Miss Americana vs Boarman Chapter 6:  Miss Americana Rides the Bus

By Violator

Our Story Thus Far:  Miss Americana has come to the city of Broodhaven, the domain of her hated rival the Boarman, in pursuit of a group of evil villainesses - the Dark Prizm.  Unfortunately, due to a succession of failures, the Queen of Justice has been steadily stripped of almost every ally or asset she had, save for her belt.  Now, having been ejected from the notorious Hyboria Hysterium by its warden, after one more demeaning forfeit, the mighty superheroine finds herself stranded and alone at the center of a hostile city.  Can things get any worse for our fearless heroine?  Well… let’s find out, shall we?

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For several minutes Miss Americana stood beside her destroyed car, outside of Hyboria Hysterium, and contemplated her situation.

Except for her gloves, her boots, her belt, and her mask, she was completely naked.  Her large breasts, her taut jutting ass, and her bare tender pussy were all utterly exposed before the cold night air of Broodhaven - a hostile, unfamiliar, and perilous place.  Around her, she heard police sirens scream past, or occasionally some horrid high-pitched squeal echoing out of the prison - and her bare and curvy flesh shivered.

But she could not remain standing in mourning over her deceased super-car forever.  She considered her options, and decided they were basically three.

She could call upon even more of her fellow Delta City superheroines to help.  But it was now quite late and she doubted any would make the trek over in a timely fashion.  In any case, her situation had now become so humiliating that she was loath to expose any other comrades to her plight.  And deep down, she dreaded that if she did bring in yet more of her curvy allies, she would just be delivering them into the Boarman's gloating embrace - as she had already unwittingly done to Flag Girl, and Lady Midnight, and Omega Woman.  So in the end, Miss Americana banished this option from her mind as completely unacceptable.

Her second pathway, as she considered it, was to try to break back into the prison.  Turning, she faced it.  It loomed high against the sky before her, its many domes looking more than ever like a collection of gigantic breasts thrust up proudly from the earth.  But, like many a super-beauty that had recently escaped from its clutches before her, Miss Americana felt a chill go down her naked body at the mere idea of taking it voluntarily back into that unholy place.  Besides, even if Warden Bunny did let her in, it would probably only be so she could kneel permanently beneath her desk, 'apologizing' forever - assuming she didn't just deposit her directly into general pop.

So at last, her first two options discarded, Miss Americana finally settled on the third.  Turning away from her destroyed car, she put the glittering and fearsome Broodhaven skyline before her... and started walking.

The area immediately around the prison had recently been the sight of a great battle - and as she walked she still passed some signs of it.  A puddle of blood here, a deep gash in a wall there.  But the chaos had long since ended, and the hunt for the Dark Prizm had carried all the law enforcement personnel either back inside the prison or scattering off in all directions.  So as she walked, Miss Americana was almost entirely alone.  Naked curves sauntering powerfully in the night, she walked across the deserted parking lot and to the exit from the perimeter wall of the prison.

There was an automated guard booth at the gate.  Its camera turned to take her in, but did nothing but silently stare at her buxom form as she walked past, ducking under the bar and stepping over the spike strip.  

Now outside the wall of the prison, Americana found herself on a deserted street.  Unsurprisingly, the area immediately outside of Hyboria was not high-value real-estate.  It seemed to consist mostly of empty abandoned buildings and weed-covered vacant lots.  A block or two away an elevated super-highway cut through the city.  Beyond that, the glittering edifice of Grant Tower, the city's other major visual landmark, soared upwards against the sky.  The twin thick domes of its distinctive convention center lay at its base.  But nothing awaited her there, so she turned away from it as well.

Instead of heading towards that thick long tower, Miss Americana instead turned decisively away, down a long desolate road that ran between the prison wall and the abandoned neighborhood - and towards the glittering lights of the main downtown Broodhaven skyline, which lay perhaps a mile away.  She set out walking.

As she had started forth Miss Americana had initially just been trying to put distance between herself and the horrid Hysterium.  But now that she was doing so, she started to consider her business more carefully.

'I have no mobility,' she thought, still putting one long naked leg before the other, her broad hips swaying, as her boots clacked upon the cracked and weed-penetrated sidewalk.  'I have no intelligence.  I'm out of place.  I'm useless...'

