Here is the next Fuchsia Fox story that Centurion has ready. We hope you enjoy it. All feedback, good or bad, is welcome!
Fuchsia Fox: “Escape from Cellblock 10”
- Prologue — National Archives, Washington D.C.
Jennifer Fletcher stretched her upper body, leaning back in the hard wooden chair of one of the lesser-used archive rooms. It was seven o’clock, past her usual quitting time. Closing the old manila file in front of her, the girl brushed aside her shoulder length brunette tresses and rubbed a kink out of her neck. Smoothing her red and green checked skirt, she stretched her legs and wiggled her toes, having long since slipped out of her high heels.
For the past two hours, she been helping a girl visiting from California go through the bottom drawer of an old oak filing cabinet. Abigail Smith was about Jennifer’s age, with short black hair streaked with neon blue highlights. She had on hiking boots, two-toned blue-and-black yoga pants, and a dark gray t-shirt that said, “Stupidity Kills: But not fast enough”. She had arrived at the archives late that afternoon, attempting to track down a small statue that had supposedly been brought back by the 1927 Wasserman Expedition to Sakkara, Egypt. And since those journals and records had never been scanned into a computer, the two girls had to carefully leaf through them page by page. It was tedious work.
“Bingo!” Abigail said finally, holding up a document she had found. “Can I get this Xeroxed?”
“Sure,” Jennifer said wearily. “What is this thing you’re looking for anyway? You make it sound like the Maltese Falcon.”
“Ha-ha! Not quite,” the other girl laughed. “Just a boring little gimcrack my boss wants me to find. Listen, you’ve been a HUGE help with this. I can’t thank you enough.”
“No problem. I’m happy to help.”
Jennifer put on her coat and saw Ms. Smith out of the building. As she walked to the Metro station, she fumbled in her purse for her cell phone, thinking to call her husband Martin and let him know that she was finally on her way home. Her hand clasped around her other phone — the one meant for her secret identity, the Fuchsia Fox — and she saw with dismay that she had a text waiting from Federal prosecutor Isadora Porteous. She did not feel like dealing with a crisis tonight!
Then the girl smiled. Knowing Dora, it was more likely just an update on an old case or at best another invitation to a Club X party. She read the message, and what she saw sent goose-bumps breaking out on her skin.
“Hi Fox. Just heard the news from P-burg Fed Prison. Your old enemy Major Z passed away tonight. Do you want to talk? Dora.”
Chapter 1 — Petersburg Federal Penitentiary, Petersburg, Virginia
Superintendent Sydney Carlson almost jumped when he heard the buzz of the intercom on his desk. Even though he was 56 years old with prematurely white hair and twenty years in the prison system under his belt, he felt unexpectedly nervous. Pull yourself together, man, he scolded himself as reached for the switch. “Yes?” he said. “Is it her? Well send her in.”
He got up from his desk, rubbing his sweating hands on his trousers. The office door was opened by a uniformed guard, who stood back to allow a beautiful young woman to walk in while his eyes lingered admiringly on her pert bottom.
The girl was about 25 years old, with silky shoulder length brunette hair and the sleek, shapely body of a lingerie model. The clothes she was wearing accentuated the similarity — purplish pink in color, brief and tight in all the places that counted. Her silken legs were alluringly bare from her ankle boots to the miniskirt that swirled flirtatiously around her lovely waist. Elbow length gloves adorned her arms. Carlson’s eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to her toned, bare abdomen, following her lean torso upward to the halter top that clung deliciously to the swell of her breasts and displayed her distinctive fox head chest emblem. The pictures on the television and the internet didn’t do her justice at all. She was as exquisitely beautiful as a goddess.
“Superintendent Carlson?” the stunning superheroine said, planting her hands on her hips. “I’m the Fuchsia Fox.”
“Of course you are,” the warden gulped, feeling his blood pressure soar as he stumbled forward to shake her hand. “Can I offer you something?” he asked, turning toward the bookshelf where he kept a decanter of brandy and some glasses.
“No thanks,” the Fox said. “I’m in kind of a rush. Is it true?”
“You mean about Ludmilla Zennakova?” Carlson said. “I’m afraid so. She was pronounced dead by Dr. O’Shaughnessey at 6:15 this evening.”
Jennifer felt an unexpected chill seize her heart. The blood seemed to drain from her cheeks. She had fought Major Zennakova so many times, foiling her schemes… but she was unprepared for this shock, for this feeling of loss. It didn’t seem possible that she could be dead.
“I expect it’s a load off your mind, eh?” the warden said, fumbling with the brandy decanter as he poured himself a drink. “One less supervillain to worry about. The Russians and the Germans aren’t too happy. They were both petitioning for her extradition. She was wanted in 28 countries–”
“I need to see her body,” the Fox interrupted.
“I assure you that’s not necessary,” Carlson said, drinking his brandy with a gulp. “Dr. O’Shaughnessy was very thorough…”
“I need to see it,” the young heroine insisted.
“Well, all right,” the warden said, putting down his glass. “Step this way.”
Carlson led the way down stairs, through heavy security doors into another building. Leaving their escorting guard at the door, Carlson and the Fox walked through another barred door and down a broad, featureless cinderblock corridor. “We’ll have to go past cellblock 9,” the warden said, “in order to get to cellblock 10, where we keep the women prisoners. They should be on lock-down this time of night…”
But as the pair approached the heavily barred door leading to the cellblock, it became vividly clear that in the hallway beyond, the doors to the cells were open, and twenty prisoners were milling about freely in the hallway. Half of them were shirtless, displaying rippling masculine muscles covered with tattoos as they crowded the bars, ogling the sexy superheroine and making catcalls and wolf whistles. “Whooo mama! Lookit that fine piece of ass! Come on and get it, mama!” One man even whipped his cock out of his trousers and dangled it like a prize.
The Fox felt a jolt of adrenalin surge through her trim young body, bringing a flush to her cheeks and making her pussy tingle uncomfortably. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant sensation. She was thoroughly used to having men stare at her, even make wolf-whistles — so much so that she could usually tune it out as just so much background noise. But these men were like animals, locked in a cage and deprived of female company for years. They behaved like savages; they smelled of testosterone and sweat. She didn’t want to imagine the brutal treatment that any attractive woman would receive at their hands. She was glad that there was a heavy steel door between her and them.
“I don’t understand,” Carlson was saying. “McIntyre was supposed to meet us here with the key to this cellblock. And the men should be locked in their cells…”
“Maybe if you called?” the Fox suggested.
“Oh yes,” the warden said, obviously flustered as he fished his cell phone from his pocket.
Before the call could go through, the jarring note of an alarm buzzed somewhere. There was a loud CLICK! as the tumblers turned and the barred door in front of them slid sideways.
“Get back, Mr. Carlson,” the Fox said, as the twenty inmates surged gleefully out of the cellblock like a living tide of human flesh. Unfortunately, Carlson was between her and the inmates, and they got to him first.
“Grab her! Don’t give her a chance to fight!” shouted a prisoner with a shaved head, as the sexy superlady was overwhelmed. Caught by surprise with no viable defense, Jennifer felt rough male hands grabbing at her arms, her torso, and her legs, almost as if each one of the twenty men wanted to claim her for his own. More worried about the warden’s safety than her own, the Fox gave in and allowed them to capture her and handle her, although her soft skin crawled at their clammy touch.
“That was easy!” smirked the beefy prisoner with the shaved head, who seemed to be in charge. “Maybe you ain’t so tough as some people think you are.” While three other men held the Fox’s arms behind her, he reached out and cupped her right breast with his big hand, feeling its supple give through the fabric of her halter top. “I bet you don’t know who I am, do ya, bimbo?”
“Sure I do,” the Fox glared, trying to ignore the way he was fondling her tit. “Harold Trask. You stalked and killed three women, one of them an off duty police officer. You called yourself the Huntsman.”
Trask looked impressed. “Maybe you ain’t as dumb as you look, bimbo,” he sneered. “Now, for a free weekend at Pismo Beach — can you guess what we’re gonna to do ya?” The prisoners surrounding her grinned expectantly.
“You might want to tone down the disrespect just a little bit, sparky,” the Fox said, struggling slightly in the hands of her captors. “You may have gotten your cell doors open, but you’re a long way from getting out of here.”
