Ms. Americana vs the Matador

in  The Running of the Super-Heroines

By Violator

Author’s Note – Americana is by Mr. X, as are various cameo heroines and villainesses.  The Matador is original, although obviously a raging stereotype.  Hit END for a short summary.

When Ms. Americana arrived in the arena she did not realize that she was the grand finale. 

Stepping out of the long dark secret passage, she slowly scanned her eyes across the empty sandy field of the underground arena… and smirked.  The only man in sight was her target, and he had his back to her.  The Matador stood at the far end of the dark bullring, black cape draped over his back, slowly sharpening his sword.  Smiling smugly, Ms. Americana slowly and quietly sauntered forward, her ample curves jiggling silently in her bikini costume as her boots crunched ever so softly in the gravel.

As she advanced, her eyes fixed on her would-be opponent, she unfortunately missed several ominous warnings scattered all around her.  A torn scrap of her own sidekick’s striped skirt crunched unseen into the gravel under her boot.  Several streaks of cum splattered across the gravel were stepped over or through, leaving the oblivious heroine’s heels dripping and tarnished.  Even the Got Jewel, its soft red glow shining clearly from where it lay half-buried in sand, scraps of pure-white bra peeking through to either side, remained unseen.  Arriving in the very center of the ring, Ms. Americana put her hands upon her hips, planted her boots wide apart, and grinned.

 “The game’s up, Matador!” she announced, loudly.  “There’ll be no performance for your wicked sport tonight!”

“That is where you are wrong, Senorita,” the Matador said, in a thick Latin accent, without turning.  “The sport is just about to begin… now that the biggest bull – or should I say cow – has arrived!”

Slamming his sword into its sheath he whirled to face her, his cape billowing dramatically. 

Americana gasped.  Despite having had many tall tales about him whispered into her ear by various Latin-quarter prostitutes she’d arrested in the last few weeks, this was her first time actually laying eyes upon this particular villain.  He looked the part.  He was tall and lean, dressed in a traditional-looking red and black suit and wearing a red rose in his hair.  His cape billowed, layers of red silk under its black outer sheath.  The only hints that he was a super-villain were the Zorro-like domino mask on his face… and the tremendous bulge that extended down one leg of his tight pants. 

Licking her lips, Ms. Americana found herself briefly distracted by the latter, despite herself.  ‘It’s fake…’ she told herself desperately, ‘it has to be…’ and returned her focus to her task.

Then the Matador gave a dramatic, flourishing signal.  The house lights came up… and Ms. Americana gave a second, louder gasp.  For instead of being empty as her hooker informants had promised, the rising lights revealed the shadowy stands all around her to be packed full.  Of criminals, by definition, as this was an extremely illegal performance.  Moments later a thick iron grate slammed down over the entrance to the ‘secret’ passage behind her, sealing her in.

The Queen of Justice whirled to gape back at the sealed exit behind her, then spun back to snarl at her foe.  “What… what is the meaning of this?!” she demanded of him

“Miss Americana,” the Matador said.  Not even looking at her, he held out his fingers and examined his black-painted nails.  “I want you to know something.  I am a normal man.  I have neither mutant strength nor magical power.  I am no match for a super-heroine like you.  I want you to know this…” he said, and reaching up, drew the flower from his hair and extended it towards her mockingly, “so that it will be all the more humiliating when I tame you.”

Americana snorted.  “Fat chance!” she said.

 “Bold words,” the Matador instantly replied, “for an American woman with such a gigantic, blubbery ass.”

Americana’s jaw dropped.  His words hit a nerve, to say the least, and her exceptionally voluptuous ass wiggled briefly back and forth as if struck, jiggling pneumatically around her trademark bikini bottoms.  “Oooh… “ she hissed, brows lowering and hands forming into fists.  “Oh, I am going to have fun with you!”

Then she charged.

The Matador remained stock still as the mighty heroine pounded towards him, gravel rising in gouts behind her each thundering boot-step.  “Note,” he purred softly, “that I said nothing… about chloroform.”  Extending the flower toward the charging heroine, as if offering it to a lover, when she was almost upon him he gave it a tiny squeeze.  A cloud of gas immediately burst from the fake flower and hit the charging heroine full in the face.

“Oh!” Americana gasped, as she helplessly took it in.

Her charge instantly stumbled and ceased, and the mighty heroine came to a wavering halt just a few feet in front of him.  Gasping, Ms. Americana wobbled slowly back and forth, barely staying on her feet.  She had managed to avoid taking in enough to knock her out, but her head, indeed the entire world, had suddenly started to spin.

Moving without the slightest haste, the Matador drew his sword and stood facing the dazed, wobbling super-heroine.  “Let us get this show started properly!” he said.  Then, darting past her, he sent his sword arcing up in front of her chest and sliced straight through her bra.  The crowd roared as her huge breasts came bursting forth to bounce and jiggle naked in the arena.