She walked another half block in silence, trying to come up with ways she could still get her revenge... before she finally discarded them all with a sigh.

'Sometimes... even the Queen of Justice needs to recognize she's beaten...' she thought, her naked buns rolling back and forth as she hustled across an empty street and proceeded deeper into the run-down neighborhood, still moving away from the prison.  'I just need to get back to Delta City, rest, recover... just take the loss on tonight.'

But her options even for doing that were limited.  She had no money.  She could not leverage her wealth as Brenda Wade without lifting her mask and ruining her secret identity.  She was in the Boarman's city, not her own, and could not count on any goodwill from the public.

'Am... am I going to have to walk the entire way back to Wade Manor... naked and in shame?' she thought to herself, a pit of even greater horror forming in her flat broad belly.

Then suddenly, with a rumble of an old engine and a screech of tires, an old city bus pulled up beside her.  The door opened, and a portly middle-aged driver leaned forward in his seat and leered.

"Where you going, beautiful?" he asked.

Miss Americana's face quivered - but refusing to look at him or his vehicle, she continued to put one long mighty leg in front of the other, marching on past him.  But the driver was not going to be so easily dissuaded.  With a screech, the bus rocked back into motion, scooted further down the street, and caught up with her.  The driver opened the door again, and then idled along beside her, at a speed to match her walking pace.

"C'mon, babe," he cooed at her.  "Don't you need a lift?"

He was a portly gentleman, with a large paunch braced against his wheel, heavy jowls, and a greasy uniform and cap.  Keeping the bus idling along beside her, like a teenager cruising for hotties in his parent's car only far more conspicuous, he leered eagerly at the sight of her buxom curves swaying and jiggling with each athletic stride along the sidewalk just outside his door.

Americana upped her pace slightly - but the bus driver gave the gas just the slightest of taps, and moments later had caught up with her again.

"Let me guess," the driver cooed down at her, admiring the way her quickened pace made her enormous boobies bounce and jostle even more energetically than before.  "Bachelor party kick you out when you wouldn't go all the way with the groom?"

A shiver of outrage ran across Miss Americana's face.

"I'm not a stripper!" Miss Americana said, still refusing to look at him.

"Sure, sure," the driver said.  He let the bus deliberately slow down, to get a better look at her round swaying ass, then sped back up to match again.  "So... what... last John kicked you out and kept your clothes after he caught you trying to steal from his wallet?"

"I'm not a prostitute either!" Americana hissed.

Finally realizing that he wasn't going to stop any time soon, Americana finally whirled, and faced him.  The bus-driver, caught by surprise, kept rolling another few feet before skidding to a halt.  Americana, with her gloved hands perched upon her buxom hips, stood still as the bus, beeping, slowly backed up again.

As she did so, she saw that her initial guess - that the late-night bus was empty thus letting the driver get away with his antics - was not quite correct.  Several faces were pressed to the window, ogling her stunning busty charms with every bit as much hunger, if not quite as much moxy, as the driver had.  But from their appearance none of them were in a rush to get wherever the bus was going, and thus would not mind at all the driver putting a little extra time onto his route to drop some game on such an unexpectedly rich target as herself.

Finally, a big leer on his face, the portly driver got his open door lined up once more to perfectly frame the naked raven-haired beauty standing on the sidewalk before him.  The bus jerked to a halt, rocking back and forth on its old hydraulics - in its own way quite similar to the still-ponderous swaying of her naked and unsupported breasts.

"As I was saying," Miss Americana said hotly up to him, now that he was once more perched above her in his seat, "I am not a stripper, or a prostitute!  Do you not recognize me?  I am Miss Americana, the Queen of Justice - the greatest superheroine in Delta City!"

The driver rolled his eyes.  "Suuure you are," he said.  "So, what - you come to fuck the Boarman and then he kicked you to the curb after he got what he wanted out of you?"

Miss Americana shivered in fury before him.  "Absolutely not!" she said.  "The Boarman has never laid a hand upon me!  And he never will!"

"Right, right," the driver said.  He rested both his arms and his paunch upon his wheel.  "So where you headed in such a hurry, miss 'greatest heroine in Delta City?'  You leave your bikini in the next state over by mistake?"