An uncertain look passed over Trask’s face, and in that heartbeat, the heroine realized that he wasn’t responsible for opening the doors! He had no more idea than she did how it had happened; he was just taking advantage of it. Wasn’t that interesting?
“I don’t wanna hear no lip from you, bimbo,” he said with a sudden grin. The three men holding the Fox tightened their grips as he leaned in closer.
Jennifer found her sylph-like body almost crushed in between those of the four horny male prisoners, three of them holding her arms behind her. She could smell the stink of their hairy, tattooed bodies, feel their sweat-slippery skin rubbing against hers as their free hands man-handled her sensuous curves, fondling her supple breasts. Her nipples peaked with arousal. Her pulse began to race as her own body responded with a surge of adrenalin and sex hormones. Pinned helplessly in between the men, her nostrils flared with the musky aroma arising from their penises, swelling against her moist thighs and making her knees tremble weakly.
Trask meanwhile had slipped his hand up under the front of her miniskirt, his fingers groping their way along her smooth thigh and then around her hip to her rounded butt. Pushing the fabric of her panties aside, his hand grabbed her warm, bare flesh. “We got YOU for a hostage, remember?” he said. “We’re gonna peel ya like a grape and fuck the living daylights outa ya! How do ya like that?”
Chapter 2 —
A red warning light began to flash from up near the ceiling as another raucous alarm sounded. Trask spun around just as the prison riot squad arrived. The Fuchsia Fox, held prisoner between three other husky, sex-starved inmates, breathed a sigh of relief.
Once freed from their cellblock, the twenty prisoners had taken over the wide cinderblock entrance corridor, the outer gate of which was still locked. The twelve-man prison riot squad had formed up on the other side of that gate, loaded for bear with Kevlar armor, riot shields, shotguns and tear gas. But they hesitated to open the gate for fear the desperate prisoners would rush them as soon as they did. For the moment, it was an impasse.
“This is futile!” the head of the riot squad called over his bullhorn. “Return to your cells, or we’ll be forced to open fire!”
“Stuff it!” Trask retorted. “We’ve got a hostage!”
“That sounds like my cue,” the Fox said pleasantly. Before the three men could react, the sexy supergirl’s slender body shot upwards, breaking out of their holds. As she came down again, the Fox ducked a punch thrown by one of the men, grabbed his brawny arm, and slung him around like a practice dummy, knocking the other two off their feet.
Trask jumped the heroine from behind, his sinewy arms snaking around her alluring waist, his greedy hands groping at her nubile little coconuts. The Fox’s cheeks momentarily flushed with arousal as he touched her hard little nipples, but then she flipped her body up and over, slipping out of his grasp as she landed gracefully behind him. Grabbing his collar, she made use of her leverage to catapult him down the corridor, where he skidded to a stop next to the outer gate where the riot squad was waiting.
“Get her!” Trask shouted from the floor to the rest of the inmates. “She can’t stop all of you!”
With a cocky grin, the Fox plowed into the mob without waiting for them to make their move. The spunky superheroine had been waiting and watching for her chance all this time. However much the prisoners might wish to keep Superintendent Carlson nearby as a hostage, none of the horny men wanted to be stuck guarding him, not if it kept him from his chance to ogle the Fox’s attractive curves. And sure enough, the inmates had shuffled the warden off to one of the far cells where they didn’t have to bother with him — which effectively put him in the safest place he could possibly be, under the circumstances.
The men of the riot squad just stood there with their mouths open and their eyes bulging, gawking at the superheroine’s sleek, spectacular body as she went through the twenty prisoners like a cyclone. The inmates tried to pile on her four or five at a time, trying to punch or grapple, but the Fox always seemed one step ahead of them, able to fend them off and elude capture. When they did manage to hit her, they came up against her invisible shield which absorbed the force of their blows so that they might as well have been hitting her with pillows. Her own punches and high kicks, however, hit like battering rams.
In less than five minutes, those members of the mob still able to walk were scrambling for the safety of their cells. The riot squad was fanning out to deal with the others.
“McIntyre, what happened?” Carlson demanded. “How did the cells unlock like that?”
“I can’t explain it, sir,” the head guard said. “I was in the control room at the time, and I can assure you that nobody fooled with the equipment. It’s just amazing that neither of you was hurt.”
The Fox crossed her arms. She was about to say that it sounded like the kind of thing that Major Zennakova would arrange to happen… But then she remembered the reason she was here.
Carlson and McIntyre both escorted her through to cellblock 10, the women’s part of the prison. Once past the entrance, they turned right and entered the Infirmary, where they met a thin, rather mousy woman with short, brown hair and horn-rimmed glasses, wearing baggy green medical scrubs.
“Dr. Brigid O’Shaughnessy,” Carlson said by way of introduction. “She’ll be able to answer all your questions. McIntyre and I really must finish securing the other cellblock. You can call when you’re ready to leave.” The men left the two women alone in the infirmary.
“You’re here about Zennakova?” Dr. O’Shaughnessy said, looking the Fox up and down. She crossed her arms, her fingers drumming nervously along her elbow. “I don’t understand. It’s really straightforward. The Tox screen hasn’t come back yet, but she had all the classic signs of cyanide poisoning. A person like that has a lot of enemies, even in prison.”
“I’d like to see her body, if you don’t mind,” the Fox said.
The doctor abruptly stopped drumming her fingers. For a second, she looked blank. “Sure,” she said. “I haven’t moved her to the morgue yet. She’s right over there, in Examining Room 2.”
The Fox turned on her heel. Even from the hallway, she could see the gurney inside the room, with a body lying on it. The heroine approached, both surprised and unnerved by the sight. She had been fully expecting to be told that the body was mysteriously missing, and yet there she was. It really was Major Zennakova, her body lying naked on the gurney with her shapely C-cups making two perfect hills under the white sheet that was draped up to her toned shoulders. The expression on her face was peaceful. Her eyes were closed, her lips tinted slightly blue. Her short blonde hair lay limp, as though she had just washed it.
“I was about to perform an autopsy in fact,” Dr. O’Shaughnessy said cheerfully. “Would you like to watch?”
“I can’t honestly say that I’d LIKE to,” the Fox said, her stomach churning at the very idea. She swallowed. “But I think I ought to.”
“Suit yourself,” the lady doctor said, wheeling a small table with a tray of operating instruments closer to the gurney. Taking hold of the top of the sheet, she folded it downward in increments, exposing Zennakova’s marvelous breasts with her rosy nipples, then her ribcage, her sculpted abs, her flat belly. She left the sheet folded across the corpse’s hips, modestly covering her vagina.
“The subject is a female Caucasian,” O’Shaughnessy continued, as if talking to herself. “Looks around forty, although her records say she’s at least sixty, allegedly the result of some kind of Soviet eugenics program in the 1980’s. No obvious wounds, but I’m counting nine, ten, fifteen old scars on her torso.” Her hands were touching Zennakova’s plump breasts, caressing and examining her smooth naked body. Jennifer, watching her do this, couldn’t help squirming a little bit.
“That’s it for the gross examination,” O’Shaughnessy said, flashing the Fox a look over her shoulder as she reached over and took a scalpel from the tray. “You sure you want to watch this?”
The superheroine nodded without speaking. She had to see this through.
The doctor leaned forward, pressing the scalpel to Zennakova’s flesh. “Oh damn! I forgot…” she said, straightening again. “Excuse me a moment. Don’t go anywhere.” Setting the scalpel back on the tray, she hurried across the room behind the Fox and opened a cabinet, rummaging inside.
The Fox was left staring at Zennakova’s naked body. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off of it. For all of her faults, the Major had been a beautiful woman. Jennifer’s gaze moved over her bare breasts and swanlike neck to her face, staring at her full lips, the subtle curves of her cheekbones, the arrogant arch of her nose…
Zennakova’s nostrils seemed to flare slightly. The Fox felt her heartbeat pounding in her chest. Had she really seen that? Or was she just imagining things because she was so hyped up? But now the corpse’s chest rose and fell with an unmistakable inhalation. The pink tongue slipped out, licked her lips… and with a slight groan, she sat up and opened her eyes, looking right at the Fox with a sardonic smile on her face!
