for the whole town to see, right?”
“I’m too big for me to fit into anything else…” said the Golden Goose absently, “but I don’t mean… I mean I’m so… I’m so…”
“So what?”
“So horny, babes…” whined the Golden Goose as she was forced to bend down to finish stripping off her thong. Between the heroine’s pudgy tan thighs, Madame Razor finally saw the fluffy blonde pubic hair and pink, glistening, swollen lips of the Golden Goose’s cunt. As she watched the Golden Goose awkwardly struggle out of her knickers, a drop of feminine lubricant formed like a gleaming diamond in the heroine’s womanhood and fell with a tiny plink onto the concrete floor.
Madame Razor caught her breath as an electric surge ran through her from the pit of her stomach. Her own muscular vulva began to relax and swell as the scent of the Golden Goose’s desire filled the villainess’s nostrils.
“You really are a slut.” murmured the crimson-clad thief under her breath.
Straightening up, the Golden Goose turned and offered her thong, dangling from one finger, to Madame Razor. She demurely cupped her other hand over her leaking pussy, fighting the urge to slide a finger inside herself in full view of her opponent.
“I suppose these are… yours now…” the blonde vigilante whimpered.
Madame Razor plucked the Golden Goose’s knickers from the heroine’s fingers and wadded them up in her fist.
“Don’t look so disappointed.” Said the villainess. “You’ve still got your bra.”
“Yeah, I suppose”, said the Golden Goose with a hint of disappointment.
“Now I’ll give you until the count of ten.” Smirked Madame Razor.
“Ten!” squawked the Golden Goose, “I won’t get halfway across the room!”
“Alright, fifteen, and one more handicap.” Said Madame Razor. “Hands behind your back”
“What… what are you doing?” quavered the Golden Goose, obeying meekly as her adversary gripped the heroine’s wrists and trussed them tightly with the straps of her own thong. “I won’t be able to defend myself at all… oh, I see what you mean.”
“Now you get it.” Said Madame Razor. “So you’d better move fast. Fifteen.”
Madame Razor smacked the heroine’s buttock with a crack like a gunshot. The Golden Goose yelped and began to totter away on her stiletto pumps, breasts and belly bouncing and thick thighs rippling as she strained to put some distance between her and her tormentor. Madame Razor watched her portly, cellulite - traced backside retreating slowly into the stacks of old books and artefacts.
Madame Razor counted down from fifteen three times over, for the sake of sportsmanship. The villainess slid one taut hand into the low-slung waist of her scarlet spandex leggings and lovingly traced a finger around the mouth of her own pussy while she watched the exposed bottom of the Golden Goose get out of sight. Breathing deep and relaxing from the waist down, she enjoyed allowing some cool air to blow across her taut, bare pubic mound and feel the rush of moisture leaking from between her nether lips. Gently stirring herself and wiggling her hips, the villainess gently caressed over her own abs with her free hand, inching up her body to rub over her modest breasts under their protective cover.
The trail left by the Golden Goose’s hot, dripping cunt would be easy enough to follow. Madame Razor could afford to take her time over this.
***
The Golden Goose stumbled through row after row of dust-sheet covered uncertain objects, conscious every second of the sticky, slick waterfall now running down her thighs. Her cunt, accustomed to swelling with arousal at the least provocation, itched with desire for the cruelly taunting fingers of Madame Razor.
The blonde vigilante wrestled with her lust as she trotted as swiftly as she could through the archive. Her ears strained to hear the padding footsteps of the crimson-clad master thief behind her, and her skin prickled with goosebumps at the thought of once again being rubbed and pinched and caressed by her. The Golden Goose fought back the surging temptation to simply bend over the nearest vintage fainting couch and spread her legs for the villainess to come and shag the real route to Juno Nutrix out of her.
However, there was a job to do. The Golden Goose awkwardly scrambled up a flight of perforated steel stairs, feeling her bare vulva gape wetly open with each step and leak still more pussy-juice onto the steps below. On the next level, with no emergency lighting, The Golden Goose was forced to navigate by touch only, clumsily bumping against shrouded artefacts with her sensitive engorged nipples and the pillowy soft leading edge of her swollen belly. With each collision, she felt some stone, metal or wooden object poke into her tender flesh and was unable to prevent herself from groaning louder and louder as she became increasingly imprisoned by the dead metal and stone of the museum.
Just as she saw the steel access door of the Planning Archive loom up in the half-light, she felt the jingling silver bell and chain which hung from her navel catch between the plates of a suit of armour.