“Oh, Goddess!” Ms. Americana gasped.  Shaking out of her daze she looked down and gaped in shock at her exposed, jiggling rack.  Then she whirled round, and found the Matador had already escaped to the far side of the arena.  He stood, again ramrod straight, his cape held before him, waiting for her.  Glaring at him, she growled.

“I know your game,” she said to him, her eyes narrowing.  But instead of charging she put her hands upon her hips, trying to ignore the whistles of the crowd at the ponderous sway of her enormous unsupported breasts.  “You’re playing me like a bull.  Distract me, enrage me, and then wear me down with cuts.”  Slowly, she smiled, her face growing smug.  “It’s a good strategy,” she admitted.  “But what works on an animal?  Won’t work on a super-heroine.”

“Are you sure?” the Matador said.  “Because it worked on your sidekick.”

Reaching up, he tore what proved to a be thin layer of silk off the exposed lining of his cape to reveal, beneath it, a layer printed with a graphic, full color photo of himself fucking the brains out of Flag Girl.  The little sidekick was on her hands and knees facing into the camera, Matador behind, hands on her ass, riding her like a bucking bronco.  The once-innocent young blonde’s masked face, splattered with cum, was moaning with what was clearly orgasm.

Americana stared at the image in shock.  Her hands trembled upon her hips.  “That… that’s a fake!” she gasped.  “It… it has to be!”

“Is this?” Matador asked, tearing off another layer to reveal a shot of the same position, with Flag Girl rearing up in squealing ecstasy as he slammed his hips straight up against her bountiful teen ass.  “Or this?”  He tore out another sheet, revealing a new shot of he and the sidekick lying belly-to-belly in the dirt… her head, trapped in his hand, nevertheless caught in the act of giving him a deep, passionate, adoring kiss.

“It…it can’t be!” Ms. Americana gasped, in horror.  Then her face twisted into a snarl, going bright red.  “You… you bastard!  I- I’ll DESTROY you!”  And, like an enraged bull, she charged right at him, her fist raised.

The Matador again remained perfectly still until the mighty super-heroine was just a few feet away, and then jerked the cape aside to reveal his other hand waiting behind it… holding the flower.

“Oh…” Ms. Americana gasped, too late.  Seconds later his arm darted forward as if delivering a rapier thrust.  He pressed the flower right into her face, covering her cheeks with its petals… and squeezed.

“Urrrk!” Americana yelped as, this time, the gas was sent swirling straight down her throat.   Her arms fell limp by her sides and her whole body quivered before his as the gas poured into her.  Then he pulled the flower away and, having spent its contents, tossed it dismissively aside.  Its work had been done.  The mighty heroine wobbled helplessly before him, even more out of her brain than before.  Her pretty eyes, wide and wild behind her mask, looked at him but did not see him.

“Looks like it works on superheroines well enough,” he purred to his helpless victim, as he again drew his sword.  He glanced up and down her voluptuous scantily-clad body.  “Perhaps I should make you less of one…”

The crowd roared as the tip of the Matador’s sword slid unerringly inside one of the tiny hip-straps of Ms. Americana’s skimpy star-spangled panties.  Ms. Americana let out a tiny squeak, as, with a deft twist, he sliced the strap in two without scratching the silky tender flesh just beneath it.  One half of her panties already flopping down he slid the sword into the loosening strap on her other rounded hip and, with a showier rising flourish, effortlessly sliced it in two as well. 

Even with the gas still swirling mind-numbingly in her head, Ms. Americana trembled and blushed as she felt her little panties flop down to either side of her pelvis like wilting leaves.  Stepping around the wobbling heroine with a dancer’s strut, before they could fall all the way the Matador reached down and grabbed hold of the skimpy back of her shredded bottoms.  His hand slid rudely against the base of her ample quivering ass as he took a firm grip upon her severed costume.  Then with a single smooth motion he yanked them away, looped the dangling garment round, and delivered it in a stinging and mocking swat against the very buxom ass it had once so scantily covered.   “Ole!” the Matador cried, as he spanked the so-called super-heroine with her own panties.   Still dazed by drugs, Ms. Americana squeaked, ass leaping, as she got spanked.  Then with his arm raising in smooth follow through, he tossed the tattered panties to one side like a spent flower and made good his retreat. 

When Ms. Americana finally shook her head clear and whirled around, she found him again waiting patiently at the far end of the arena, cape held before him, as before.  The crowd roared all around her naked body with glee, and despite herself Ms. Americana felt a deep blush spreading across her cheeks.  But, ignoring them, she forced herself to stand tall and spread her legs defiantly apart.  ‘I must regain full control of the situation’ she thought.  Despite her abject nakedness, she forced a smug little smile onto her full red lips.

“You think you’re winning don’t you?” she asked him.

“That’s because I am, Senorita,” the Matador said, examining his fingertips as he waited.  “You are a cow in the bull’s ring – it is only a matter of time before you are fucked.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” she purred.  She rolled her eyes, half-hidden under her long eyelashes.  “Typical, stupid male.  You instinctively think stripping a super-heroine weakens her, but it really just makes her more eager to defeat you.  Your whole strategy is to wear me down, but instead you’re making me stronger!”

