Crescent City Stories

[sara-c]

Fools rush in…

Cres­cent City slept, though fit­ful­ly. Night had crept furtive­ly into the near-emp­ty streets and only the brave, fool­hardy or des­per­ate ven­tured abroad.

Two la­tex-clad lovelies crept through the neon waste­land, their gar­ish cos­tumes negat­ing any at­tempts at stealth. Ar­clight, the slen­der, be­spec­ta­cled red-head, had been in the hero­ine game for far longer than her young protégée. But nei­ther had quite made their mark, at least not yet.

But tonight, all that was going to change.

“So where is the Gad­geteer’s hide­out?” Im­pe­tus whis­pered, un­con­scious­ly mov­ing clos­er to her men­tor.

Ar­clight smiled at the younger woman’s cau­tion. One of the prob­lems with being pret­ty much in­vul­ner­a­ble was that you found your­self con­stant­ly fight­ing the urge to rush in with­out think­ing. A lit­tle hu­mil­i­ty might not be such a bad thing, she rea­soned.

“Right here,” she ges­tured, in­di­cat­ing an ap­par­ent­ly un­re­mark­able build­ing.

“You’re sure?” the ori­en­tal love­ly won­dered out loud, in­stant­ly re­gret­ting the out­burst.

Fight­ing the urge to reach out and stroke the blush from her side­kick’s cheek, Ar­clight wait­ed a mo­ment be­fore re­ply­ing. Part of her en­joyed watch­ing the girl squirm, but she forced it down ruth­less­ly. Now was not the time for dis­trac­tions.

“Cypher is,” she ex­plained. “And that’s good enough for me.”

Nod­ding her un­der­stand­ing, the ath­let­ic brunette con­cen­trat­ed for a mo­ment, form­ing her will into a thin-blad­ed, translu­cent sword. Then, mov­ing as one, the two hero­ines crashed through the heavy, front door and into the ter­raced house be­yond.

They had only a brief in­stant to no­tice the strange spot­lights, which blocked the tight hall­way be­fore the cor­ri­dor was filled with a bril­liant flash of scin­til­lat­ing light.

* * *

An­gel­li­ca blinked and the world seemed to leap be­tween heart­beats. One mo­ment she was stand­ing, sword in hand, at the thresh­old to the vil­lai­ness’ lair and the next she was some­where else en­tire­ly.

Her blade had van­ished and so, she re­alised be­lat­ed­ly, had her cos­tume.

Look­ing down at her­self, the young woman couldn’t con­trol the grow­ing em­bar­rass­ment, de­spite using every calm­ing tech­nique in her ar­se­nal. She had been dressed in the most re­veal­ing lin­gerie imag­in­able; panties, sus­pender belt and stock­ings. Her breasts were bared and, try as she might, Im­pe­tus couldn’t even lift her hands to cover her­self.

She could feel a warm pres­sure on her wrist and, when she looked, the hero­ine was star­tled to see an eeri­ly waif-like, green-cos­tumed woman ef­fort­less hold­ing both her and her men­tor in place. Im­pe­tus recog­nised the Gad­geteer right away but found her at­ten­tion more fo­cussed on Ar­clight’s trim form and the de­li­cious­ly slut­ty un­der­wear the other hero­ine had been forced to wear.

Some­thing seemed to tin­gle at the front of her brain, a soft buzz that made ev­ery­thing warm and squishy. Ar­clight… Aman­da just looked so hot and even the vil­lai­ness didn’t seem near­ly as dan­ger­ous as they’d been led to be­lieve.

The Gad­geteer squeezed Im­pe­tus’ wrist gen­tly and there was an­oth­er burst of light.

* * *

Ev­ery­thing jumped again, as if she had paused, while the world con­tin­ued around her. An­gel­li­ca found her­self on all fours, hands roped tight­ly to­geth­er and with her legs lashed to her men­tor’s at the knees and an­kles. Her mouth ached, stretched wide by a jaw-break­ing ball­gag.