“Gorgos petrificas inimicem!” Dr. O’Shaughnessy suddenly said out loud behind her. The Fox spun around — or tried to. Her high heels seemed to be glued to the floor. She turned her slender neck with difficulty, allowing her to see the doctor standing behind her, reading from a scroll. The doors to the cabinet were flung wide, and inside was a jet black statuette nearly two feet tall. It was an ugly birdlike thing, a cross between a vulture and a carrion crow. But its gemlike eyes glowed with an amber light. The superheroine didn’t like the look of it at all.
And yet she couldn’t seem to move! Her luscious young body felt stiff, as if it were made of stone. The slightest movement was painful. The doctor continued to read from the scroll: “Melgog Tardo Empax Syam…” It sounded like an incantation. With every word, the statue’s eyes glowed more brightly — painfully brightly — and Jennifer felt more and more helpless. In front of her, she could see Zennakova gloating.
“Just relax, devochka,” the Russian beauty said. “It will only hurt for a moment.”
“…Cos Osirus!” the doctor concluded, finishing the scroll. Zennakova’s own body jerked upright, seemingly in pain as well. The Fox felt as if her brain were being scooped right out of her skull. Her vision went black. She wasn’t sure if she screamed or not, but suddenly the pain vanished and she felt as if she could move again.
But the superheroine could see HERSELF standing in front of her, as if she were looking at a full-length mirror! Gasping, she looked down. She was sitting on a gurney, her body totally and completely nude with nothing but a sheet draped over her legs and midsection! Horrified, Jennifer cupped her hands over her naked breasts. Her boobs felt much larger and fuller than usual.
The shocking truth dawned on her. She was trapped inside Major Zennakova’s body, looking out at her own body.
“What do you think, devochka?” the Russian said, stretching and admiring the Fox’s delectable young limbs. “A fair trade?”
Chapter 3 —
Gasping for breath, her body trembling with sheer disbelief, the Fuchsia Fox sat up on the gurney, feeling her bare butt cheeks slide over the smooth metal surface as she curled her legs underneath her to provide some semblance of shelter for her unprotected vagina. All she could think about was her utter helplessness — no costume, no power bracelets, nothing! Her hands were still cupped over her naked breasts… or rather Major Zennakova’s breasts.
“I must say, devochka,” gloated Zennakova, her arch-enemy, “I may have gotten the better of this deal.” She preened in her new, younger body — the body she had stolen from the Fox.
Jennifer just gaped. It was so weird hearing her own voice speak with a Russian accent.
“I suppose you are wondering how I did this,” the villainess said. “That horrible black statue represents the mythical Ba-Vulture, or Soul-Stealer, if you prefer that translation. With the proper incantation, it is capable of ripping the ba — the consciousness if you will — out of one person, and placing it in the body of another. I know how it sounds… but obviously it works.” She flexed her trim, slender arms, clad in the Fox’s elbow length gloves.
“It was an exacting and difficult enchantment,” said Dr. O’Shaughnessy, as she rolled up the scroll and put it away with the statue inside the cabinet, which she then closed. “But nothing for an experienced spell-caster.” She turned toward the Fox, removing her horn-rimmed glasses and shaking out her mousy brown hair, which suddenly grew longer and fuller.
Her doctor’s scrubs vanished, leaving her sleek, shapely body clad in a dark green bikini of shiny, shimmering satin. Across her upper chest and shoulders hung a necklace made of linked obsidian stones, the one in the center larger than the others, like an amulet. Two broad swaths of gossamer-thin green fabric draped like wings from this shoulder piece to bronze armlets on either wrist. Her feet were clad in sandals of black leather which criss-crossed to the knee. Her eyes had also become bright green, slitted like a serpent’s, and a bronze headband had appeared on her forehead bearing the figure of a cobra.
“Allow me to present Sin,” Zennakova said. “My new ally — at least for the moment.”
The Fox still struggled to take this all in. “You mean… the two of you planned all this, just to get your hands on me?”
“Come now, devochka,” the Russian said. “Do not be so vain. You must have known that no prison would hold me for long. It merely pleased my fancy to use your body as the conduit for my escape. My men located the Ba-Vulture and stole it from its current possessor…”
“…and only I had the magical skills to use it,” Sin finished. “It was a match made in…” She broke off with a broad grin. “… well, certainly not Heaven.”
Zennakova laughed along with her ally, bringing her hands up to her chest and gently squeezing Jennifer’s little B-cups. “I am going to miss my babushkas,” she said regretfully. “But cheer up, devochka. In a few years, perhaps I will spring you from prison and trade bodies with you again. Until that happy day, I am afraid… you are not going to enjoy prison.”
Sin had gone to the phone mounted on the wall. She lifted the receiver and dialed an extension. “McIntyre?” she said breathlessly. “You and the superintendent better get down here to the Infirmary right away! Major Zennakova isn’t dead! She had put herself into some kind of trance or something! The Fuchsia Fox just unmasked her!” She put down the phone, grinning.
Jennifer’s brain whirled in confusion as she clutched the sheet to her chest, struggling to think what she could possibly do! She had no weapons at all, no powers…
Before she could think of anything, Superintendent Carlson arrived along with McIntyre and two other armed guards. With a sensuous wave of her hand, Sin had already resumed her illusory appearance as Dr. O’Shaughnessy.
“Well, well, Miss Zennakova,” Carlson said. “The best-laid plans of mice and men, eh? All your privileges are cancelled for one month for this. Take her back to her cellblock!”
This last was addressed to McIntyre and the two armed guards, who rushed forward and dragged the Fox off the gurney. “No! I’m not–” Jennifer protested as the men laid hands on her, wrapping the sheet loosely around her luscious nude body as they pinned her arms behind her. “Please listen to me!” But how could she possibly expect them to understand what had happened? Outnumbered three to one, there was not a thing the poor girl could do to resist as the guards marched her away.
What especially hurt was her final glimpse of Warden Carlson as he turned obsequiously toward Major Zennakova, fawning over the young body and costume which the villainess had usurped from the Fox!
Back in the entrance corridor, the male guards marched the powerless heroine toward the steel door leading to the women’s cellblock. McIntyre unlocked the door and the men pushed her through, handing her over to two female guards. Twenty female inmates in orange jumpsuits were milling about in the hallway, lounging near the open doorways of their cells. Every single one of them looked up curiously as Jennifer entered. The girl fought down a sense of panic, feeling incredibly vulnerable as she clutched the rumpled sheet around her naked form.
“Move it, honey,” one of the female guards said, prodding the Fox in the ribs with her nightstick. “Fifteen minutes to lights out.”
It dawned on Jennifer that the guards were steering her toward the shower room. Inside were a dozen more women, washing up and getting ready for bed. Some were in underwear, some wore only a towel draped sketchily about them. Jennifer approached the communal shower where six women were showering together. She felt suddenly self-conscious. Rarely had she seen this much naked female flesh in one place. But to her surprise, the women took one look at her, grabbed their towels and scampered away in fear, whether they were finished or not!
What the–? Could they be afraid of HER? Then she caught sight of her reflection in a mirror and realized — everybody thought she was Ludmilla Zennakova! No wonder they were scared!
With a sigh of relief, Jennifer unwrapped the sheet and dropped it. Grateful to be left alone, she stepped under the stream from the shower heads, luxuriating in the feel of the water. As she lost herself in the pleasure of a shower, she began examining her new body for the first time. Zennakova’s hips were wider, her arms and legs more muscular than Jenn’s. Tentatively, almost shyly, she let her fingers explore her vagina. The Russian lady kept hers shaved bare, which was a strange feeling for Jenn, who only trimmed hers.
“You had a hard day I hear,” said a female voice suddenly, as a woman with close-cropped red hair joined her in the shower. Her skin was pale and freckled, even her bushy snatch was red. She had firm little breasts with pointed nipples, standing upright like tiny bullets as she soaped herself.
“Mmm.” Jennifer made a sort of grunt of assent, hoping to discourage conversation. Her heart was thrumming like a drum.