Simultaneously, she heard a creak and saw Madame Razor swagger out of the shadows not ten yards away, one hand thrust down the front of her leggings, a broad smirk on her face. The Golden Goose struggled to free her fragile piercing from the artefact, but her feeble tugging only resulted in the chain lodging deeper in the medieval ironmongery.
Madame Razor deliberately started walking in slow motion, taunting The Golden Goose. With a squeal, the heroine lost her balance and tipped over, bringing the armour and a trestle table of miscellaneous armaments over with her. The heroine lay flat on her back, hands bound, surrounded by a mess of pitted steel and worm-eaten wood.
Madame Razor towered over her, vicious gauntleted hands perched on her lean hips. Not one long, lean muscle in her Amazonian legs was left to the imagination, plastered as they were by only a thin layer of red spandex. With no heels on her heavy steel-toecapped boots, she was still a foot taller than the Golden Goose. The heroine felt butterflies bloom in the pit of her stomach as she saw the tiny triangle of fabric where the villainess’ skintight leggings covered her immaculately groomed vulva was also soaked through with perverse excitement.
The villainess picked up a wicked poignard and carelessly sliced through the central strap of the Golden Goose’s bikini top. The heroine’s lips parted in a sigh of relief as she felt her heavy breasts sag freely and her desperately protruding nipples throb in the musty air.
“Looks like you’re mine, Golden Goose.” Taunted Madame Razor. “The only question is, what should I do to you?”
The villainess twirled the long dagger in one hand before expertly touching the point of the blade to the underside of one of the Golden Goose’s drooping teats, lifting it up for inspection without breaking the skin. The heroine cooed softly at the touch of the cold steel, unresistingly allowing Madame Razor to play with her boob and tease her throbbing nipple with the sharp point.
“Or perhaps…” leered Madame Razor “The only question is… what do you want me to do?”
The heroine leaned back and opened her legs for ravishment, biting her lip and closing her eyes in total surrender.
“I…” she quavered, “I want you to make me your slave, Ms. Razor. Fuck me with anything you want, as hard as you want. Squash me, force me to strip off and humiliate me. Punish my cunt, punish my tits, spank me until I can’t sit down. Just… just please don’t go through that door…”
Madame Razor paused and glanced over at the massive steel door of the planning archive.
“That door. That huge steel door. The obvious trap, you mean?”
“It’s not a trap!” Squeaked the Golden Goose. “It’s the only way to Juno Nutrix! I promise, babes! Word of honour!”
“And now I know that…” scoffed Madame Razor, “What more use do I have for you?”
“Take me with you, Ms Razor!” pleaded the Golden Goose. “Tie me up and take me with you like stolen booty! Sell me on to the highest bidder if you want, just make me your property and use me!”
Madame Razor paused for a moment. From the way she worked the tension in her jaw and neck, it seemed to the Golden Goose that there was some kind of internal struggle going on behind the visor.
The Golden Goose squealed with delight as Madame Razor grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her over to the steel door of the Planning Archive. With a vacuum-suction hiss, she swung the door of the vault open and dragged in the squirming vigilante behind her.
“Oh, please…” gasped the Golden Goose as the villainess dragged her into a climate – controlled corridor filled with unlabelled filing cabinets “Let me get up… I’m all twisted around…”
“Oh, no…” said Madame Razor, apparently still in some kind of emotional turmoil. “You are now my property, and you will remain flat on your ass until I say otherwise. If I say otherwise.”
As if to reinforce the point, the villainess placed the toe of her pointed boot up against the sloppy mouth of the Golden Goose’s cunt and firmly pushed it between the heroine’s wet lips.
“OOOOH…” groaned the Golden Goose as Madame Razor worked her boot in and out of the heroine’s throbbing womanhood. The blonde couldn’t stop herself from gasping and thrusting her hips back in delightful rhythm with the footwork her wicked assailant.
“OOOH NOOOO…” she groaned, “NOT… NOT LIKE… DON’T MAKE ME… DON’T MAKE ME…”
With a long-drawn out wail, the Golden Goose arched her back and came wetly on the leather toecap of Madame Razor’s boot. The villainess continued to thrust her footwear into the heroine’s sensitive cunt, drawing out the blonde’s moaning orgasm with multiple aftershocks. The Golden Goose squirmed on the floor and tried to wrap her thighs around the thief’s toned ankle to keep the leather inside her as she screamed in ecstasy.
Madame Razor laughed out loud as she withdrew her foot with a wet sucking sound.
“Take a load off while I get the statue, toots.” She said, “And then I’m going to really put you to work.”
The Golden Goose lay panting and sweaty on the floor of the planning department while Madame Razor stalked off down the corridor to find the final staircase up to the storage unit housing Juno Nutrix.