The vil­lai­ness knelt be­tween them one hand rest­ing pos­ses­sive­ly on the hero­ine’s raised back­side and, in­stinc­tive­ly, An­gel­li­ca knew that Aman­da’s ripe flesh was being sim­i­lar­ly claimed. Both women whim­pered soft­ly, until the vil­lai­ness’ soft­ly sibi­lant voice cut through their com­plaints.

“Can you imag­ine, Stephi­bot?” the vil­lai­ness mar­velled. “The au­dac­i­ty of these trol­lops, just burst­ing into our home in their ea­ger­ness to bring us to jus­tice.”

Im­pe­tus craned her neck, try­ing to see who the vil­lai­ness was ad­dress­ing. A nu­bile, sil­ver-skinned and en­tire­ly naked woman was watch­ing them im­pas­sive­ly. But the hero­ine only had an in­stant to reg­is­ter her pres­ence, be­fore the Gad­geteer’s gloved hands began to smooth­ly mas­sage her strain­ing but­tocks. That as­sured touch was elec­tri­fy­ing and, de­spite her­self, she couldn’t si­lence her an­swer­ing groans.

“But they’re tasty enough,” the vil­lai­ness con­tin­ued. “And we’ll need the funds they’ll raise, if we’re ever going to res­cue Joanne.”

With a whis­per of tear­ing silk, Im­pe­tus found her­self abrupt­ly ex­posed. The vil­lai­ness sim­ply ripped away the flim­sy pro­tec­tion of her panties and the hero­ine squirmed as the cool air lapped against her heat­ed nether lips.

The Gad­geteer purred throat­i­ly, draw­ing back her cap­tive’s at­ten­tion.

An­gel­li­ca’s eyes widened, first with the re­al­i­sa­tion that her friend’s sex has been sim­i­lar­ly un­veiled, but most­ly at the sight of the dou­ble-end­ed dildo in the vil­lai­ness’ hands. En­er­gy crawled over the large, black sex toy, while cir­cuit­ry flick­ered be­neath the shiv­er­ing latex skin.

Then, with­out any pream­ble, their cap­tor thrust the pre-wet­ted de­vice deeply into first one help­less cunt and then the other. An­gel­li­ca gasped, un­con­scious­ly push­ing back against the re­morse­less in­trud­er. The vil­lai­ness tan­gled her fin­gers in the hero­ine’s silken hair, pulling gen­tly and forc­ing the dildo’s bul­bous head to sink even more deeply into the throb­bing depths of her al­ready eager sex.

“One or­gasm,” she breathed, tug­ging soft­ly and en­cour­ag­ing more help­less moans from her cap­tives. “And you’ll be lick­ing and suck­ing who­ev­er holds your leash…”

Two voic­es merged, raised in hideous­ly muf­fled protest as they were slow­ly pulled onto the in­sid­i­ous, tech­no­log­i­cal toy. An­gel­li­ca could do noth­ing, it sim­ply felt too good. What’s more, she could feel how Aman­da’s slick lips pressed into her own and, sim­ply know­ing that she was mak­ing her men­tor whine with de­sire, made it all the more ir­re­sistible.

She couldn’t help her­self. Bondage had al­ways ex­cit­ed her, but it was Aman­da’s prox­im­i­ty that was de­stroy­ing her. The young woman’s slow­ly swing­ing breasts slapped against her arms with every thrust. An­gel­li­ca knew she shouldn’t, but the need was sim­ply too great. Plea­sure tight­ened her drool­ing pussy, a deep throb of arousal that caught hold of her in­nards and squeezed.

Her body tensed, freez­ing into shud­der­ing im­mo­bil­i­ty, while the dildo flared and its light burned away ev­ery­thing else. A mo­ment later she was hump­ing her­self against the cru­el­ly po­tent de­vice’s melt­ing heat, just an­oth­er mind­less, or­gas­ming slut.