“Untrue,” he said.  “Two lungfulls of gas reside in your flesh.”

“Ah!  So it wasn’t just chloroform!  The gas weakens me, saps my will, does it?” Ms. Americana asked.  Her smirk broadened, and she raised an eyebrow.  “Thanks for the free intel, moron.”  Her eyes glanced briefly down her body, where her nipples had become noticeably erect at the tips of her huge, ponderously bouncing breasts, and then back up to him.  “And, I assume, aphrodisiac properties as well?” she asked, knowingly.  “To wear me down from that end, too?”

“No, none at all.  The only excuse for your soaking wet pussy,”  he said, pointing to the trickle of shining moisture that had just begun to dribble down the inside of her thigh, out of her obviously moistening snatch, “is that you are a dirty, nasty, cock-hungry American slut.”

“Ooh!” Americana gasped, eyes darkening in rage.  Her body reacted to the comment as if she’d been yet again swatted across her ass.  Beside her naked buxom hips, her gloved hands clenched, and she took a  single  pneumatic step forward.

Then she stopped.  “You’re trying to provoke me again aren’t you?” she asked.  And, though her eyes remained afire with scarce suppressed fury, the smug smirk slowly returned to her full red lips.  “Good job.  It almost worked,” she said.

“Almost.”

Fists held ready by her side, the nearly naked Ms. Americana began a slow and deliberate advance.  Her stride made her naked ass sway and jiggle deliciously before the hooting crowd, but she ignored them.  Once more, the Matador remained ramrod-straight and statue-still as she advanced, cape fluttering ever so slightly in front of his body.

“What’s going to be the distraction this time, Matador?” she purred as she neared him, her pace still measured and deliberate, fists up and wary.  “Are you going to claim to have fucked Got Gal?  Omega Woman?  Both at the same time?  Do you have more lame photo-shops to prove it?”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, American woman,” the Matador sighed as she closed in on him.  “You are such an amateur.  You see, in the sport of slaying the super-cow, there are little distractions… and then also there are BIG ones…”

And, once again, as his buxom foe came within a few feet of him the Matador whipped aside his cape… to reveal a tremendous penis sprouting, naked and erect, from his unlashed fly.

“Oh, my Goddess!” Ms. Americana squealed.  She stumbled to a halt, her fists coming apart as her gloved hands spread open in shock.  He was so huge, his tip swayed back and forth just a few inches in front of her breasts.  She gaped downwards, eyes and brain both briefly filling up with the sight of his impossible girth.

Taking advantage of the momentary shock-induced hole in her defense, the Matador suddenly stuck out a foot and swept the startled heroines’ feet out from under her.  Ms. Americana yelped as she slammed down onto her knees.  Her huge breasts sloshed as she landed hard.  She cried out in shock… and then became silent, her eyes going wide, as the tip of his huge penis suddenly pressed tight against her quivering lips.

She still had her belt.  She was still more than a match for him.  But for just a moment she just couldn’t help herself.  Her mind reeling, her eyes crossed and gazed down the long length stretching out, seemingly forever… and she whimpered in awe.

“If I was French, I would say, ‘bon apetit,’” he said, as her lips quivered moistly around the very tip of his penis.  “But since I am Spanish, I will just say…  Ole!”

“OLE!!!” the crowd echoed in a roar as, one hand clutched tight at the back of her helpless head and the other lifted high, the Matador slammed his hips down into the kneeling super-heroine’s face.

“Glllph!!!” Ms. Americana gurgled, eyes wild and wide with shock, as inch after inch of his tremendously thick cock slammed down into her throat. 

“The first lance is in the cow!” the Matador announced as he struck bottom.  The heroine’s lips were wrapped around the very base of his penis, quivering in his pubes.  The crowd roared, while Ms. Americana groaned, quivering naked on her knees between his legs.  Remaining deep within her for several seconds he milked her with short little back and forth strokes, savoring the press of her hot wet throat all around him.  Then he pulled slowly out, inch after thick glistening inch slowly emerging from her quivering lips, until only the tip remained… and then slammed in all the way to the hilt again.

“How are these blows at wearing you down, heroine?” he asked, tauntingly, as he pumped his huge dick in and out of her throat again and again and again.  “Are you impervious to these as well?”

Ms. Americana moaned, her brain reeling, as her face got brutally fucked.  ‘My only chance…’ she thought to herself, ‘is to make him come quickly…’  And so rationalized, the penis-punch-drunk heroine began using her lips and tongue to delicately pleasure the base and tip of her enemy’s giant schlong.

“Yes, American slut,” the Matador purred, as he felt her tongue gently lapping at him during a pause at the apex of one stroke.  “That is what I thought!”