When the villainess’ footsteps receded, the heroine wormed her way over to one of the filing cabinets underneath an extraction vent in the ceiling. Slowly and deliberately, she started to kick at the filing cabinet with the solid heel of her pumps, creating a sharp staccato rapping of morse code that echoed down the corridor.
The Golden Goose was about thirty seconds into this when she tilted her head back and found Madame Razor looming over her.
“Did you really think I was that stupid?” said the villainess. “Reinforcements on their way, huh? Not that it matters.”
With a flourish, Madame Razor opened her gauntleted hand and a long stiletto blade shot out of each finger, creating a glittering talon which sliced through the air with a high pitched whistling sound.
“They say I target superheroines, you know?” hissed Madame Razor. “But the truth is, I only get really mean with the capes who stab me in the back.”
The Golden Goose tried to crawl away, her thick meaty hindquarters scrabbling feebly on the concrete floor.
“See…” Madame Razor went on “The Emerald Agent was a real sweet fuckbuddy back in Chicago until she teamed up with the Righteous Three and tried to jump me. Ok, so I put her in a wheelchair. She’ll walk again, though. Someday, if she works at it.”
The Golden Goose strained ineffectively at the elastic of her g-string bindings as Madame Razor ran her claws down one of the filing cabinets with a sharp squeal.
“Or that bitch Starforce in Vancouver. Pretended that she cared about me until she got me in a shrink’s office and tried to shoot me up with happy juice to make the voices stop. The truth? There were no voices. Just hers! And I shut her up permanently.”
The Golden Goose found herself backed up against the steel door of the Planning Archive.
“But you… you I can’t figure out. All the research I did, nothing made sense. You’re a sham. You’ve never thrown a punch. You’ve never actually arrested a crook. You shake your giant ass in the streets at night turning tricks for the local peasants, but people still act like you’re a real cape in this shitty little town. While you’re on your knees! It’s a God Damned Disgrace.”
As the scarlet-clad powerhouse raged down at her, the Golden Goose widened her eyes to plaintive saucers, pouted her collagen lips and parted her legs to reveal her still-gleaming snatch in a last-ditch bid for mercy.
“It’s… it’s true, babes”, the heroine snivelled. “I’m just a defenceless slag who’s gotten too big for her bra… just look at how soft and round and delicate I am.”
“I… god damn!” seethed Madame Razor, face flushing inside an increasingly steamed-up helmet as the despondent blonde rolled her bloated midriff from side to side as if showing off her weakness. “Are you… somehow even fatter than you were two days ago?”
“I am…” whimpered the Golden Goose, “I’m chock full of semen from sucking criminal cock all night long.”
With a growl, Madame Razor sheathed her talons and dropped to her hands and knees – slightly too heavily. Her breathing was becoming laboured as she crawled on top of the Golden Goose and slipped one murderous hand between the sticky folds of her thighs. The other, she squeezed tightly around the heroine’s teardrop-shaped breast. Squatting back on her haunches, the muscle-bound crimson villainess began to work over the blonde heroine, sliding her fingers in and out of her leaking cunt and catching her clit cruelly with her thumbnail each time. Simultaneously, she began to twist the Golden Goose’s nipple into a stiff sore peak, ignoring the heroine’s whimpering cries for pity.
“Please, Ms. Razor… UUH… I’m desparate… you’re HURTING me… OOOH, DON’T…. don’t stop… I mean… PLEASE don’t stop… Oh, shit… you’re going to make me COME… I mean… OOOH NOO…”
Lustful moisture once again started to squirt out of the Golden Goose from her painfully engorged cunt. Madame Razor cackled as she saw the heroine’s confusion and loss of control. Astride the Golden Goose’s thigh, she started to feel a warm and tender feeling building up in her own loins. Rolling and thrusting her hips, it was a minute or so before she realised she was rubbing her sleek mound against the heroine’s thigh, which thrust up in response, rubbing the villainess’ slick juices into the heroine’s flesh and soaking the spandex crotch of Madame Razor’s leggings.
Her face burning as she realisation dawned that she was literally humping the Golden Goose’s leg, Madame Razor continued to grind on the plump heroine, unable to prevent her hips from doing what came naturally while she continued to twist and torment her blonde opponent’s soft body.
In an attempt to regain control of the situation, Madame Razor balled up her hand and started to work the knuckles into the Golden Goose’s heaving, contracting cunt. The heroine bawled and thrashed uncontrollably as she was fisted. Already sopping wet, her sore cunt clamped down on the villainess’s hand. Every scratch was exquisite agony to her blonde as she squirted out her climax all over the master thief’s forearm.