"Of... of course not!" Americana said.  

But her indignant energy was starting to fade, as the reality of her circumstances started to really set in.  She cast her eyes to one side, a few drops of moisture briefly appearing in them, before she shook her head to restore a bit of her spirit.  Then she looked back up at him, and heaved a deep sigh.

"I'm... I'm going to the main city bus station," she finally admitted.  In her final analysis, it had turned out to be the only option.  There perhaps she could find some wayward fan of herself, willing to lend her a jacket and bus fare in exchange for a kiss - and hopefully nothing more.

"Ah, I can take you there!" the bus driver purred, happily.

Americana glanced up at the route sign on the side of the bus.  Her knowledge of Broodhaven geography was hazy, but she was pretty sure his route went nowhere near there.  But, from the gaping expression of the bus's half-a-dozen occupants, craning their heads to get better looks at her through the grimy windows, none of them were going to object to a detour, any more than they were objecting to the current delay on account of her own T&A.

Americana's lip trembled, and her hands quivering upon her hips.  Then she sighed and bowed her head.  "Okay, fine," she said.  Lifting her long leg, she rested one gleaming boot upon the first step of the bus.

But, having gotten her baited, the driver now moved to sink his hook.

"Not so fast, sweetheart," he said, raising up a hand and waving his finger back and forth.  "You got a bus pass or fare anywhere in that... whole lot of nothing you're wearing?"

Standing halfway into the bus, Americana gasped, her head shooting up to stare at him.  Her lip trembled in disbelief.  "Of... of course not!" she finally managed to gasp.

"Well, that's a problem, now isn't it Miss Ameri-boobies?" he asked, leering.  "How about this... I'll waive your fare... if you let me touch those tits and that ass."

Americana gasped, her jaw dropping in shock.  But before she could state her position on his scam, a disheveled-looking fellow in the third seat leaped up.

"I can lend the booby-heroine some fare," he announced, digging a couple of ratty bills out of his pocket and holding them up.  He both looked and smelled like he had not bathed in a week.  Holding up his bills, he leered down at her eagerly.  "If she lets me do that instead!" he added.

Looking back down the aisle, the driver frowned.  Already, several other bus occupants were fishing in their pockets for fare to offer as well.  Sensing that a bidding war could do nothing but undermine all their positions, he held up a hand.

"How about this?" he said.  "We'll all comp her fare - if she pays the same fee to everyone."

At this, there was general nodding.  It was a stable solution, in that it was quickly clear that anyone trying to break ranks and offer a better individual bid would promptly get seized and shanked by the rest.  The hobo who had his bills out already nodded to this, slipped them back into his pocket, and sat back down in his seat - his empty hand twitching eagerly.

Americana, finally recovering her voice, shook her head in horror.  "That...that's ridiculous!" she said.  "There's no way I could agree to that!"

Resting against his wheel, the driver leered evilly back down at her.  "You can always go back to walking, sweet cheeks," he pointed out, nodding back out to the cold filthy pavement she had just left behind her.

Standing in the entrance to the bus, Miss Americana squirmed and moaned.  She rubbed her cheek, her eyes blinking behind her mask like a model who has just gotten a risque direction during a photo shoot and is trying to decide whether to follow through.  She considered just decking him… but in the end, the thought of it getting out that a superheroine had resorted to beating men up for bus fare was the only thing she could imagine that was more humiliating than letting him touch her.  With a heavy sigh, she finally hung her head.

“You… you won’t… you won’t tell anyone, will you?” she asked him, her magnificent body squirming.

A huge smile spread across the driver’s piggy cheeks - as he admired the sight of her huge tits sloshing back and forth before him as she squirmed, and visibly imagined himself about to get to put his hands on them.

“Of course not, babe,” he assured her, his voice oozing out like dirty dripping motor oil.  “You can trust us, right?!”

“Ab-absolutely!” one of the down-and-outs on the bus promptly said.   The rest of the grubby peanut gallery promptly nodded, faces shivering in awe.

Their lies were so transparent, there was not a single sheltered waifish schoolgirl on the entire planet gullible enough to fall for them.  Miss Americana, who had been around the block a few times to say the least, should have seen through it instantly.  But, a shiver running through her and both her mind and belly churning, she was in no state to do so.