* * *

Stephanie stared, blank eyed. She loved to watch her Mis­tress at play and, much as she en­vied the now pow­er­less hero­ines, their fate would be far dif­fer­ent from her own. It was ob­vi­ous that both women had feel­ings for each other… feel­ings they both had clear­ly buried and de­nied. Stephanie was sure they would enjoy their new life to­geth­er, even if nei­ther would have cho­sen ab­ject servi­tude as a ca­reer path.

Ar­clight had been fight­ing so hard. But, at the mo­ment her suc­cu­lent friend suc­cumbed, it was as though the proud hero­ine sim­ply gave up. The gor­geous red-head mewled into her gag, and her strug­gles be­came more and more fren­zied. Until, with a final, de­spon­dent cry, she lurched to an or­gas­mic halt and the dildo took her mind.

The beau­ti­ful gy­noid gazed into her Mis­tress’ sparkling eyes and felt a shock of arousal flood her being. There was some­thing about the act of en­slave­ment that al­ways made her so very horny.

Stephanie smiled dark­ly as the for­mer hero­ines thrashed their re­main­ing free­dom away. One glance at Mis­tress’ ex­pres­sion told her that tonight she could ex­pect some extra spe­cial at­ten­tion.

* * *

Still stuck on her…
It was late, her shoes hurt and this was going to be just an­oth­er in a long list of wild-goose chas­es. Sally stomped de­ject­ed­ly into the dim­ly-lit al­ley­way and, for what must have been the thou­sandth time that week, tried to re­mem­ber why she did this job.

The beam of her maglite was all but lost in the shad­ows, but she couldn’t af­ford to hang around. Her part­ner would al­ready be going in through the front en­trance and her job was to stop any mis­cre­ants from es­cap­ing through the back door. The WPC gripped her baton more tight­ly and moved into the dark­ness, peer­ing for the emer­gen­cy exit’s tell-tale glow.

She let logic soothe away some of her anx­i­ety. The most like­ly ex­pla­na­tion was that kids had been play­ing in the old ware­hous­es. Ei­ther that or some va­grants had cho­sen the place to doss down in. But, the good peo­ple of the city had com­plained, and here she was step­ping over the used nee­dles and other de­tri­tus, when she should by rights be at Bar­ney’s with the rest of her shift, en­joy­ing a swift half and some suit­ably bawdy hu­mour.

Sally reached the door in a half-dozen cau­tious steps and took hold of the han­dle. To her sur­prise, it was al­ready un­locked and, with­out a sec­ond thought, the WPC slipped in­side. When she first caught sight of it, the in­te­ri­or of the ware­house lit­er­al­ly brought her up short.

In­stead of the bare floors, an­cient news­pa­pers and dis­card­ed fil­ing cab­i­nets, the build­ing looked more like some kind of high-tech lab or maybe even a hos­pi­tal. Ev­ery­thing was bathed in an eerie light, but chrome gleamed and the air had a strange chem­i­cal tang.

Reach­ing for her radio, Sally took a step back­ward. This was far big­ger than they had sup­posed and some­thing in her belly was scream­ing at the po­lice­wom­an to run. Max-Tac could deal with this and, if she hur­ried, she could still make last-or­ders.

Her foot squelched nois­i­ly as she backed up, and the floor seemed abrupt­ly re­luc­tant to re­lease her. She near­ly stum­bled and, when Sally glanced down, she saw that her shoes were mired in a pud­dle of glis­ten­ing emer­ald slime. Fight­ing down her re­vul­sion the po­lice­wom­an tried to work out whether she could dis­card her shoes and jump clear.

“Oh hell,” she groaned as the truth began to dawn.

Stat­ic greet­ed her at­tempt to radio for help and Sally glanced around des­per­ate­ly, de­spite her grow­ing sense of de­spair.

“Heads up, cop­per!” bel­lowed a stri­dent fe­male voice.