The servile pleasure the Queen of Justice provided with her tongue did have its intended effect… eventually.  After about forty deep strokes had surged in and out of her.  Finally, exulting under the pleasure of both his hard pumps down her throat and her tender laps at his flesh, Matador felt a surge deep in his gigantic balls.  Yanking out of the super-heroine, he let his penis rest on her outstretched tongue.  Head still reeling from the fucking it had gotten, Ms. Americana looked down at in confusion…  even as her still-extended tongue, acting of its own accord, caressed delicately against the underside of his dick.  That was the last straw.  Throwing his head back, Matador howled with pleasure.  Behind her mask, Americana’s dazed eyes briefly tilted up to gaze up at him, as he towered triumphant over her, then slid back down to look right into the tip of his dick.  Moments later, it unleashed a huge and powerful hose-blast of semen, right into those gorgeous, wide-spread orbs.

“Aiiiee!” Ms. Americana squealed as she took a shotgun blast of Matador’s cum to her face.  Blobs of his seed forced their way into her eyelids, nostrils, and throat.  Secondary splatters dappled across her raven-dark hair and dribbled down her chin onto her breasts.

“Yes!” Matador howled, dick pulsing as he unleashed blast after blast onto the kneeling heroine.  “Take my second lancings, cow!”  Speared again and again with skewers made of his hot surging seed, Ms. Americana moaned and wobbled upon her knees, huge semen-dripping breasts bouncing.  But, blinded and bewildered by his seed, she had no choice but to take it.  Finally, both her mouth and her blinded eyes dripping with cum, the mighty heroine wobbled back and forth on her knees and then flopped down onto her back.

She lay there for several cum-dazed seconds, back in the gravel, cum on her face.  Then, with a gasp, Ms. Americana whirled back up to her feet.  She swept a powerful leg instinctively towards where Matador had been… but he was already gone.  Rising, scraping cum off her face and tossing it with revulsion into the dirt, the heroine glared to find him yet again already across the arena from her, waiting.

“How long are you going to keep up this game?” she hissed at him.

He stood before her, examining his nails.  His huge penis hung limp between his legs, beside his sword.  She mostly managed to keep her eyes off it.  Mostly.  “I will give you as many lancings as it takes to tame you,” he said, sounding bored.

“That will never happen!” Ms. Americana said, hands upon her hips.  “Super-heroines cannot be tamed.”

“Perhaps,” the Matador said.   “But fat cows can be… and that is what you are.”

“Petty insults?  Is that all you have left?” Ms. Americana sneered… even as the sting of the words made her ample ass and fat breasts jiggle under a humiliated squirm.

The Matador shrugged.  “Very well.  Do not say you did not ask for this, slut.”  He raised his fingers, and snapped them.

High on the walls of the arena behind him, including one on the wall above his shoulder from her, several humongous screens flickered to life… and began flashing through a brutal montage of the Matador taunting and taming her friends within the very same arena.  Americana stared upwards, mouth agape and body quivering helplessly, as she watched video of his sword cutting the super-panties away from the hips of Got Gal, Omega Woman, Jungle Babe, Azure Angel, Green Spectre, and Texas Starr in quick succession.  Then a similar montage showed his sword slashing up between the massive breasts of each in turn, their bras bursting away like overripe seed pods to let one pair after another of oversized super-boobs spill out.  Then, most horrifying of all, came a sequence showing each heroine standing and squirming helplessly in the very center of the arena, in chains…  semen dribbling in rivers from their conquered pussies.

“Yes, you like this, don’t you heroine?” the Matador said, as he watched her gorgeous face stare, wide-eyed and transfixed, up into the terrible glow.  “I have already tamed all of your friends.  The thought… I can tell it turns you on deeply.  Does it not?”

“You… you bastard!” Ms. Americana gasped.  “You’ll… you’ll PAY for this!”

And without another thought she charged at him, howling with fury.

Once more the Matador remained stock still as she thundered towards him.  But, the mighty dripping heroine reassured herself, he seemed to be out of tricks.  His cape lay by his side.  His hands were empty.  His huge dick hung limp between his thighs… which, even in mid-charge, the horny heroine found disturbingly distracting, but at least it was already revealed.

But as she neared him, the Matador gave another snap of his fingers.  Instantly, the flickering light above her changed, noticeably.  Ms. Americana couldn’t help herself.  Instinctively she glanced up into it… and gasped, her eyes going wide.

For the montage upon the screen now blasted forth pornographic-quality footage of the Matador fucking each and every one of her friends.  The clips cut from heroine to heroine in rapid succession, swapping over each time his huge dick slammed home, so that it seemed as if the villain was fucking all of her friends simultaneously and in every position imaginable.  And, the wide-eyed Queen of Justice could not help but notice, regardless of position and heroine, the deep thrusts of his big dick were making her friends thrash and moan with devastating pleasure.

The swapped video provided but a brief moment of distraction.  A moment was all Matador needed.  With startling speed he darted to one side of the charging heroine, and reached behind her as she passed.  Ms. Americana gasped as she felt his fingers wrap rudely down between the small of her back and her unguarded golden belt.