"Okay… okay, fine..." she mumbled, at last.

Coming forward, Americana paid her 'fare' one by one, starting with the driver.  Standing before him she lifted up her arms behind her head and then thrust forth her breasts.   Blushing, she bit her lip as he reached up eagerly.  She let out a gasp, and shivered, as she felt his filthy fingers sink into her silky-soft and flawless jugs - but kept her hands back and out of the way, and let him.  

The piggy driver gaped in awe as he got to grope Ameriana's enormous boobies.  He gave them several squeezes, marveling at the way her huge pliant melons protruded out through his fingers.  From the stunned look on his face, he had never had his hands on a pair half as big as hers, let alone real -  and absolutely none as superhumanly gravity-defying as hers were.  He gaped in awe as he stroked them, as if finally discovering the mysteries of the universe itself.  Finally, as part of his explorations, his fingers rose up and began to rub at her tender nipples.

At this, finally, Americana could take it no more.  As she felt his grubby fingers caress her there, she let out a shriek more befitting a teenage maiden than a superheroine.  Jerking her enormous teats from his grip, she whirled around, to put the big heaving globes out of his reach.  The bus driver seemed momentarily taken aback.  But then, eyes dropping down, he took in the second set of enormous wiggling spheres she had unintentionally turned towards him as if presenting for his inspection, and he cracked a huge leer.

“God damn,” he said, not being in a position to properly appreciate them before.  Then, swinging his piggy hand back he brought it down, hard, onto her jiggling bubble-shaped ass.

“Oh!” Americana yelped, eyes going wide in shock, as his palm slammed down onto her backside with a loud ‘THWACK!’  She could not help herself.  Though she was a superheroine, the surprise and force of his blow sent her body stumbling forward.  Her enormous breasts slid in to either side of a gleaming chrome pole, to which the card-reader for properly-prepared riders was attached, until it collided up against her chest in between them.  Her tits were so vast they re-closed on the far side of the pole, leaving it buried between them.  Her lips closing into a tiny ‘o’ in shock, Americana wiggled and sloshed up against the pole - while the entire rest of the bus craned up out of their seats and gaped in awe.

Meanwhile, behind her, the bus driver was having the time of his life.  Mouth hanging open in wonder, he repeatedly brought his spread fingers in and out - sweeping them up and down and digging them deep into the staggeringly rounded yet silky-taut curvature of Americana’s buns.  His fingers swept up and down - caressing across the little pink hand-mark his initial assault had left upon her immaculate flesh.  The way he groped and squeezed kept Americana’s stunning body writhing and squirming involuntarily up against the pole - putting on a delightful show both for his own close-range gaze and for the sea of grubby faces staring at her from down the aisle.

But at last, the driver heard the sound of grumbling voices growing from the back of his bus, as the rest of the late-night ridership began to grow tired of waiting for their turns.  Simultaneously, he felt Americana’s sleek muscles start to stiffen back against his groping touch, as he began to wear out her patience.  Shaking his head in wonder, the driver sat back and just admired the view for a second - while he drew his hand back one last time.

“God-damn,” he said again, getting one last good look at Americana’s staggering proportions jiggling side-on towards him.  Then, as she finally managed to pick the pole out from between her tits and stood back up beside him, he smirked.  "Alright, super-stripper or whatever you are,” he said to the superheroine now standing tall at the head of the aisle beside him.  “Get those buns back there and sit them down on my fucking bus!"  Swinging his hand back, he punctuated his order with a second hard swat to her naked ass.

Americana yelped as his blow sent her unprepared body stumbling down the aisle of the bus.  Then she yelped and lurched further, reaching out to seize the back of an empty seat, as he promptly got the bus back in gear, and jerked away from the curb to try and make up for lost time.  Reaching up to his radio, he called in a bullshit explanation of brief engine trouble to his dispatch, while spending as much time as possible leering up into his mirror at Miss Americana's squirming slowly-retreating backside.

Maintaining her balance as best she could as her top-heavy wonders sloshed back and forth in the narrow aisle, Miss Americana slowly made her way back down the moving bus.  But every few seats she was forced to stop, as each of the passengers leaned out and took their 'compensation' from her as well.  