Sally turned, twist­ing her torso in an at­tempt to see who had spo­ken. The gout of liq­uid caught her square­ly in the chest, in­stant­ly drench­ing her uni­form. She screamed, while the thick jet con­tin­ued to play over her taut body. Sticky, green ooze dripped from her, coat­ing her from head to toe.

The dis­gust­ing mess drib­bled into Sally’s eyes but she could still see the woman who had shout­ed. Con­fu­sion swirled through the po­lice­wom­an’s thoughts, al­most over­whelm­ing the hor­ror. Her at­tack­er was al­most com­plete­ly naked, and was di­rect­ing the tor­rent of cloy­ing slime with one hand. But Sally’s gaze was drawn in­ex­orable back to the woman’s face, the glit­ter­ing col­lar that dec­o­rat­ed her slen­der throat and her bril­liant emer­ald eyes.

* * *

The Ad­her­er paint­ed the star­tled po­lice­wom­an with a lit­tle more glue and then, re­luc­tant­ly, let the spray fi­nal­ly still. Mas­ter had told her to guard his other pos­ses­sions and, much as she loved obey­ing, that was just bor­ing.

This was much more like it.

Joanne stared at the glue-drenched woman and felt a sud­den flash of heat. A mem­o­ry fought to rise through the chem­i­cal haze, but died un­formed. Still, the cap­tive felt fa­mil­iar, she re­mind­ed the vil­lai­ness of… some­one and she sud­den­ly want­ed to play very badly in­deed.

“How’re you doing there?” she won­dered soft­ly, no­tice how her vic­tim had al­ready start­ed to sway gen­tly.

“What…” the po­lice­wom­an slurred, “What’s hap­pen­ing? Who’re you?”

“Ah, sweet­ness,” Joanne gig­gled, “The ques­tion you need to ask your­self is… who are you?”

“Who am I?” she whim­pered, the doubt all too ob­vi­ous, “where am I?”

“Where you be­long, slave,” the vil­lai­ness ex­plained, stroking one hand across the woman’s sticky flesh. “In Mas­ter’s lair.”

It was de­li­cious to watch the drugged woman try­ing to ra­tio­nalise this new in­for­ma­tion. Mas­ter’s drug had com­plete­ly suf­fused the vil­lai­ness’ body and all her se­cre­tions were now laced with that in­sid­i­ous toxin. At the con­cen­tra­tions the cap­tive was ex­pe­ri­enc­ing, the drug was ef­fec­tive­ly dis­solv­ing her mind, leav­ing only a blank slate for them to re­pro­gram in any man­ner they de­sired.

And right now, more than any­thing, what Joanne re­al­ly want­ed was…

The vil­lai­ness felt the strange thought seep­ing into her mind and, al­though she didn’t un­der­stand, it still felt so ut­ter­ly right, so cer­tain, so true... the very idea burned into her sex and slid its melt­ing­ly sweet promise into the depths of her being.

Im­pos­si­ble though it was, what she re­al­ly want­ed, was Mis­tress…

* * *

Sugar and Spice
The Con­fec­tion­er was trou­bled. A soft note of ir­ri­ta­tion buzzed some­where in the back of his mind, dis­tract­ing him from the plea­sure with­in which he longed to lose him­self. Spice knelt be­tween his spayed knees, her cun­ning tongue wrap­ping his shaft in heat. He closed his eyes, tak­ing a firm grip on the rechris­tened hero­ine’s hair and forc­ing his hon­ey-sweet man­hood more deeply into her throat.

Fight­ing not to choke, the woman who had once called her­self Am­pere sucked more fer­vent­ly at the vil­lain’s cock. She shift­ed slight­ly, strug­gling to catch her breath as with every thrust she en­gulfed and clung to him more ur­gent­ly.

Sugar whined soft­ly, curl­ing her naked body around her slave-sis­ter’s and set­ting the rock-can­dy chain ashiv­er. Geist’s re­serve had been burned away dur­ing her re­pro­gram­ming. The shy, self-con­scious girl was gone, re­placed by a ram­pant vixen who longed only for plea­sure.