“You know, Goose, this is how I kept the Emerald Agent under my thumb for all that time…” murmured Madame Razor woozily as she pushed her fist deeper into the wailing heroine. “She begged me for this… night after night… Followed me to every hit just to let herself get caught… Funny, I never…”
The heroine moaned like a siren, her rubbery pink lips trembling. Already sopping wet, her sore cunt clamped down on the villainess’s hand. Every scratch was exquisite agony to her blonde as she squirted out her climax all over the master thief’s forearm.
“Please…” she whined, staring blearily up at Madame Razor with her limpid blue eyes. “please…”
The villainess stifled a moan of her own as took in a deep, shuddering breath as she felt her own desire flooding out of her and blooming in a dark stain down the inner thighs of her leggings. Feeling the world spin, she parted her sculpted red lips and descended like a gentle mist on the Golden Goose. With a tiny whimper she could not suppress, Madame Razor brushed the blonde vigilante’s pink mouth with a quivering kiss so tender that the Golden Goose gasped in surprise.
“What’s… what’s wrong with the atmosphere in here…?” slurred the crimson-clad thief.
“Just breathe, babes…” whispered the Golden Goose, “And kiss me.”
The vigilante’s soft shell-pink lips locked stickily with Madame Razor’s, her excitable tongue probing into the villainess’s mouth. Madame Razor huffed and puffed and tried to withdraw her fist from the blonde’s clutching, massaging vulva, only to find numbness working its way up every limb.
Madame Razor collapsed off The Golden Goose, her helmet hitting the concrete with a crunch. With a moan, the Golden Goose gyrated her hips, trying to get the last dregs of pleasure out of the villainess’ limp hand.
“Doc… Doctor?” she croaked weakly. “We did it… get… get me out of here…”
For a few seconds that stretched into hours, the Golden Goose waited, trying without success to control her heavy breathing. Then, with a hiss, the steel door of the Planning Archive swung open and the Golden Goose, now almost numb from head to toe, felt her lush body being lifted and borne away by Cruisers in gas masks and laid on a medical stretcher dating from the Second World War.
The trim well-tailored figure of the Good Doctor swam into the heroine’s cloudy sightline as the steel door was slammed shut on the crimson form of the unconscious Madame Razor.
“Well Goose, it worked.”, said Damon. “Spendlove’s operation is smashed to bits, my lads will be running the the Civic Centre pharmacy going forward, and you got a girl’s night in with one of the most dangerous cat burglars in the Western Hemisphere.”
“And all it cost you was pumping your whole chloroform reserve in through the air conditioning…” giggled the Golden Goose, trying to focus her eyes on anything.
“Well, it’s not like we need the stuff to shag the local superheroine, is it?”, shrugged the Good Doctor. “With any luck we’ll win it back at the next League of Evil tombola.”
“Mind the lads around Madame Razor, Damon…” murmured the Golden Goose as she felt herself drifting to sleep. “She’s… she moves fast…”
“Don’t worry about the lads, GG”, said the Good Doctor. “We’ll let the chloroform cycle out of the vents and we’ll have her in irons before she comes to.”
“And I’ll get the credit…” sighed the Golden Goose “For collaring Madame Razor…”
Epilogue
On a Monday
“So…” said Karen, arching a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Madame Razor escaped?”
Tanya blushed and fidgeted under the accusing stare of her new boss. For some reason Karen could not fathom, the blonde reporter had decided to braid her hair in pigtails today, giving her an even more girlish look than usual.
“That’s… that’s what the Golden Goose said, Ms. Roth…” pouted Tanya. “Slipped away after the Cruisers closed the door on her. Must have had a hell of a resistance to chloroform.”
“And the statue of Juno Nutrix?” asked Karen.
“Still in the County Archives.”, said Tanya, her well-upholstered breasts swelling out with vicarious pride inside her tight jumper. “The only way out was via the vents. There’s no way to fit more than fifty kilos of solid Jasper through there.”
“Well…” grunted Karen, leaning back in her chair. “It’s still quite a story. Do we have any photos of the Golden Goose?”
“Before and after”, nodded Tanya, eagerly cueing up the images of the rotund heroine in various states of distress and undress on her phone. “Madame Razor really smacked her around, so we’ll have to blur out most of this one, but we should get a few more copies off the stands if we print the whole sequence.”
“I gotta say, Titania…” said Karen, taking a long draught of hot coffee from her AFC Richmond mug. “I like your hustle, but I thought the Golden Goose is, like, your buddy. Your gal pal.”