One by one the disheveled passengers, most of them smelling of booze or much worse, pawed at her.  And gasping, shivering, having made her bargain, the mighty superheroine let them.  Gorgeous face gaping downwards, she watched in horror and disbelief as one set of grubby hands after another caressed her broad flat belly, and squeezed her gigantic tits.  Head thrashing about and groaning, she endured a seemingly endless series of swats, rubs, and pinches to her enormous ass - all the while she was surrounded by a sea of leering chortling faces that on any other day she would have arrested for public drunkenness without a thought.  Wiggling and quivering helplessly in the aisles, she felt one undeserving hand after another caress up and down her thighs, her narrow waist, and the sides of her face.

Though she never voiced it - could in fact not bring herself to speak at all, save to let out a series of involuntary moans, gasps or sighs at what was being done to her perpetually squirming flesh - the mighty heroine maintained one absolute rule.  She obediently let the unworthy filthy hands swarming her go anywhere - except inside her.  The moment she felt one get anywhere near her entrances - the one between her buns, the one beneath her nose, or especially the one between her thighs - she let out a stunned squawk.  Then before the offending miscreant could make any move to either exploit or retract his obscene advance, she stumbled rapidly forward, further down the narrow aisle, to put whatever sacred hole he had come close to violating safely out of his filthy reach - but in doing so, of course, she carried herself straight into the waiting hands of another.

One after another she subjected herself to them, working her way down the bus.  Up above, Miss Americana’s face was like that of an overthrown princess who has been forced to offer herself to the lowliest peasants over whom she once ruled.  Down below, it was as if she had voluntarily inserted her glorious body into the maw of some monster.  Only instead of teeth that monster had hands that roved continuously across her - and which, instead of devouring her outright, seemed intent instead on stripping her superhuman body of any shred of majestic untouchability she might ever have imagined it to possess.  Miss Americana squirmed, and writhed, and moaned, as their hands roved across her - but could not escape at all, save to slowly stumble still further forward - and deeper into their clutches.

At last, after the bus had covered several blocks, Americana finally reached the very end of the aisle.  With a moan, she broke free from her last silent, hand-roving suitor.  Every centimeter of her body shivered at the memory of the countless grubby fondling fingers that had recently been upon it, as she stumbled past the last few mercifully-empty seats.  Reaching the very back - for her luscious curves now wanted absolutely nothing save to be as far from everyone else as possible - she turned around.  Slowly, her face glowing bright pink behind her noble mask, she sank her shapely ass down onto the stained and ragged seat.

This left the stunned superheroine looking right back down the aisle-shaped gauntlet of hands and eyes she had just worked her way down.  Heaving forward like a puppet with cut strings, huge tits wobbling back and forth beneath her with the bus’s lurching uneven motion, the proud superheroine looked back down the aisle to see all of the other passengers all gaping back down at her.  Even the driver, at the far end, kept his eyes on the road as little as humanly possible in favor of leering up at her through his mirror.  Those that had phones lifted them, and repeatedly took pictures - most not having even bothered to mute their phones first.  Miss Americana shivered, as she heard click after click of photos being taken... and, her blush deepening and her full red lip quivering, did absolutely nothing to stop them.

Miss Americana and the other bus-passengers rode on in silence for several more blocks.  Glancing out the windows, Miss Americana got the distinct impression that the bus driver was taking a deliberately circuitous route to the main city bus depot - passing straight through downtown and then looping through some decrepit neighborhoods on the other side.  Also, based on the way they occasionally glanced up at the ropes and then settled back into their seats, she also guessed that a number of the passengers rode straight past their intended stops - and remained right where they were, preferring to keep ogling the stunning demi-goddess who had been reduced to riding around in the muck with them.

Slowly, as she shivered naked in the filthy bus, Miss Americana’s head sank lower and lower, as if what little was left of her will and spirit was draining away out of her by the second.  Soon she had slumped down so low, her huge swaying breasts were almost brushing the tops of her sleek bare thighs.  

At last, however, the gloomy silence with which Miss Americana was enduring her ride of shame ended - with the sudden whoop of police sirens.