Both for­mer hero­ines were chained to their Mas­ter’s throne, wear­ing noth­ing but clear sug­ar-syrup col­lars. There bod­ies glis­tened wetly, as though paint­ed in a thin ve­neer of oil. Eye’s glow­ing soft­ly, the pair viewed the Con­fec­tion­er with ver­dant ado­ra­tion.

But still the vil­lain wasn’t con­tent.

He had lost most of his con­nec­tions after his trans­for­ma­tion, but the theft of his recipes from the po­lice’s mu­se­um was front page news. To have such trea­sures in the clum­sy hands of the con­stab­u­lary was bad enough, but for an­oth­er vil­lain to dare en­croach on his ter­ri­to­ry... well that could sim­ply not be borne.

He knew of the Anaes­thetist by rep­u­ta­tion and ad­mit­ted to a cer­tain, grudg­ing re­spect for the sleep-ob­sessed vil­lain. But, how­ev­er skilled they might be, that re­spect didn’t ex­tend to the Anaes­thetist’s fe­male min­ions.

Ru­mour had it that the Gad­geteer had split from her erst­while Mas­ter and that made her an ob­vi­ous tar­get. The green-clad har­lot was still using his recipes, an in­tol­er­a­ble in­sult, one that could no longer be tol­er­at­ed.

A smile shiv­ered across the strange­ly-liq­uid sur­face of his face as he pic­tured the Gad­geteer join­ing the for­mer hero­ines on her knees be­fore him. He arched, lift­ing his but­tocks from the throne and giv­ing a low moan. Spice re­dou­bled her ef­forts, re­spond­ing in­stant­ly to her Mas­ter’s need and clear­ly rev­el­ling in hav­ing her mouth fucked so com­plete­ly.

The vil­lain stiff­ened, his hand tight­en­ing into rigid spasm and tried vain­ly to sti­fle a quiet sigh. His hips con­tin­ued to twitch for a long mo­ment and then he lost him­self in the sen­sa­tion, hump­ing des­per­ate­ly against his slave’s face while she con­tin­ued to milk his strain­ing cock.

Spice swal­lowed con­vul­sive­ly, gulp­ing down the syrupy seed as fast as she could. But still more spilled from the for­mer hero­ine’s lips, drib­bling freely over her ex­posed breasts and spat­ter­ing the cool floor with gleam­ing droplets.

Sugar’s eyes were wide and plead­ing. The young woman’s nos­trils flared, her stare fogged with the lust now per­me­at­ing the room. With an in­dul­gent smile, the vil­lain ges­tured to his spilled semen and that was all the en­cour­age­ment the for­mer hero­ine need­ed.

As the sound of Sugar’s lap­ping tongue grew loud­er, the Con­fec­tion­er leaned back and let him­self bask in the post-or­gas­mic bliss. First he would take the Gad­geteer, adding her to his harem of su­per­sluts and then he would re­claim his recipes from the usurp­er.

He nod­ded to him­self, sat­is­fied with the plan. The ir­ri­ta­tion was still there, but the Con­fec­tion­er knew just how he was going to scratch it.

To be con­tin­ued...

[TimeWaster]

Great stuff as always Sara, will be interesting to see who prevails.

[batgirl1969]

Very nice detail....I love how the bulbous head of the dildo sunk into her....those details really add to the fantasy....I sure wish you would change around and add to the invisible girl story...you are an awesome writer! I luv your stuff.


Tina

[Blx]

Great stuff, I like how you make storylines cross each other. Like the Geist and Ampere situation now becoming a part of the stories with the other villains.

[sara-c]

Thank you for all the kind comments, glad that Ampere's adventures continue to excite/interest.

I'm afraid that I'm a little blocked as far as writing is concerned right now... hopefully my muse won't take too long to recover.

[Zara of Armestia]

Such sweet stories, I am transfixed by them sara! I do hope you will be write more soon! Very soon! [-o<

[kctickler]

Sara
Has your muse recovered yet - I miss your wonderful writings!