“When they told me you had been poisoned,” the other woman said, “I didn’t believe it for a minute. Not for a second. I knew you were up to something. You always have an angle. I just wish you had let me in on what you were doing.” Reaching over, she gave Jennifer a playful slap on her naked bottom. “Ooh, you’re so tense! Let Lexa see what she can do…”
“Ummmmm…” Jennifer said, as she felt the other woman’s hands slide upward along the smooth, naked curve of her back, lips moistly caressing the wet skin of her bare shoulders. Her body trembled. She was about to protest when it dawned on her that this woman, this Lexa, must be Zennakova’s lover. If she rejected her advances, it might look suspicious.
The Fox groped for the knob to shut off the shower and found herself face to face with the redhead, their pliant breasts touching, erect nipples brushing one another. Jennifer felt short of breath, her pulse racing. Lexa’s hands grabbed her butt, pulling her closer into more intimate contact. The next thing she knew, she was being kissed on the lips. Jenn responded without thinking, her tongue entwining amorously with the other girl’s as her own hands sought out the girl’s boobs.
“Ooooh that’s more like it,” Lexa whispered wryly, backing Jenn against the slippery bathroom tiles as her hand found its way between her thighs, one finger slipping into Jennifer’s pussy. She began rubbing in a circle around her throbbing clit. The Fox let out a quavering moan of pleasure, her knees shaking weakly as she hugged the other girl’s slim shoulders for support. Before long, she was lying down on the wet floor of the shower stall with her legs spread submissively. Lexa was on top of her, kissing her perky nipples while two fingers slid in and out of her vagina, teasing her, sending ripples of ecstasy chasing themselves over her silken skin.
“Let me have a taste, darling,” Lexa murmured as she shifted position, moving her mouth over Jennifer’s wet coosh. The redhead was moaning with passion as she sucked Jenn’s rosebud, and the very sound of her moans drove Jenn even more deeply into arousal. The Fox began to feel little surges of wetness inside her, a sure signal that her climax was not far off. When it came, she could barely suppress her scream of pleasure as she felt her juices ejaculate into Lexa’s mouth.
Panting like a steam engine, Jenn got to her knees and kissed Lexa on the mouth, licking the sticky, tangy-tasking fluid of her own girl cum as their bodies entwined. Her brain was buzzing with sexual euphoria, she hardly knew what she was doing as the two of them went down on one another again. Lexa produced a rubber dildo from somewhere, and she knew how to use it.
“You MUST have had a hard day,” Lexa murmured, it seemed like an hour later, as they were getting dressed in fresh, clean, orange jumpsuits. “You’re usually much more dominant than that. I think I like the change.”
Chapter 4 —
In a billiard parlor in northeast Washington, two men named Prokofiev and Minsky were having beers, listening disinterestedly to the whir and the click of the balls on the table as two punks in leather jackets played pool. It was a slow night, nothing much to do. Counting the barman, who was playing solitaire, there were only the five of them in the place.
“Heard anything?” asked Minsky, the short, stout one.
“Not a peep,” the tall, thin one replied. “Sometimes I think the Major does not completely trust us.” Then he froze and looked guiltily around.
“Don’t worry,” his companion laughed. “I won’t tell her you said that.”
The door crashed open. In walked a beautiful, young brunette wearing a purplish pink halter top and miniskirt, with elbow length gloves. All five males forgot what they were doing and jerked upright, drawn to the sexy, feminine click-clock of her high heeled ankle boots. They watched the babe stride haughtily to the middle of the pool hall, mesmerized by the seductive sway of her sensuous stems and her luscious hips as she abruptly halted, her miniskirt swishing around her mouth-watering little tush.
“The Fuchsia Fox!” Prokofiev and Minsky both spewed their last mouthfuls of beer as they fumbled automatic pistols from shoulder holsters and aimed them at her.
“Put those away, you imbeciles,” the goddess snarled, the dulcet tones of her angel’s voice heavily spiced with a Russian accent. “They would do you no good anyway.”
As the two thugs and the barman gawked, the two punks who had been playing pool approached the angel, grinning. “Hey, sweetie,” the nearer one said, slipping his hand around her slim waist. “Where be the party? Give me some of that sugar.”
The girl fixed him with an imperious look. Slowly she stretched out one slender arm, her gloved hand caressing the side of his neck. Then she suddenly brought her knee up into his groin. He let out a groan and deflated. “Get out of here!” the angel commanded, literally picking him up by the scruff of his neck and tossing him out the door. His companion followed hastily, narrowly avoiding another girl wearing a dark green bikini who was coming through the door at the same time.
“Major?” Prokofiev finally stammered, lowering his gun slightly. “Is that YOU?”
“Of course it is– UNG!” The girl suddenly grimaced with pain, leaning weakly against the bar.
“The weakness will pass,” Sin assured her, crossing her arms but making no move to offer any further sympathy. “With a spell this powerful, you must expect a certain amount of… settling in.”
“It is these bracelets,” Zennakova complained, rubbing her wrists. “I could swear they are fighting me. As if they somehow sense that I am not their true mistress.”
“It will PASS,” Sin said flatly, perching her tempting caboose on the edge of the bar. “Of course the best way to be sure would be to kill the other subject of the transference.” The brown-haired girl smiled. “Couldn’t you arrange to have someone — what is your quaint expression? — stick a shiv in her?”
“Not just yet,” Zennakova said, regaining her composure. “I want her to suffer first.”
“Well, that’s your business,” Sin said without much interest. “Now that we’ve taken care of your arch-nemesis, there’s a little favor I need from you.”
Abigail Smith was sitting in a lotus position on the carpet of her hotel room, her feet tucked against her creamy thighs and her wrists poised lightly above her spread knees. She liked to do her morning yoga and meditation in the nude whenever possible. The only thing she was wearing was a light golden chain around her neck, from which an amulet in the shape of a sun disk with two horns lay nestled in between her two pert breasts.
Something was stirring the ether today. Some powerful magic had been invoked. Abby cast her mental net wide, struggling to pin it down. When she had first heard of the museum break-in back in Los Angeles and the theft of the statue, she had been only slightly concerned. As she had traced the thieves to St. Louis and then to Baltimore, her fears had risen. That was the reason she had taken the trouble to research its origins at the National Archives. There was no doubt in her mind now that it really was the fabled Soul-Stealer.
Was that what was troubling the ether? Has someone actually USED it? But who apart from Abby would have the magical skills necessary?
The girl got to her feet and stood in front of the open window, looking out at the city of Washington. She could almost taste it… a whisper on the wind… there! Someone had just called upon extradimensional energies to cast a spell!
“Oh Mighty Isis!” Abby said, closing her eyes. At once there was a flash like lightning as a wave of magical energy washed over the girl’s lush young body. Abby’s shapely form was now dressed in a sleeveless, royal blue mini-dress which matched the blue streaks in her dark hair. The short skirt flirted with her creamy thighs while the bodice plunged in a deep vee which drew the eye toward the supple valley in between her white breasts. Her amulet was now mounted upon a light neckpiece embroidered with gold, which draped around her slim shoulders. Her wrists and her waist were adorned with cuffs and a belt, her small feet clad in soft leather boots.
“Zephyr winds around me blow, and lift me where I want to go,” the superheroine intoned, as she flew out the window like a falcon. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t always necessary to speak incantations out loud or even in rhyme, but it was fun.
Isis soared over the busy street, searching for the source of the disturbance. Her magically-heightened senses quickly picked up something around the rear of one of the many government buildings. Being from out of town, Isis didn’t know which agency it was, and didn’t care. Swift as a bird, she plunged through the opening into a cavernous underground parking garage.
There she met with an unexpected tableau. A black limousine looked as if it had been disabled by a magical energy bolt, and next to it two aides were lying on the concrete unconscious. A third man in a suit hung suspended a couple of feet off the floor, his arms and legs encircled by the Fiery Rings of Feyklar — red bands of living flames, the pulsating glow from which set shadows dancing all over the garage. The poor man appeared to be in so much pain, he couldn’t speak.
A woman was controlling the spell, holding the victim prisoner. Isis’ first impression was a mane of long, luxurious brown hair cascading seductively around the girl’s shoulders, then her eyes ran downward along the lean curves of her tall, willowy frame, only sketchily clad in a dark green satin bikini, a diaphanous sort of cape, and an obsidian necklace gracing her chest. Then she saw the cobra headband.
“SIN! Release him right now!” Isis commanded, as the heels of her boots alighted on the concrete.