"Uh, oh..." the driver said, glancing at his mirrors.  He drove on for another half-block, hopefully, but the sirens persisted, coming from just behind them - red and blue lights flashing through the windows along both sides of the bus.  At last, unable to pretend there was any other target any longer, the driver pulled his bus over.  A couple cops came over and stood outside the door.

Throughout this event, Miss Americana remained hunched over in her seat, staring straight ahead - like a stunningly over-proportioned mannequin that had been abandoned at the back of the bus.  Her gorgeous masked face occasionally trembled, but gave no other sign of will or thought.

At last, after a brief hushed conversation conducted through his open door with the cops standing outside, the driver wheeled back to look down the aisle.

"They want to talk to you, Miss Super-Whoever!" he called back.

He waited a moment - but Americana remained motionless in her seat, still not reacting.  At a comment from the cops, he shifted his hands nervously on the wheel, and then lifted both his head and his voice.

"You want to come out and talk to them, super-babe?" he asked her.  "Cuz' otherwise they're going to go back there and drag you out.  You want that?"

Americana heaved a deep sigh, making her enormous breasts slosh and jiggle.  "No..." she admitted softly.

WIth a deep moan - like she really was a used-up prostitute getting dragged into the station for the fifth time that week - she stood up.  Slowly, she made her way back down the aisle, while the other passengers gaped at her in awe.  At least none of them moved to touch her this time.  She passed the driver - who made sure to get one last close-up leering look at her ass as she did so - and stumbled back down the stairs.

With a groan, Miss Americana finally staggered back out of the bus  and onto the sidewalk again.  Two cops stood waiting before her.  As she saw them, her eyes promptly went wide, and her jaw dropped in horror.

"Well hello there again, Miss Ameri-cunt," Lieutenant ZIppuli purred.  He let his piggy gaze sweep up and down the naked super-heroine standing before him.  "Long time no see."

Beside him stood one of the officers who had been most heavily involved in her interrogation.  He whistled, shaking his head.  "She showing off even more than last time, Lieutenant!" he said, admiring Americana's defenseless bare pussy.

"She sure is!" Zippuli said.  Then, leaning past her, he slapped the side of the bus.  "Okay, you can move along now!" he called into the driver.

"You got it!" the portly driver said.  With all due haste he slammed the door closed behind Miss Americana's big round ass, got the bus up into gear, and lurched away.  With a cloud of diesel fumes the old bus jerked forward and lumbered back out into the empty street, rolling away - the windows lined once more with ogling faces as they were gradually carried out of view.

Hiking up his belt, the Lieutenant leered eagerly at Miss Americana.

"Alright, babe," he said.  "If you thought we were going to have fun with you last time, you ain't seen nothing yet!  In addition to all your other charges, we got breaking and entering, aiding and abetting known fugitives, and resisting arrest.  Anything else that escapes me?"

"Probably indecent exposure, and maybe even solicitation" the other officer said, lapping his chops.  "Seeing she riding around city buses naked, in exchange for sexual favors!"

Miss Americana gasped, shocked.  "How... how did you know about that?" she asked - too tired to bother trying to deny it.  "And... and how did you even find me in the first place?"

Zippuli smirked, and fished out his phone.  "Word of advice, sweet cheeks," he purred.  "These days, local police use honeypot accounts to monitor the social media feeds of pretty much all known repeat offenders - which what describes like half that bus one way or the other."  He opened his phone and showed her.  

Miss Americana gasped in horror as she saw pictures of herself standing outside the bus, and then inside letting herself get groped - posted by several different accounts.  "Oh... Great Justice..." she moaned, a hand going to her cheek - as she realized that if he could get those pictures, every tabloid in Delta City would not be far behind

Zippuli smirked, closed the phone, and slid it back into his pocket.  Then, in exchange, he pulled out his cuffs.

"You got any question you deserve these, honey?" he asked her, waving them back and forth.

Americana's lip quivered.  She folded her arms over her breasts, and looked away.  But then she let out a sigh.  "No..." she admitted.

Zippuli smirked.  "Then let's make this nice and easy," he purred.

He and his partner put their hands on Americana.  She gasped, briefly, her muscles tensing instinctually.  Then she groaned, and relaxed.  Arms covering herself but otherwise not resisting in any way, she let them lead her over to their cruiser.