“Oh, she is, Ms. Roth.” Said Tanya. “We’re very… close indeed. She trusts me implicitly.”
“Right.”, said Karen, briefly imagining two pairs of enormous spray-tanned breasts squishing together like a planetary collision. “Ok. Well look, Titania, great reporting. I’m feeling pretty good about this whole thing... uh…”
The redheaded editor winced and rubbed her temples furiously.
“Are you alright, Ms Roth?” asked Tanya.
“Fine”, said Karen, slightly blearily. “I’ve kind of had a migraine all weekend.”
“Up late reading?” asked Tanya.
“What do you mean?”
“I just saw the old geological survey maps on your desk.”, said Tanya brightly. “Are those from the planning of the New Town in the ‘50s? You can find those sorts of things down the County Archive too, if you’re interested. The whole history of the district’s mapped out there.”
Karen hastily slid her laptop over the yellowed charts on the desk.
“I’m just doing some genealogical research. Thanks for the advice.”
“I was flattered, by the way, Ms Roth. That you liked my work.”
“You’re a good writer, Titania.”
“So flattered I thought I’d go back and read some of yours. Clapback Magazine had some great interviews. I didn’t know you’d met that superheroine Starforce!”
“Oh… oh yes!”, said Karen. “She was… a good friend in those days. Real shame what happened.”
“Bad business”, said Tanya. “Weird thing was, when I started looking into the New Troy Daily. None of the issues you edited were ever digitised.”
“Well”, said Karen defensively, “I didn’t like where a lot of other daily papers were going, you know, with free online content. Still don’t.”
“It’s been a few years, though.” Mused Tanya. “Be good for these things to be made available. For research.”
“I don’t know where you’d even find the back issues now.” said Karen, vaguely.
“Well initially I thought the National Library of Congress”, said Tanya, “but they didn’t have any records from that period of the paper either. Never even heard of the relaunch.”
“Really?” shrugged Karen, feeling a single drop of sweat slither out from under her bangs. “Well, Congress ain’t what it used to be, I guess. Be a sweetheart and send Nigel in, would you? The Grind waits for nothing.”
“Oh… of course.” Trilled Tanya obediently. Turning, she sauntered toward the editor’s door.
Karen saw the plush, tanned underside of the blonde’s rump jiggling underneath her pleated miniskirt and spat out her coffee.
“Titania.”, thundered the editor. “What did I say to you last week about covering your fat ass in the office?”
“Oh… oh no!” squeaked Tanya. “I don’t have anything longer, Ms. Roth… My bum’s just too big… I can’t help it…”
Karen’s long legs carried her across the office in a single stride. With one broad hand, she seized Tanya’s pigtails like the ears of a rabbit. The blushing journalist shivered with surprise and anticipation as she clenched her thick thighs together and plucked at the hem of the offending miniskirt.
“I have got to follow through on my warnings, Titania. We’re doing this in front of the whole office.”
“But Ms Roth!” pleaded Tanya, “I forgot to wear any knickers today…”
“You are unbelievable, Titania.”, growled an exasperated Karen, dragging the squeaking reporter out into the bullpen for her discipline.
The End
Footnotes
*RAL 1037 “Macedonian Gold”
**CRS: Alibi Ike = Bike. Readers will recall that Gruntham-on-Sleet has a sizeable Cockney Diaspora community, including the Golden Goose herself.
***Gruntham-on-Sleet, like most English towns, has several thriving local breweries. Despite the stifling effects of the Blockade and the more than a decade of concerted effort by the UK government, it is still possible to get decent craft beer at most of the remaining pubs in England.
****These male figures have variously been identified by scholars as the Dioscuri, Hercules and Theseus, or Jupiter and Saturn. Like the name “Juno Nutrix” itself, which is not directly inscribed on the statue but only on dedicatory plaques found elsewhere in Sleetside, the truth will likely never be known. Due to their erect members, most archaeologists have accepted the conventional term “The Priapii”. A fanciful theory identifying the statue with the Galfridian legend of the British queen Conwenna and her warring sons Brennius and Belinus has been roundly rejected by Classicists and Medievalists alike.
Disclaimer
This is a work of fantasy fiction for entertainment purposes only. The author does not condone violence against women, drug dealing, or organised crime.
All characters, events, and locations depicted (apart from HM United Kingdom which is, at time of writing, a real place) are entirely fictional. With the exception of a few references to locations in DC Comics and the TV shows Ted Lasso and Wild Bill, all characters, events and locations are original creations by the author, FermiRefuted. If you enjoy this work, I’d love to hear from you at FermiRefuted@hotmail.com.
The Golden Goose WILL RETURN.