The sorceress turned, arching one flawless eyebrow. “So… you recognize me. You must be the latest incarnation of Isis!”
“And you’re the High Priestess of Set!” Abby said as she prepared herself to fight. “Let the mortal go! Whatever plans you had for him, you’re no match for me!”
“Actually,” said Sin, “he’s nobody at all, as far as I know! He was only a lure to bait you into my trap!” With a casual gesture, she made the rings vanish, lowering her victim to the ground beside his ineffective bodyguards. Her other hand was already treacherously conjuring an attack.
Snakelike tendrils of energy spiraled together out of thin air around Sin’s gesturing hand, forming a poisonous green beam which launched itself directly at Isis. But the sexy superheroine had already summoned a round magical shield of protection. Sin’s missile burst harmlessly against it while Isis concentrated on her counterattack.
“Elements gather to my hand; fully charged and feeling grand!” Isis swept both arms above her in a dramatic gesture. A bolt of pure white lightning leaped from her palm, aimed at her enemy. Sin quickly conjured a shield in front of her, meeting the onslaught in the very nick of time.
Isis continued to pour energy into the lightning bolt, sustaining it and lighting up the dismal parking garage. Sin let out a feminine squeak of dismay as her shield began to crack, forcing her to retreat a step or two as she struggled to reinforce it. Desperately the priestess attempted to summon a cobra elemental to attack the blue-clad goddess, but it couldn’t get past Isis’ shield.
Abby was starting to enjoy herself. The discharge of elemental electricity raised a lively wind, swirling around their bodies. Isis stood with her slender legs braced, feeling the invigorating breeze whipping her short, blue-tinted hair and fluttering the tiny skirt of her mini-dress. The cocky young goddess knew that she could overpower Sin eventually, but the priestess could probably hold her off for a long time. Maybe the indirect approach would work.
The wreckage of the limousine was directly behind Sin now, and Isis’ observant eye caught sight of a hubcap lying loose on the floor of the garage. “Disc of shiny chrome so bling,” she whispered, “listen to me, rise and fling!”
The hubcap flew up and clocked Sin hard on the back of her head. The scantily clad sorceress pitched forward and sprawled across the concrete floor, out cold.
Isis smiled smugly as she dismissed her lightning and her magical shield. She’d better get that obsidian amulet away from her. It was the source of Sin’s powers, the same as her own Amulet of Hatshepset was the source of hers.
Before she could get to it, however, another beautiful brunette girl strode out of the shadows behind a support column. Isis couldn’t help admiring the sensual sway of the babe’s gorgeous body as she approached. She relaxed, seeing no reason for alarm. After all, the girl’s sexy, two-piece fuchsia costume and chest emblem were famous even on the West Coast.
“You must be the Fuchsia Fox,” Abby said. “I’m Isis, from L.A.” She nodded her head haughtily toward the unconscious Sin. “Sorry for trespassing on your turf, but I caught this twisted sister torturing some poor guy. She claimed that it was only to lure me into a trap, but as you can see… I don’t want to brag, but I trounced her pretty easil–”
Suddenly the fuchsia-clad girl’s left arm snaked around Isis’ waist, yanking her lissome form into her arms. “Hey! What’re you–” the sexy goddess gasped, but her words were cut off as the girl’s right hand clamped like a vise around her slender throat!
“P-please… you’re chok-ing…” Isis struggled, her nubile body wriggling helplessly in the Fox’s superhumanly powerful strangle hold. She couldn’t speak an incantation; she couldn’t breathe; she hardly even THINK!
“It WAS a trap,” her attacker whispered in her ear, as Isis’ eyelids fluttered and she lost consciousness.
Sin sat up dazedly, rubbing the knot on the back of her head. Just then they heard police sirens. A van driven by Prokofiev and Minsky skidded to stop beside them, and they quickly hustled the captured superheroine inside. The sorceress gleefully stripped Isis of her Amulet of Hatshepset. “Perfect!” she said to Zennakova, as the van sped off again. “Now that we’ve taken out both our arch-nemeses, there’s no one who can stop us!”
Chapter 5 — Petersburg Federal Penitentiary
Jennifer Fletcher, the Fuchsia Fox, was trapped in a living nightmare.
Her first night in prison, she had crawled into bed too exhausted to care. When the next morning dawned and the full impact of what had happened hit her, she almost didn’t want to get out of bed. She wanted Martin, her husband! He must have been worried sick when she didn’t come home. For a few minutes, she harbored hope that he might rescue her, but how was that possible? If he called the prison and spoke to the warden, what could Carlson tell him except that the Fuchsia Fox had been there, helped them with a minor situation, and then left again?
Was there any way the Fox could call Martin herself and tell him what had happened? No — the warden had cancelled all her phone privileges for her “escape attempt”, and she didn’t dare trust one of her fellow inmates with such a message. Even if she did manage to speak to him, what then? She looked and sounded like Ludmilla Zennakova!
In the chow line at breakfast, the other women prisoners scurried out of the Fox’s way, afraid to cross her. Zennakova was clearly the Alpha Female here, the Queen Lion of this particular savannah.
But as the Fox left the line with her tray, she found herself confronted by a tough-looking Latina with a scar across her right upper lip. “What happened to you, Z-bitch?” the girl said softly. “I heard somebody cut you and put you in the hospital. Poor baby get a boo-boo?”
Jennifer felt close to panic. She was afraid to say anything, because she knew that she couldn’t fake a convincing Russian accent. What should she say in any case? She had no idea how to be a gang leader! The trouble with being the Queen was that all the little Princesses were waiting for the slightest sign of weakness to eat you alive and take your place.
The Fox did the only thing she could think to do. She said, “Spacibo,” the only word of Russian she knew off hand. It meant “Thank you” actually, but she tried to say it with a contemptuous curl of her lip as she brushed past the Latina.
“Don’t push me, bitch,” the Latina seethed, darting forward. Jenn saw the makeshift knife in her hand in the nick of time, flicking her tray around to deflect it. Her breakfast went everywhere, but the girl came at Jenn with another trust straight to her smooth abdomen. Feeling the rush of pure fear, Jennifer dodged by the skin of her teeth, bringing her leg around in a lateral kick. The Latina shrugged off the blow and came on again. This time Jenn caught her wrist and elbow both in a smooth disarming hold — thank you again, Barbara Wright, wherever you are! — spun on her heel and flipped the girl completely over, feeling her arm bone crack from the pressure she had put on it! Jenn felt her stomach churn; she hadn’t taken into account Zennakova’s strength!
“Look out!” someone shouted. Out the corner of her eye, Jenn saw the shadow of a bigger girl behind her, wielding a chair and ready to bring it down on her head! Without a thought, she threw up her hand in a protective gesture. She felt a pressure inside her head, and the chair somehow overbalanced and flew the other way! She suddenly remembered — Zennakova had telekinetic powers!
“All right, break it up,” the head female guard said, as four of them moved in with nightsticks to stop the fight before it got out of hand. The Latina was semi-conscious, cradling her broken arm. The Fox’s instinct, overriding even the adrenalin rush from her close call, was to help the girl to the infirmary. But as she tried to do that, the head guard quickly swung her baton around flat against her chest. “I said break it up, Zennakova!” she snapped, misinterpreting Jennifer’s intentions. “Keep it up and you’re going to get this nightstick rammed up your butt!”
The Fox felt Lexa’s arm slip around her, drawing her away. “What do you think you’re doing?” the redhead hissed, once they were at a safe distance. “Leaving her alive after she tried a stunt like that? Why didn’t you take the shiv and stab her with it?”
“Well I was trying…” Jenn said, almost forgetting herself. Lexa was probably right. She had been nearly murdered, and breakfast wasn’t even over! She had to get OUT of here before she slipped up royally and got herself killed!
Somehow she got through that day alive — cleaning and mopping the cellblock, lunch, a short period in the exercise yard, then back to her cell. The other girls spent the evening making phone calls or in the TV room, but Jennifer’s privileges had been cancelled. It was just as well. Watching television would only remind her of her husband anyway. She felt sick with loneliness.
The following morning, the Fox noticed that the Latina who had attacked her wasn’t back from the Infirmary yet. “They had to call an ambulance,” Lexa told her, “and take her to the hospital in town. She’ll be back tomorrow.”