Zippuli observed the downcast face of the apparently broken, crestfallen super-heroine slyly - and looked back and forth between her and the cruiser.  Then he turned to his partner.

"You mind helping me with something?" he asked him.

"Sure, boss," he said.  "What?"

"I'm going to take Miss Ameri-slut here back into custody, the old classic way," he informed him.  "Can you film me doing it?  That's something I want to be able to show my grandkids!"

"Yeah, can do," the officer said, reaching up to make sure his body-cam was, for once, on and properly adjusted.  He had done so before Americana came down the steps, but it was always good to be sure.  "You sure you aren't going to need help?"

Zippuli looked at Americana's face and shook his head.  "Naw.  I don't think this one is going to give us any trouble no more.  Is she?"

Americana took a deep breath, then shook her head.  "She will not," she affirmed, looking down at the pavement.

Zippuli and the officer both chuckled.  The officer backed up aways to get a good angle and line of sight on the impending events.  Then, putting his hand on her shoulder, Zippuli suddenly took a tight grip on Americana - and then slammed her forcefully downward.

"Oh!" Americana gasped as she was suddenly driven tits-first down onto the hood of the cruiser.

"Shut up," Zippuli growled, performatively.  Reaching back he drew forth his cuffs and then reached them out and caressed them, teasingly, against her rotund silky ass.  "You have the right to remain silent," he informed the Queen of Justice, before reaching out with his free hand to seize her wrist.

"Oh... oh GODDESS!" Americana moaned, as he suddenly wrenched her arm hard behind her back.  He pinned her with it, against the cruiser, while he slowly brought the cuffs up and rubbed them teasingly against her gloved wrist.

Suddenly at that instant, in the distance, there came a thunderous roar.  A huge cloud of flame blossomed against the sky.  A moment later, clearly audible through the open window of the cruiser right beside her, the police radio exploded into a fury of noise.

"All units, all units!" a panicked and shocked-sounding dispatcher announced.  "Be advised!  Major altercation has occurred at the Central Sewage Plant!  Royals and officers down, royals and officers down!"

"Fuck..." the younger officer said, gaping upwards at the sky - while his hand still kept the body-cam trained in on the heroine.

"Keep your eyes on what you're doing," Zippuli advised - which was easy for him to say since at the moment for him that mainly meant gazing close up at Miss Americana's uplifted wiggling bottom.  Then, with a firm hand he slapped one end of his cuffs on her wrist.  Then, reaching over, he seized her other wrist and dragged that back behind her as well.

As he did so, the radio crackled again.  "B-be advised!  D-dark Prizm is active at site of explosion!  Attacks on police personnel are-   more officers down.  Units under fire, units in Prizm contact, officers down!"

LIfting her head off the hood, Americana gaped at the sky as well.  "Oh... Goddess..." she whispered.  Then she whirled her head around, and looked up at him.  "Quick!" she begged.  "Let me go!  I can go help!"

But Zippuli shook his head.  "Don't worry that pretty head," he said, grabbing the free ring of his cuffs and dragging them up towards her remaining un-cuffed wrist.  "The Boarman will take care of it - you just see."

As the cuffs approached her wrist, the radio crackled again.

"B-be advised!" the dispatcher moaned - and if she had sounded unnerved before now she sounded like she was announcing the end of the universe itself.  "We have reports the Boarman has been captured.  Repeat!  Prizm has the Boarman hostage!” she said - forgetting all thoughts of any ‘so-called impostor’ shenanigans in her current panic.  “All units, fall back, I repeat, all units fall back!"

Zippuli's hand, about to seal the cuffs around Miss Americana, froze.  He shivered.

"Wh-what the fuck did she just say?" he asked, as if he had misheard.

"Let me go, now!" Americana begged.  "I'm the best shot you have left!  Let me go!"

For a moment, Zippuli seemed to be considering it.  Then he shook his head, firmly.  "Naw," he said.  "Sorry, missy.  I'm not going to let a lady criminal loose just to fight other lady criminals.  Now hold still..."  In his moment of indecision, the still-empty open ring of the cuffs had partially closed, propped up against her wrist.  Now, he opened it up again, and made to slide it around her waiting red-gloved arm.