“Oh… no…” Ms. Americana said.

“Ole!” the Matador shouted in response as he ripped her crackling belt away.  The crowd echoed in a roar.

“Agh!” Ms. Americana screamed, as her mighty powers vanished.  She whirled with a gasp… just in time to see him tossing her belt away into the stands.

“You are disarmed, super-heroine,” he said, drawing his sword.  “Kneel.  Yield.  Accept your fate.”

“Never!” she cried.  With a swooping high kick she knocked the blade from his hand.  He darted back with a yelp, leaving it to lie in the sand, and she pursued, furiously. 

“I’ve got you right where I want you!” she roared.   Though she had lost her belt, for once the Matador had not been able to retreat from her after her charge, but had remained within reach of her furious fists.

But the Matador was not yet out of tricks for the overconfident super-heroine.  Darting back out of reach of another blow, he reached behind him… and produced a shining pair of handcuffs from his back pocket.  Oblivious, Ms. Americana snarled and threw another punch.  This time, the Matador’s free hand caught it.  Then, holding her quivering fist in his palm, his other hand snapped up and slapped one ring of the handcuffs onto her captive wrist.

“Oh!” Ms. Americana gasped.  Tearing away from his grip she lurched back away from him.  Raising her arm before her masked face she gaped at the dangling cuffs in shock.  They were custom made, silver plated, the rings engraved with dozens of flowers so that they looked like garlands of little roses.  Behind the dangling cuffs Ms. Americana’s face slowly twisted with rage.  With a snarl, she turned and lashed out at him, swinging his own cuffs at his face using a wide blow of her arm.  He ducked, and the shining weapon hurtled over his head.  Ms. Americana roared in fury and, coming up on one leg, sent the other arcing upwards in a devastating rising kick.

But the Matador remained untouched, diving just beneath her shapely hurtling thigh.  He rolled past her heels and rose up in a crouch behind her.  Grabbing his sword out of the dirt, he looked up to see her buxom naked ass wiggling right in front of him, still flexing with the follow-through from her missed kick.  With a mighty blow he swung his sword up and struck her across both shapely buttocks with the flat of the blade.  Ms. Americana squealed in shock.  Rearing back, she clutched both hands onto her stinging ass cheeks.  Matador reached in and, even as her gloved fingers caressed helplessly over her own voluptuous bare bottom, he grabbed the free end of his cuffs and snapped it closed around her remaining wrist.

Americana gasped in shock.  Stumbling away, hands bound behind her, she whirled round to face him… and gulped as she found herself staring down the length of his blade.

“Kneel, Super-Heroine,” he said.

Ms. Americana gasped.  For several seconds she stood still, squirming, her buxom body sloshing in glorious indecision.  With her hands bound she was defenseless.  Her legs were still free, and she could try to kick him… but between his distance and speed, the suddenly butterfly-laden super-heroine knew it was useless.

Ms. Americana swallowed hard... and started to sink downwards.

The crowd roared all around her with delight as Ms. Americana slowly knelt at the feet of her foe.  With a gasp she tumbled to her knees before him, her huge breasts sloshing gloriously.  Throughout, his blade never ceased to hover menacingly in front of her face.  She gaped down at it, licking her lips.

“Kiss it,” the Matador said.

Ms. Americana blushed deeply, glared at them… and then obediently bowed her head.  Her opulent red lips quivered as they gave the cold steel a long and lingering kiss, it’s razor sharp edge cradled perilously between them.  Then she lifted her head, and gasped at the sight of her own bright red lip-print adorning her foe’s blade.  Turning her head up, she got her wits back and, glaring, snarled up at him in defiance.

“You’ll never get away with this,” she promised.

“Wrong,” the Matador said.  Backing up, he adopted a fencing stance towards her, as if preparing to lunge his tip directly into her face.  Ms. Americana’s eyes went wide as she knelt, bound and helpless, before the prepared strike.

“What… what are you doing?!” she asked.  “I surrendered!”

“Cattle do not surrender,” the Matador said, with cold indifference.  “They are tamed… or die.”

He lunged forward.  Americana screamed as his blade raced straight at her face.  With a surge of her powerful thighs she threw herself backwards, landing sprawled upon her back in the dirt.  Jerking her head up, she gaped in shock… and moaned, to see his blade hovering in mid-air.  It had stopped dead, one inch from where her head had been.

“You choose the former,” the Matador said.  “Good.” 

Tilting his sword down, he pressed its tip lightly against the inside of one of her thighs.  Moaning softly and trembling, Ms. Americana let her thigh bend backwards beneath his prodding tip, until it was driven all the way back to lie flat upon the ground.  Raising his blade with a flourish, he did the same to her other thigh.  Then, lifting his blade again, he held it above her… and slowly lowered it down until its tip was pointing straight at her defenseless, exposed, and openly dripping pussy.   