Taken to a civilian hospital where the security wasn’t as tight — that was the classic way to escape from a prison! For a minute, the Fox savored the idea, but she’d have to really break her arm, or stab herself, or… “Why did they have to do that?” she asked, keeping her voice low to disguise her lack of an accent. “The prison has a doctor…”
“You mean O’Shaughnessy?” Lexa scoffed. “She hasn’t been in since that night your scam got blown. But she’ll be back. I mean, after she went to the trouble of smuggling her crate in with the medical supplies… She’s not going to leave that.”
The Fox gasped out loud. That must have been the Ba-Vulture statue! And it must still be in the infirmary! “When do they get another shipment of medical supplies in?” she asked.
“Today, I guess,” Lexa said. “This is Wednesday, right? Usually around three o’clock in the afternoon. Why?”
Jennifer didn’t dare let on what she had in mind. It was torture to go through the motions of another day, not knowing if her ghost of a plan could even work. At three o’clock, she made it a point to be hanging around the TV room so that she could see through the windows when the delivery truck arrived, pulling up to the side entrance of the building. Not long after, the female head guard unlocked the cellblock door and picked two trusties to unload the supplies.
The Fox waited for them to go, then sidled up to the locked door. She concentrated, struggling to visualize the tumblers turning. Come on, telekinesis…! Jenn felt perspiration beading up on her forehead. This was harder than it looked! But suddenly there was a deep click. She slid the door open just enough to squeeze through…
“Hey, where are you going?” Lexa whispered. “I’m coming with you!”
There was no time to argue. The Fox darted across the hallway, trying to keep flat to the cinderblock walls. She knew that there where closed-circuit cameras covering all the approaches, but it was the middle of the afternoon. She turned down the side corridor to the Infirmary, with Lexa still right behind her. As she turned the corner, she saw the bright orange jumpsuits of the two trusties as they pushed hand trucks loaded with boxes into the supply room. A male guard was at the far end of the corridor, at the door leading to the loading dock.
Jennifer waited for her chance and slipped into the Infirmary. The small crate was sitting just inside the doorway to Exam Room 2. Great. The Fox began rummaging through the cabinets.
Lexa hissed to get her attention. The trusties were coming! Both of them ducked behind the examination table as one of the trusties entered room, loaded the light-weight crate onto her hand truck, and pushed off again.
“What’s your plan?” Lexa whispered.
“Keep an eye on the trusties,” the Fox whispered back, checking more cabinets until she found a set of green scrubs.
If she was right, the Ba-Vulture was inside the crate, and Dr. O’Shaughnessy (assuming that was her real name) had bribed the trusties to smuggle it back onto the delivery truck for her. Jennifer meant to be inside that truck when it left. The catch was that her bright orange prison jumpsuit was too conspicuous. Hence the scrubs. She could pass herself off as Dr. O’Shaughnessy — the male guard on the loading dock wouldn’t know any different — and get close enough to the delivery truck to stow away on it. Jennifer quickly unzipped her jumpsuit and wiggled out of it…
“What do you think you’re doing?” said a woman’s loud voice right behind her. Jennifer sensed the female head guard looming over her just as her nightstick came down, clipping the side of her head. Seeing stars, the girl dropped to her knees half-stunned, wearing nothing but her prison issue cotton bra and panties. She groaned as she felt the guard grab the back of her bra. The flimsy catch snapped as the guard hauled her to her feet.
“Two escape attempts in the same week?” the head female guard smirked as she yanked the bra off and used it to wrap Jennifer’s slender wrists behind her, leaving her boobs jiggling unprotected. “You’re a naughty girl, Zennakova. Didn’t I tell you what I was going to do if you tried again?”
Chapter 6 —
The Fox moaned in despair as the guard laid the long, 18-inch shaft of the nightstick across her throat, holding her pinioned and helpless. Her wrists were bound together behind her with her prison-issue bra. And she had been so CLOSE to escaping!
“I’ve actually been wanting to do this for a long time,” the head guard whispered in her ear, pushing aside her short blonde tresses. “I’m glad you gave me the excuse.”
Jennifer struggled as the guard wrestled her slight frame over and threw her face-down across the gurney. The girl felt her full breasts crushed against the metal surface while her pert backside thrust upward. The guard laughed as she yanked her panties down, exposing her buttocks. The Fox squirmed, shivers of desire racing up her spine as she felt the rigid wooden shaft of the guard’s baton slide in between her thighs and over her prim pubic mound, its cold head making intimate contact with the moist, tender flesh of her womanhood.
“It only remains to be decided,” the guard sneered, rubbing the rod steadily up and down along Jennifer’s pussy lips, “which hole to try first.”
“No! Don’t… touch me!” the Fox protested, squirming and flailing her legs as the guard positioned the knob of the nightstick at the opening of her pussy and slowly shoved it in. “Oh God…” The helpless girl closed her eyes as she felt that hard thickness plunge inside her. Goosebumps popped up all over her skin as the guard drew the baton partially out and then thrust it back. And again… It felt like a piston, warmed by friction and lubricated by her sticky juices, wiggling deeper and deeper with every stroke.
“Stop… please…” Jennifer panted, gasping for breath. She bit her lip, her heart pounding as she felt her orgasm rising, growing, building to a crescendo.
“You’re enjoying this too much, Zennakova,” the guard commented as she suddenly withdrew the stick. “Let’s try the other hole now.” She fitted the head of the baton firmly at the opening of Jennifer’s anal sphincter.
Still struggling to break free, the groping ball of Jennifer’s right foot came in contact with a storage cabinet, and she pushed for all she was worth. That end of the gurney wheeled around, and as the guard tried to maintain her position, Jennifer managed to strike upward and back with her right elbow, clipping the woman on the jaw. They both tumbled off the gurney to the floor. As they scrambled to their feet, Jennifer caught her opponent in a wrist lock and flipped her. The guard went down hard, and as she struggled to her feet, the girl punched her in the jaw with all her strength.
Lexa returned at precisely that moment. “What are you–?” the redhead whispered. Her eyes grew wide as they saw Jenn on her knees, her skin flushed and sweaty, and wearing nothing but her panties — then grew wider still as she saw the head guard stretched out on the floor, out cold.
“Help me get her clothes off,” Jennifer ordered, unbuttoning the guard’s shirt and tugging it off of her. As a disguise, a guard’s uniform was hard to beat.
Lexa squatted down and undid the guard’s trousers, stripping her to her underwear. “I’m going to miss you, Zee.”
Jennifer paused with the shirt halfway on. It dawned on her that she had never thought to ask what crime Lexa was in prison for. Even so, she impulsively reached over and gave the redhead a hug. “I’m going to miss you, too. Do you think you can keep our friend here out of the way for a while, so she doesn’t raise the alarm?”
Lexa flashed a wicked grin as she handed over the guard’s pants. “I think I can manage that.”
Sneaking onto the truck was relatively easy. The two trusties recognized Zennakova’s face at once, and all it took to get rid of them was a curt suggestion to join Lexa in the Infirmary. The male guard on the loading dock was even easier. All he saw was a beautiful woman in a uniform, and the pair of gorgeous tits inside her hastily buttoned shirt, obviously braless, were clearly the only two things he was thinking of. When Jennifer hinted that she might meet him after work, he was willing to do anything she told him to, including run ahead to the gate while she made sure the back of the truck was secured.
And now the delivery truck was humming along down the highway with the Fox’s lean body curled up in almost a fetal position in between the crate and a stack of cardboard cartons.
After a while the truck slowed down. Jennifer could hear sounds of traffic all around and guessed that they must be driving through a city, probably Richmond. Wildly she began making plans. When the driver stopped to make a delivery, she might seize the opportunity to slip out the back. And then what? Make her way to Arlington wearing a stolen prison guard’s uniform? Lexa couldn’t keep the head guard out of commission for long, and as soon as she raised the alarm there would be a state-wide manhunt for the notorious terrorist Ludmilla Zennakova!
Once again the truck sped up, clearly on the highway again. Jennifer was unable to guess how long they drove, but it was certainly over an hour before the truck slowed down and pulled into a driveway of some kind. The truck lurched roughly over what felt like a rutted road and finally stopped. She heard the driver get out, followed by the sound of shoes crunching in gravel. She heard male voices — at least three of them.
