Fuchsia Fox : “In Too Deep”

Fuchsia Fox : “In Too Deep”
By Centurion

Chapter 1 — Baltimore, Maryland

“Watch your step here. Careful.”

It crossed Jennifer Fletcher’s mind that her escort couldn’t possibly mean that literally, since she was blindfolded. She had no choice but to trust him as he guided her by the hands. The moment he had helped her out of his Mercedes, she had felt the cool sea breeze of the waterfront against her body. Her right hand reached out and touched a guide rope at about the same time her high heel encountered a gangplank. They must be boarding a yacht.

“That’s it. Almost there,” her escort said, as she stepped off the gangplank and onto solid planking. Jennifer’s ears picked up the sound of another person standing nearby.

“Evening, Fritz,” her escort said. “This is Gina.” That was the name Jennifer had given him.

“Evening, Mr. Williamson,” said a male voice. “Have a good evening, miss.”

Jennifer could practically feel the bouncer’s eyes scanning her body from top to bottom. As well they might, since the black spandex dress she was wearing clung to her curves from the waist up. The bodice incorporated a push-up shelf-bra that made her modest B-cups look more like Cs. The halter strap that ran around the nape of her neck was a thin ribbon, leaving her smooth shoulders alluringly bare, caressed by her brunette curls. Below the waist, her 17-inch skirt flirted with her thighs, calling attention to her gorgeous stems.

There was the sound of a door being opened for her. Jennifer’s escort led her through it and whisked the blindfold off. “Welcome to Club X!” he said.

She found herself inside a lounge almost twenty-five feet wide and extending into the far distance. At first glance, the general effect was of a posh, upper-class masquerade party. The room was fairly packed with people of both sexes, most in their 20s or 30s, while in and among them strolled waitresses in French maid outfits carrying trays of champagne. Most of the guests were in a costume of some kind. Those few who weren’t wore tuxes and evening gowns. All wore masks, although some of them were pushed aside so that they could see better.

“Wow! You didn’t tell me it was a costume party, Michael!” Jennifer gushed. “Should I be wearing a mask?”

“If you want one,” Michael said, snagging a flute of champagne and handing it to her as they ventured into the room. “But it would such a shame to cover that beautiful face.”

“Thanks,” Jennifer said, blushing.

Inside, her pulse was racing, her stomach churning. As they moved further down the room, she had to amend her first impression. Couples were brazenly making out all over the place. And the costumes themselves were quite a bit on the risqué side. Here was an Alice wearing a torn blue dress and pinafore, her wrists bound in front of her with rope and meekly following an evil-looking Mad Hatter. And there was a girl dressed as Wonder Woman, with that famous red bustier and star-spangled tights, on her knees giving a blow job to a guy in a gorilla suit.

Down the center of the lounge were three raised platforms with stripper poles. At the first one, a girl was dancing wearing shiny latex thigh boots, a G-string, and a boa constrictor draped around her shoulders — nothing else. At the second was the more traditional 60s go-go dancer, only the bust of her psychedelic mini-dress had two round holes cut in it so that her firm tits could jiggle freely.

On the third pole, a blonde girl dressed vaguely as Batgirl with a miniskirt was busy having her wrists tied behind her by two guys dressed in black leather biker costumes. A rope was bound tightly around her throat, holding her head back, and down below, her legs were spread invitingly for a third man dressed as the Riddler, who was kneeling between her thighs giving her fellatio. Jennifer couldn’t help pausing to watch. The girl was moaning and gasping; she appeared to be in real pain from the tight rope on her throat.

“Gina, you see something you like?” Michael asked, picking up on her interest in the scene. “These are performance artists. They know what they’re doing, trust me.”

Shaken, Jennifer drained her flute of champagne. “If you say so.” She could all too easily imagine herself up there in the girl’s place.

“Would you like to join them?” her escort persisted, taking her empty glass as his other hand snaked around her supple waist and patted her on the derriere. “The host has some spare costumes for guests. You’d fit right in. I expect people have told you this before, but you bear a striking resemblance to the Fuchsia Fox.” He handed her a fresh flute of champagne.

“Really?” Jennifer said, accepting the glass from him. “I think my nose is too big.” Although Jenn had intentionally been a little more heavy-handed than usual with her eyeliner, there was actually a good reason for her similarity to the famous superheroine — she WAS the Fuchsia Fox! The black dress she was wearing was made from the same Zumerian fabric as her purplish-pink costume which enhanced her sex appeal, and on her wrists were the powerful bracelets of Ishtar, waiting in case they were needed.

Two girls dressed as pirate wenches in ragged hot pants, tight black-and-red striped shirts, and eye patches turned from kissing one another. “Did somebody say the Fuckable Fox?” one of the girls said. “I’d love to go down on HER!” The two girls surrounded Jennifer, cooing with pleasure as their hands delicately caressed her shapely curves. The one on her left kissed her bare shoulder, leaving a slight lipstick impression.

“M-maybe later on,” Jennifer said, her knees trembling as she pulled away, her short skirt swirling around her legs. Everywhere she looked, people seemed to be ogling her lustfully. She felt exposed. Where was her date?

“Guten abend, fraulein,” said a man wearing a black Nazi Gestapo uniform, complete with eye monocle. “Ve haf vays of persvading you…” he added, reaching out with his leather-bound swagger stick and caressing her smooth, bare neck with it.

Jennifer spun around, coming almost face to face with the Batgirl again, squirming in ecstasy in her bondage as the Riddler ate her pussy. That one hit a little too close to home! As the Fuchsia Fox, Jennifer had been in similar situations, tied up and at the mercy of thugs. It wasn’t something she liked to dwell upon. To steady her nerves, she drank off her champagne and set down the empty flute.

Arms were snaking around her waist again, and here was Michael, her escort. His lips closed over hers in an open-mouthed kiss, a hungry kiss, his tongue penetrating into her mouth and overwhelming her senses. Jennifer’s head was spinning as she felt another pair of lips on the back of her neck, feminine lips. Soft hands found their way underneath her skirt, touching her bare hips and booty.

“Just go with it,” Michael whispered, as the two pirate girls laid hands on Jenn and pulled her firmly away, maneuvering her toward the wall. Before she knew quite what was happening, a steel manacle had been clamped around her right wrist just below her bracelet of Ishtar, attaching her by a short chain to a wall fixture at about shoulder level. She had just time to think that if worse came to worse, she could easily break it, when she found her other wrist similarly secured.

How had she gotten herself into this?


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