“No… please don’t…” Americana begged, gaping eyes wide as she stared at it.

Ever so slightly, the sword dipped down.  Twisting it slightly, he lightly pressed the flat against her clitoris, so that the man in her boat looked to be wearing the tip of his sword like a hat.  At the slight cold touch a shining spray of eager moisture instantly burst from Ms. Americana’s quivering pussy and splattered across the dirt between her wide-spread thighs; the event reproduced live on every gigantic screen in the arena.

“The cow wants to be tamed!” the Matador announced.  The crowd roared with glee.  Lifting the sword from her pussy, he tossed it dismissively away.  Then before she could react, he dropped to his knees between her sword-spread legs.

With a squeal, Ms. Americana tried to close her legs, but it was too late.  He was already between them, so that instead her luscious thighs ended up wrapping around his torso.  Her proudly booted feet ended up squirming uselessly, behind his ass.  So ensnared, the Matador came down onto all fours and took her bound and buxom body in his arms.  One hand went to her enormous right breast, caressing up its massive shapely contours to tease at her nipple, while the other cupped her masked head from behind and forced it to face up to him.

“Ms. Americana,” he said into her gasping face.  “Like both a slut and bull should, you have been worn down by many passes.  Are you ready now for your finishing blow?”

Taking his free hand from her breast, he reached between his legs and grabbed his penis.  It had only half-recovered from her delicious but draining blowjob, and was like stiff rope.  Lifting the half-tumescent shaft, the Matador positioned it at her sopping gates, its tip parting ever so slightly the quivering lips of her labia.

Ms. Americana looked down, mouth agape.  Then she looked back up at his face and snarled.  “You’ll never tame me!” she promised.  “I’ve had far better than you, you impotent Spanish prick!”

The Matador shook his head.  “In Spain,” he told her, slowly drawing her close, “ladies greet a Matador with kisses, not insults.  It appears I must teach you… manners.”

Without another word, he yanked her gasping head to his and kissed her.  Ms. Americana’s eyes went wide as his tongue dove into her throat.  It proved as oversized and overpowered as his cock, thrusting deep inside the stunned heroine’s mouth and easily dominating her.  After a brief period of caressing and controlling her tongue with his, he pulled back.  He looked into the slack-jawed heroine’s face, and shook his head.  “You kiss like an American,” he told her.  “Badly.”  Then, pulling her back in, he effortlessly parted her lips and started schooling her some more.

Ms. Americana moaned as she was kissed.  But bound and helpless in his arms, she could do nothing to resist.  As he shared kiss after kiss with the helpless, stunningly beautiful heroine, the Matador’s previously depleted phallus slowly swelled.  Ms. Americana moaned and whimpered as it pressed deeper and deeper, harder and harder, into her slowly spreading gates. 

Finally, the Matador pulled back from his last kiss and held her like a lover beneath him.

“It has arrived, super-heroine,” he said down to her.  Latin music began to play around them, and ever so slowly the Matador lifted his hips, until his long penis was poised and ready for its first deadly thrust.  “The tercio de muerte, the time of death.  It is time for Ms. Americana to die and be replaced by a docile cow.  Are you ready?”

“That… that will never happen, you evil – oh, My GODDDESSSS!!!”

 “OLE!” the Matador cried as he drove his penis down inside her.  The audience matched it in an answering roar. 

True to his profession his first thrust was perfect, unerring and true, going deep and yet sliding effortlessly.  Then it began to pump with equal skill, devastating her.  Before she could recover, the Matador took the squirming and impaled heroine in his arms and reclaimed her trembling lips.  Ms. Americana sighed and wiggled helplessly, her buxom curves sloshing and twisting deliciously and unthinkingly against him, as she was skillfully seen to at both ends.  At first the Matador’s long lance was almost gentle within her, and yet deeply stimulating.  But over time, as the cheers of the audience rose, his force and tempo increased.  Ms. Americana moaned, her coiled legs trembling and slowly rising up higher on his body.  Despite her best efforts to resist a tingling heat slowly spread out from her ravished pussy to fill her entire silky buxom body.

Finally, feeling her weakening, the Matador tilted his body away from hers to give the audience a better look.  Detaching a groping hand from her breast, he slowly slid it down her body, openly and luxuriously caressing each bit of her as he passed over it… until it reached her trimmed pubes.  There, it traced slowly back and forth through her fur, teasing her with anticipation… and then, timed perfectly to a deep and flawless thrust, darted down to press hard onto her clit.

“Oh…” Ms. Americana gasped, detaching her lips from his latest kiss.  He let her, lifting his head, and she gaped up at him, her eyes going wide.  A shudder slowly spread through her whole body.  Then another.  Then it all broke at once.  “Oh, GODDESSSS!” she squealed, as her orgasm took her.  Her eyes rolling back, her head slammed back into the dirt and thrashed from side to side.  Her voluptuous body erupted under his appreciative hands, shaking as if electrocuted by his touch.  Keeping his hand on her clitoris he kept pumping furiously, driving her mercilessly.