"NOOOO!" Miss Americana roared, her eyes suddenly burning with blue fire.

And suddenly, without further warning, she surged up and backwards.  Zippuli let out a startled yelp, briefly distracted, as her voluptuous buns pressed tight back into the front of his pants - pushing them back to reveal a clear little erection cradled between her jiggling spheres.  But a moment later the rest of her hourglass-shaped body whipped up and back as well - and his yelp turned into a piggy squeal as the back of her raven-maned head slammed like a crashing comet into his face.

"Oh... fuck..." the junior officer moaned as he saw his Lieutenant stumbling backwards away from the enraged superheroine, his face a bloody mess.  Americana's superhuman headbutt had smashed Zippulli’s nose, and also stunned him.  Still, acting on veteran instincts, Zippulli's hand went for his gun.  He never got it out.  Miss Americana wheeled on him, her huge breasts sloshing naked but her face like an enraged she-panther.  Lashing out, she struck him with a brutal left-right-left combo, whipping his head back and forth with each blow.  Hand rising up uselessly from his still-holstered gun Zippuli stumbled backwards into a pile of trash and went down in a heap.  He didn't get back up.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," the junior officer said.  Backing up, he too went for his gun.  His hand fumbled briefly with his retention holster due to sheer panic, as Americana whirled and started advancing on him like a naked vengeful goddess.  Finally he got his sidearm out and pointed it at her.

"On your knees!" he commanded her.  "Hands up!"

Miss Americana shook her head.  "How have you survived here this long, with instincts that bad?" she asked him.

The officer swallowed.  Then, as she took another step forward, he went ahead and made good on his threat.  He fired, again and again, until his magazine was empty.  And, since Miss Americana still had her belt, they ricocheted back off her and flew out into the surrounding inner-city ruin.

Miss Americana smirked, slightly.

"Not used to dealing with real women, are we?" she asked.

Arriving just before the shocked, trembling officer, she reached out, and snatched his empty gun away from him.  Holding it up in front of him, she squeezed.  With a squeal and crack, the gun shattered and then crumpled inside her fist.

"F-fuck..." the officer said.  Disarmed, he stumbled back a couple steps from the stationary superheroine.  Then, realizing that if his gun was useless his night-stick was likely to be more so, he went for his taser.  But as he tried to draw it Miss Americana knocked it out of his grip with a contemptuous back-hand before he could even get close to getting it to bear upon her.  Taking another step back, the officer swallowed.  She was between him and the car now.  Finally seeing only one option left, he lifted a trembling hand up to the radio receiver on his shoulder.

"This... this is unit 12 calling dispatch, unit 12 calling," he said - his voice rising and falling like a frightened child as he looked up into Americana's furious gaze.  Any thought of leering lustfully at her still-naked and still-spectacular body had mysteriously vanished.  "I... I have a situation... I need assistance at..."  He glanced around, trying to get his bearings to give a location.

Miss Americana shook her head.  Reaching down, she effortlessly ripped the half-applied cuffs off her wrist, like the heavy-duty police handcuffs were a cheap plastic toy.

"Given what's going on ten blocks to the north of us, do you really think anyone is going to come and help you?" she asked, tossing the shattered cuffs aside and taking another powerful step towards him.

The officer swallowed, and looking up at a street-sign, finally got his bearings again.

"Ac-actually," he could not resist man-splaining to her, "it's twelve blocks."

Americana nodded.  "You see?" she said.  "This is why we girls always stop and ask for directions."

Then, without warning, she lashed out with what was left of his gun, and struck him with it across the temple.  The officer groaned, hand coming off his microphone, and eyes rolling up collapsed to the pavement with a thump.

Leaving him there, Miss Americana walked back over to the cruiser.  She climbed behind the wheel, closed the door, and then reached out and adjusted the mirror.

"Alright," she said, sitting back and putting a hand on the wheel.  "Let's go show this town it needs a heroine."  And with that she drove the pedal down to the floor, and peeled out into the street.

To be continued next time, when Miss Americana catches up with both the Boarman and the Dark Prizm, finally learns the latter’s secret plan… and makes a very spectacular entrance in the process.