The door slid open, and for a moment the Fox saw three men silhouetted in the opening — the driver of the truck plus two standard-issue thugs. They seemed to be inside a junkyard. The heroine could see mountains of junk cars stacked four or five high all around them as she launched herself at the two goons, bringing her knee up into one’s midsection while she grappled with the other. The thug caught her arm and twisted it, his beefy hand clutching at the front of her uniform shirt and ripping a couple of buttons free. Gasping with the effort, the Fox head-butted him in the jaw and broke his hold, flipping him over her shoulder to the gravel.
Just then an electrical ZAP! shot through her lithe, beautiful frame. “Ahh!” the heroine cried out as every delectable muscle and sinew seemed to seize up, causing her to tumble to the ground, writhing in pain and helpless to move. The first thug had nailed her from behind with a Taser!
“Who the hell is this?” the henchman said.
“She sort of looks like the Major,” said the second one, rolling Jennifer onto her back.
“I thought we were taking orders from the Fuchsia Fox now.”
“This is above our pay grade, Lennie. Let’s take the chick inside.”
First they took the crate out of the delivery truck so the driver could move on. Then the two goons picked up the Fox in between them, their hands roaming over her sylph-like body and clearly enjoying the way her two pliant orbs played peekaboo with the half-undone front of her shirt. One of the men made a coarse comment as the other hoisted her slender body across his broad shoulders and slapped her on the ass.
Feeling was beginning to return to Jennifer’s alluring limbs, but not nearly enough to enable her to resist as the thug carried her across the compound. The second henchman brought the crate as they entered the open end of a long, corrugated tin building. This turned out to be a garage, the walls stuffed to the rafters with spare parts and antique signs. They passed a flat-bed truck loaded with something which was covered by a tarp. From her position slung over the thug’s back, the Fox could make out the shapes of several boxes, the kind that the military uses for explosives and ammunition. There were also at least half a dozen long crates. Jennifer couldn’t think what they could be, until it dawned on her that they were the right size and shape for shoulder-launched anti-aircraft missiles!
About this time the two henchmen came to an ordinary wooden door, where they knocked. A female voice inside growled, “Enter!”
The thugs carried the heroine into a sitting room furnished with an entertainment center, a low-backed armchair, and two wing chairs with a small table between them. Major Zennakova sat in one wing chair in the Fox’s usurped body, her cheeks bulging as she stuffed her face with caviar and vodka while watching the news on television. Sin was seated in the other wing chair with her legs crossed, daintily sipping a glass of blood red wine. In her other hand, she held the end of a light chain like a leash.
The other end of the chain was attached to a leather collar, which encircled the slim neck of Abigail Smith, aka the goddess Isis! The dark haired girl was sitting upright in the low-backed armchair, stripped of everything but her boots and wrist cuffs. Her ankles were bound with rope to the front legs of the chair, keeping her silken legs spread wide. Another rope looped between her ankles, and her wrists were tied together between her legs to this rope so that, struggle as she might, the captive girl was unable to raise her hands as far as her knees.
The two male henchmen gawked shamelessly at the unexpectedly delightful sight for a moment. “Uh… the shipment from the prison has arrived,” the thug carrying the crate announced as he set it down. Sin put her wine glass down on the table and snapped her fingers. The front of the crate opened, revealing that, sure enough, the ugly Ba-Vulture statue was inside.
“But I think we have a problem,” the other henchman added. “This also arrived.” He let the Fox slide from his shoulder and dropped her onto the Persian carpet.
Zennakova nearly choked on a mouthful of caviar. “How did you come here?” she demanded.
“Well you know it’s a funny thing,” Jennifer said, desperately trying to massage some life back into her slender arms. “I just took a stroll and… I somehow ended up here.”
Chapter 7 —
Sin laughed outright. “This is most amusing,” the Priestess of Set snickered. She jerked the leash attached to Isis’ lovely neck. “Don’t you think it’s amusing, slave?”
Abby glared sullenly at her captor without speaking, her cheeks flushed from the humiliation of being trussed up like this with her exquisite breasts and snatch on display. The two henchmen were certainly getting an eyeful! Instead, she flicked her eyes toward Jennifer. “I take it you’re really the Fuchsia Fox?” she asked.
Sin jerked the leash again. “If you cease to entertain me, slave,” she said irritably, “I can always think of more uncomfortable positions to put you in.”
“Never mind that!” Zennakova snapped, keeping her eyes fixed on the Fox. “Why do you persist in aggravating me, devochka?”
“I can’t really take any credit for it,” Jennifer said with a sigh. “It’s a gift.”
The Russian reached down and grabbed the helpless heroine by the front of her shirt, lifting her off the floor and ripping open the remaining buttons, much to the delight of the two male henchmen, who stood shamelessly ogling her marvelous, jiggling mammaries.
“Er, Major?” said one of the men. “I hate to remind you of this, but the buyers will be here any minute. If they see you looking like the Fuchsia Fox, they’ll panic.”
“Very well. Go outside and keep watch for them,” the Russian said. The two men departed.
“Buyers?” the Fox said breathlessly. “Does this have anything to do with the truckload of military grade weapons parked in the garage?”
Zennakova put her down and let go of her shirt. “Oddly enough, it does. I am about to make a handsome deal with some of your ORCUS friends.”
The heroine gasped. “Selling weapons to that slimy bunch of terrorists? I didn’t think even YOU would stoop that low!”
“Business is business, devochka,” the Russian said. Turning on her heel, she picked up her glass of vodka and tossed the drink down her throat. “Besides, part of the deal is that they leave Washington alone. After all, there are plenty of other targets. Why be greedy? The question is what to do with you.”
“I have it!” Sin said, suddenly jumping to her feet. “We can make these two have sex with one another! Wouldn’t that be amusing?” She turned toward Isis, pulling the chain leash taut and forcing the superheroine to meet her gaze.
Isis blushed, her gorgeous chest rising and falling in her misery. “I’ll get you for this, Sin. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll get you for this.”
The Fox looked down at her body — or rather at the fuller, more mature body of Zennakova. Her shirt was torn and rumpled, missing practically all of its buttons, so she removed it and dropped it to the floor, leaving her upper body bare. She could feel her heart pounding, her pulse racing. “Actually I have a better idea,” she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. “Why don’t the two of you release us and surrender? I can promise we’ll treat you fairly.”
Sin and Zennakova looked at one another and laughed. “Why should we agree to such a ridiculous proposal, devochka?” the Russian said. “We seem to be holding all the cards.”
“Not quite all,” Jennifer said, slipping the scroll from the waistband of her trousers.
Sin’s green eyes goggled. “NO! Where did you get that?” she hissed.
“I was stuck in the back of that delivery truck for a long time,” said the Fox, “with nothing better to do than try to pry that crate open. I had to make sure the bird was really in there.”
“Give that to me at once!” the priestess snarled, darting towards her with her free hand outstretched. “You have no idea how dangerous it is!”
“Ah-ah-ah!” Jennifer admonished her, holding the scroll with both hands poised to rip it straight down the middle. “Keep your distance. I vividly remember you saying that only the spell on this scroll can make the Ba-Vulture work. If it were to get destroyed, all you’d have is the world’s ugliest doorstop.”
Sin froze where she stood, a look of panic on her face as she held taut the chain around Isis’ neck. “All right. Just put down the scroll.”
“Be reasonable, devochka,” Zennakova said without moving from her spot. “You are outnumbered. You cannot hope to hold off the both of us.”
“I can damn well tear this scroll to pieces if anybody tries to stop me,” the heroine said, encouraged by the terror she could see in Sin’s face. “Now, untie that girl and let her go.”
“You are bluffing,” Zennakova said calmly. “You would be forever trapped in my body.”
“Like you said,” Jennifer said, holding her voice steady by effort of will, “it’s not as if I have any other cards to play. Okay, I’m tearing it…”
“NO! WAIT!” Sin screamed. Seething with anger, the Priestess of Set reluctantly waved her hand, muttered an incantation, and the ropes binding Isis untied themselves.
Abby herself reached up and yanked the collar off her throat. “And my amulet?” she said.