Then, as suddenly as he had entered, the Matador pulled out.  Seizing the orgasming heroine by her shoulders and hips, he picked her up and tossed her bodily into the center of the arena.  Ms. Americana cried out in shock as she landed face-first in the dirt.  Her body still trembled with the lingering aftershocks, physical and psychological, of orgasm.  Her knees planted wide, her ass lifted up and quivered with lust… streamers of eager moisture pouring down her thighs from her gaping snatch.

“You have now finally been romanced like a woman,” the Matador said, as he came up behind her and seized her by the ass.  “Now you may be finished like a cow.”

“No!” Ms. Americana gasped, as he wrapped a hand in her hair and cruelly forced her head to bend back.  “No, you can’t!  I’m not ready!  It’s too – AGGGH!!!”  Thrusting deep, the Matador impaled her squirting pussy yet again, and resumed fucking her.  Hard.  Where before he had shown tenderness now he plowed her mercilessly, his massive cock ravaging every inch of her quivering furrow.  But despite his apparent brutality, the devastated heroine moaned out as she still found his form as flawless as ever, his rude strokes somehow still effortlessly stimulating every inch of her perfectly.

Slowly, ever so slowly, one of the hands clutching her ass loosened and began to caress, luxuriously, around the side of her buxom wiggling silky hip.  Americana knew where it was going and knew what it was going to do when it got there, but still could only buck back into his thrusts, moan, and quiver in anticipation.  Finally, his hand slid down around her once-mighty thigh… and alighted again upon her clit.

Instantly a second devastating orgasm slammed through the conquered super-heroine.  Ms. Americana opened her eyes wide and screamed as she shook helplessly upon her conqueror.  Before the first ended a second started to build within her ravaged fertile hips.  Unable to help herself, Ms. Americana’s squeals grew louder, higher, and faster with each passing thrust, as orgasm after orgasm rolled in and over and through her, combining together and building in strength.  She bucked and brayed like a bull upon his massive schlong, while her brain, demolished by continuous and overwhelming pleasure, became the equal of one.  But squirm and scream as she might, she could not reduce his mastery of her.

Finally, as he felt her start to weaken, the Matador positioned himself carefully, and slowly pulled out to his tip.  The crowd held its breath.  Then, with a furious cry, he slammed his massive lanced down into her with all the force and power he could deliver, finishing her.  Ms. Americana reared back, her eyes rolling back into her head, and shuddered.  “OLE!!!!” she heard the crowd roar all around her ringing head, as the Matador’s blow struck home… and, simultaneously, his cum started to spurt out from the edges of her pussy.  Overwhelmed by the sheer depth of pleasure he had forced her to display, she felt her world starting to slip. 

The last thing she heard before she blacked out was the crowd roaring in glee again and again and again.  “Ole!  Ole!  Ole!”  The exultant cries ringing in her hears and his cum dribbling down her thighs, Ms. Americana slumped down to lie face-down in the earth.  His huge penis slurped up out of her gaping, drooling, conquered pussy.  The crowd roared as she felt his foot appear upon her rotund ass, in a position of conquest.  Uncaring, her mind destroyed, Ms. Americana moaned, trembled beneath him... and slowly succumbed to the gathering darkness.

Much, much later, Ms. Americana awoke from her delirium to find herself in a dark place.

She was standing, arms bound behind her.  Moaning, the mighty heroine licked her lips… and gasped.  She could taste the putrid remnant of a drug inside her mouth, and, despite her woozy brain, surmised that it had been used to keep her docile and insensate as she was moved around.  How long, and what might have been done to her in the meantime, the moaning heroine could scarcely guess.  But, to her horror, she could feel the unmistakable feeling of warm, fresh, sticky cum pouring out of her pussy and running in rivers down the insides of her mighty naked thighs.

Opening her eyes and blinking them to adjust to the darkness, the bound heroine slowly looked around… and moaned, louder, her eyes going wide.

All around her, the captured Queen of Justice saw other heroines waking up.  They were all in the exact same state as her:  naked, arms bound, wobbling shakily on still-booted and un-bound legs… and with visible streamers of cum running down from their exposed pussies.  Got Gal, Texas Starr, Jungle Babe, Wolf Woman… even her own precious Flag Girl.  Every heroine that Matador had taunted her with, and a few more, was now waking in equal bound nakedness.  One dozen in all, filling the dark and narrow space all around her.  As they awoke and shook the cobwebs from their lovely masked heads, the various heroines also began to bleat and look into one another’s eyes in shock.

Around the edges of the heroinely herd, meanwhile, their helpless buxom curves were contained by rough-hewn wood planks.  Which looked, Americana could not help but notice, with an ominous stir in her belly, like a cattle chute.

Suddenly, with a loud rattle, the wooden planks directly in front of Ms. Americana began to shake.  They swung apart, revealing themselves to be two huge doors.  Bright light poured through.  The heroines turned their heads and blinked, blinded.  Then they gasped as a shadowy figure stepped forward out of the light… and resolved itself into the shape of the Matador.

“Good afternoon, Senoritas,”  he said, observing them with satisfaction.  “Are you ready for your next performance?”

“Performance?” Wolf Woman gasped, squirming in her bonds and staring at him.  “What performance?”

“Never mind that!  Where are we, you fiend?” Texas Starr demanded, her face twisting into a snarl beneath her trademark cowgirl hat.  Other than her boots and cuffs and cum, she wore little else.

“And whose cum is in our pussies?” Ms. Americana snarled.

The Matador shook his head.  “So many questions!” he said.  Pointing to each in turn he said, “The cum belongs to many men.  I have to keep my workers happy somehow.  As to where you are… you are in a city beyond the reach of any law, American or otherwise. This is all you need to know.  You are about to be taken one by one to repeat your performances before a large gathering of drug lords.  Then, having seen how you perform, they will then bid on you.”

“We… we’re where?” Texas Starr gasped.

“How… how many men?!” Flag Girl moaned.

“Bid on us?” Jungle Babe gasped, her body squirming.  “As… sex slaves?”

“Of course,” the Matador said, answering only the last question.  “But first,” he said, “the kingpin who rules this town is a man of the people.  He desires we give the common folk their own show.  And I agree.  So ready yourselves, heroines… you are about to start a grand new tradition!”

“Tradition?” Wolf Woman gasped, her eyes widening in horror.

“We… we shall never cooperate!” Ms. Americana declared, legs spread defiantly wide.  “Whatever you expect of us, we will never perform!”

“Such resistance,” Matador said, stepping to one side.  “Has been accounted for…”

And from the shadows behind the squirming helpless heroines, four more female forms slowly sauntered forward.  Emerging from the darkness with smirks upon their luscious lips, their masks identified them as Esha, Panthris, and the Mayhem Twins.  But around their usual outfits each wore skimpy cowgirl get up made up of leather hats, vests and chaps.  Coming to a halt behind the herd of squirming buxom heroines, they let out little delighted chuckles, their evil grins widening… as each slowly unspooled a whip.

“Oh, Goddess…” Ms. Americana moaned, gaping behind her in shock.

With a loud ‘crack’ all four villainesses’ whips simultaneously came down upon tender, jutting, and unprotected heroine ass.  Squeals and cries rose in a shrill chorus as the heroines leaped and moaned.  With more cracks, the whips continued to beat mercilessly.  Finally, unable to endure any longer, like a single silky-skinned and huge-breasted herd of cattle, the heroines lurched forward and stampeded out through the waiting door.

But once through, their moans grew louder and more horrified, not less.

Eyes blinking in shock and against the brightness, the herd of bouncing super-heroines suddenly found themselves running through the streets of a sweltering hillside barrio, with tin-roof shacks stacked atop other tin-roofed shacks.  Crowds pressed tight to either side of the narrow dirt road immediately roared with glee at the sight of their buxom bare bodies surging pneumatically past. 

The screeching villainesses followed, hot upon their heels, whips cracking threateningly just behind the heroines’ rhythmically swaying asses.   But the threat was unnecessary.  The heroines gasped in shock as, singly and to the hooting encouragement of their compatriots, men broke from the surrounding crowds and ran alongside them, laughing as their hands groped at the super-females’ huge bouncing tits, or swatted at their buxom naked asses.  Moaning, the mighty heroines could defend themselves only by surging forward ever faster, letting their superior physiques carry themselves out of the reach of their tormentors… and straight into the waiting hands of still more who darted out, in endless succession, before them.

A loud voice was booming out of speakers in Spanish.  But for the benefit of the moaning super-sluts, Esha provided her own commentary in English as she ran along behind.

“Welcome, welcome, super-sluts!” she crowed, lashing her whip eagerly against the nearest squirming, welt-covered ass, “to the first annual Running of the Super-Heroines!”

Moaning in humiliation, the heroines ran ever onward, through an endless supply of gropes and swats and mocking laughter.  On an on they ran, twisting back and forth through the streets and alleys of the packed, festive city.  In the distance, looming over the entire city, a huge ancient bull-ring waited ominously.  Their ultimate destination where, the gasping heroines knew, once more deep thrusts from long lances would be used to render them tame.

Summary:  Ms. Americana is lured into an underground arena, and confronts the Matador.. only to find she is doing so before a live audience.  By various suberterfuges, the villain strips the heroine of her bra and panties, gases her repeatedly, gets her on her knees and face fucks her, relieves her of her belt, and binds her.  Finally, in a grand finale he fucks her into submission, finishing her with a mighty thrust as the crowd roars. In a coda, she and several other heroines wake up in an unknown foreign land, and get herded through the streets as crowds jeer and run alongside, fondling them – in the first annual ‘Running of the Super-Heroines.’