A small crystalline box appeared in the sorceress’ hand, which she passed with bad grace to Isis. The superheroine took her Amulet of Hatshepset out of the box and clutched it between her breasts, then she carefully backed away and joined the Fox on the opposite side of the room. “Do you have any idea at all what you’re doing?” Isis whispered in her ear.
“Ask me later,” Jennifer whispered back.
“I’ve done as you ask,” Sin said nervously. “Now put down that scroll, carefully.”
“I’ll put it down when we’re safely out of here,” the Fox said, as the two half-naked superheroines backed toward the door.
But Zennakova could not stand meekly by and watch her arch enemy slip away. As Isis groped behind her for the doorknob, she leaped forward. Sin jerked her arm around, the one still holding the light chain leash. The links burst into flame as it became a fiery whip, slashing in a downward arc at Jennifer’s left wrist.
The Fox felt the incredible heat as the whip scorched her silken skin, causing her to involuntarily let go of the scroll and jerk away. At the same time Zennakova grabbed her other wrist. The two of them were engaged in a desperate tug of war over the precious parchment, with Isis encircling the Fox’s sylph-like waist from behind with both arms, pulling the girl backwards toward the door.
In the midst of this battle, the scroll ripped cleanly in half, right down the middle! “NO!!!” Sin and Isis both screamed in unison.
The Fox stumbled into Abby’s arms, the throbbing pain in her left wrist totally eclipsed by the sudden agony exploding in her head, as a gigantic spiked iron ball had suddenly fallen through the top of her skull and mashed her brains to pulp.
The room was suddenly filled with an unearthly amber light. It was coming from the eyes of the little statue of the Ba-Vulture, which somehow seemed to be growing larger. Jennifer’s first thought was that this had to be an illusion of some kind, a side effect of the unbearable pain that was making her skull throb. But the pain gradually diminished, leaving the heroine on her hands and knees on the Persian carpet. She opened her eyes and saw Major Zennakova curled up in the arms of Isis, wearing a prison guard’s shoes and trousers and nothing else. The disorientation made Jennifer’s stomach churn for a second before she looked down and saw her familiar fuchsia halter top and miniskirt, and the elbow length gloves on her arms! Tearing the scroll had reversed the spell! She was back in her own body!
But the Ba-Vulture was continuing to grow. It was now the size of a broad-chested man made of black stone, with the head of a vulture and its outstretched wings brushing the flimsy walls of the sitting room.
Sin moved to intercept it, waving her flaming whip. “Bow to my will, Creature of the Pit!” the priestess commanded, as the coils of the whip lashed out like a boa constrictor and snaked around the Ba-Vulture’s neck. “I am Sin, Priestess of Set! Bow to my will! Obey me!”
The beast was not impressed. Grabbing the fiery whip with one hand, it yanked forward while its other arm swung outward, smacking the scantily-clad Priestess in her chest and sending her alluring body flying, crashing straight through the outer wall of the sitting room.
Isis immediately took her shot. Still naked except for her boots and cuffs, but with her amulet once again nestling between her soft breasts on its golden chain, the young goddess quickly chanted a spell under her breath. Electricity crackled all around her lissome form, swirling together into a ball which instantly darted out and exploded with a blinding flash against the chest of the Ba-Vulture. The monster only turned in her direction and kept coming.
The Fuchsia Fox threw herself between the animated statue and the frail young heroine. “It looks like you’re in my territory now, gruesome,” she said, aiming her right fist at its beak.
The blow would have shaken the rafters of the building itself. The Ba-Vulture staggered, shaking its head as if in disbelief. Then it reached out toward her. Jennifer felt its cold, stone hands grab the straps of her halter top as it hauled her slender body into its clutches. The girl kicked out with her leg into the thing’s chest, pounding on its broad shoulders with her fists, but it was like hitting solid granite. With almost contemptuous ease, the statue hurled the stunning superheroine through the entertainment center and through the outer wall, and thirty feet further into the junkyard itself, where she slammed into the rusted metal hull of a junk car.
“Wow,” Jennifer gasped, shaking her head. If it hadn’t been for her force shield, that would have hurt! She glanced to her left and saw Sin lying not far away in the gravel, stretched out and unconscious after her own guided tour through the wall.
“Are you okay?” asked Isis, kneeling beside her. “I was afraid of this. The Ba-Vulture seems impervious to magic.”
“We’ll have to try the direct approach, then,” the Fox said. “Follow my lead.” Like a missile, the fuchsia-clad superheroine charged back through the wall, plowing into the Ba-Vulture’s massive chest. Her impact staggered the monster, but didn’t knock it down. It retaliated by reaching out again with its hands, which the Fox just managed to evade.
In reply, Jennifer rained a flurry of punches around the creature’s face and neck. It hit back with a powerful backhand, and the Fox rolled with the impact, allowing it to send her through the inner wall into the garage. The Ba-Vulture followed her, enlarging the hole she had made.
“Come and get me, ugly!” the heroine taunted, diving in and landing another punch on the statue’s beak. The creature again swung its arm, trying to make a grab for her again. Jennifer ducked and drove her fist upward into its abdomen, catching its flailing arm and flipping it over her onto the flatbed truck. It landed with a crash among the crates and boxes, momentarily tangled in the tarpaulin covering.
The Fox hurled herself flat into the corner, hoping that Isis was paying attention. Sure enough, the beautiful young goddess launched another missile of ball-lightning, this time not at the Ba-Vulture, but at the truck loaded with ammunition.
The truck went up like a volcano, blowing off the entire roof of the garage and sending a fireball rolling straight up into the sky!
Major Zennakova watched the explosion from a safe distance, from behind the shelter of the iron canyon of rusty junk cars. She could see her henchmen run from the burning garage, but after several minutes, there was no sign of the Ba-Vulture emerging from the flames.
“Very impressive, devochka,” the Russian murmured, turning away to begin making plans. She zipped up the front of the gray coverall she had appropriated on her way out of the garage, wincing from the pain of the bad burn across her left wrist. For now it was best to slip away while Isis was busy searching for the Fox’s body. Zennakova didn’t know if the spunky superheroine could survive a blast like that or not, but she was not willing to wager her freedom on it.
“Where do you think you’re going?” said a female voice suddenly.
Zennakova turned slowly. The Fuchsia Fox was standing a few yards behind her, as exquisitely beautiful as always and looking insufferably smug. At her side was Isis, once more clad in her royal blue mini-dress. Sin stood next to them looking sullen, stripped of her obsidian amulet, tied up and gagged.
“Now,” said the Fox, “does somebody want to explain to me what just happened?”
“The story goes that the Ba-Vulture was a demon,” Isis said. “Three thousand years ago, the original incarnation of Isis did battle with it and forced it into the form of a statue. Then she bound it with the enchantments she placed on the scroll. The possessor of the scroll could command the creature’s soul-stealing powers.”
“But destroying the scroll released it from the binding spell?” the Fox concluded. “It would be nice to be told these things ahead of time,” she added sarcastically.
“Just take the win, girl,” Isis said philosophically. “Well, it’s been fun, but you’ve got Major Zennakova to see back to prison, and I’ve got Sin to get under lock and key.”
“Hold up a second,” the Fox said. “She’s got to stand trial. She’s guilty of helping Zennakova escape, you know.”
“Oh right,” said Isis, folding her arms across her lovely bosom. “I can’t wait to hear how you explain that to the prison authorities. Go ahead.”
“It’s simple,” Jennifer said. “Posing as Dr. O’Shaughnessy, she smuggled the Ba-Vulture into the prison. Then she made a false report of Zennakova’s death, knowing that I’d come to investigate. Then she read the scroll and switched our bodies. Then I escaped and uh… uh….”
“And your proof of all this just got blown into a zillion pieces,” Isis reminded her.
“Okay, I see your point,” the Fox said sulkily.
“Cheer up,” said Abby. “I’ve got a neat little fortress of solitude back home in L.A., where Sin will be safe until I decide that she’s learned her lesson.”
“Home?” Jennifer echoed. “Oh my gosh, I haven’t seen my husband in nearly three days! He has no idea where I’ve been all this time!”
“All the more reason to wrap this up as quick as possible,” Isis said with a wink. She grabbed the leash attached to Sin’s ropes and gave it a yank. “Come along, Sin. There’s a whole new world of ‘uncomfortable positions’ just waiting to be explored.”
posted by flirty_but_nice