He scurried about the house, desperate to find some clue as to her whereabouts, calling her phone only to find it had been turned off, and swearing under his breath because that meant he couldn't use the signal from it to track her down.
And then he saw the card, lying on the bathroom sink.
“Once you go Blaq, you never go back.”
Ashley had accidentally forgotten it there following one of her should-I?, shouldn't-I?, and then vicious masturbation sessions, just hours before she had left to go get drinks and ice cream. He called her friend Rachel, and confirmed his suspicions that she'd never shown up for the drinks that were her cover for the evening, and his mind raged with the possibilities of what Blaq had done to her.
And then, a thought occurred to him, one of which he could not wholly pretend he was not ashamed, but one which filled him with energy all the same.
This is exactly what I need right now. This is the very call to action that will pry me from my state of self-pity and spur me to action. Saving Ashley is the very spark I need to become the hero I once believed I could be!
But first he would have to find Blaq's secret hideout, and that would require some detective work. Hurriedly he suited up, with some difficulty it must be admitted, because he had spent so long having Ashley put on his uniform for him- he realized when he was halfway down the stairs that he had put on his second layer of underwear backwards, and he had to go back inside and change then grabbed Blaq's calling card from the sink and flew off down the crowded city streets, putting the number in his phone and dialing the it right away..
There was no answer.
He allowed it to keep ringing, however, long enough so that he could triangulate the signal of the opposite phone's location.
Bingo.
He knew exactly where to go, and was somewhat stunned to imagine that his own arch nemesis had been hiding in the plainest of sight for all these years.
Captain Splendor flew off into the sunset, going to confront his bitter rival in one final, decisive battle, establishing once and for all what was truly good and right about the world which he served to protect.
And he might have stopped by a DuaneReade to get some Ben and Jerry's on the way...
Chapter 7
Finding Blaq's layer was a cinch using the GPS on his phone. It was not what one might consider a particularly menacing location for an evil hideout, but Captain Splendor did not have time to consider this as he hovered outside his front door. Ashley was in trouble, and that's all that mattered right now. He tossed his empty Americone Dream cup to the ground with abandon and burst in through the front door, seeing no one, but listening carefully using his supersonic hearing for any potential signs of life.
He heard water running.
He squinted, activating his x-ray vision, and could see two glowing green skeletons standing on the opposite side of the hall. Gasping, and not taking the time to process anything other than the simple presence of life, he shot through the house, bursting through the bathroom door with a shout, and finally staggered backwards, unable to fully comprehend what he was seeing. His beloved girlfriend, spooning naked in the shower with his archenemy, who was running tender kisses up and down along the side of her neck.
“Charles, hello,” Blaq said casually, as though this were as normal an arrangement as any. “Why don't you join us? The water's nice and warm...”
He wobbled back and forth, not knowing what to say, unable to tear his eyes away from the massive penis rubbing vertically up and down in between Ashley's soapy buttocks.
“I... I... Oh, God... Oh, Ashley, I... I thought he... Are you sleeping with him?”
“You've always been such a keen observer of human behavior Charles,” said Ashley serenely, and Blaq kissed her gently once more on the side of her neck.
“How could you do this to me? After all I've done for you? After all I've done for the world?”
“The world has plenty of good people,” said Blaq with menace in his voice, “And what one of them can you say has truly made a difference in this life? The world has plenty of bastards too, but almost none of them have really made that much of a difference either.” He kissed Ashley again, then leaned her slightly away from him and, just to show Charles that he could, slowly penetrated her backside, making her cringe from the lack of lubricant, but knowing she enjoyed it, and holding her pressed up against him. “But there aren't a lot of men like me who can really fuck this world in the ass. We are the ones who make a difference, who can destroy entire cities because it's our weekend hobby, who can ruin lives, re-establish that which we perceive needs re-establishing. And most importantly, we are the ones who truly get to reap what we want out of life. And who else in the world can really say that about themselves?”
“I... I...”
Not a word of what he was saying would normally have the least bit of effect on the valiant Captain Splendor, but the sight of him lodging firmly inside Ashley's ass after a long, agonizing week of defeat, made the bleakness of what he had strove to do for the world seem all too prominent at this moment.
“Do you know why you're miserable, Charles?” asked Ashley, in tones that almost perfectly imitated Blaq's own. She's been brainwashed, he thought. “It's because you have a gift, and you think that that gift will allow you to pursue that which is impossible.”
“Very good, love,” Blaq whispered in her ear, then pulled out with a mild gasp from Ashley, and slapped her hard on the rear end. She laughed low, giving him a flirtatious look in the eyes that made Charles uncomfortable. He had won her over. “And you see Charles, I myself have a very similar gift to what you have, but I am capable of deriving pleasure from my powers. They allow me to do what I want, when I want, and with whom I want. I do not worry about stepping on toes or hurting feelings, and I do not have to fear that what I love will be taken from me. Because I know that I am strong enough to have whatever I want and that because I am strong enough, I deserve to have whatever I want. You are not strong enough to get what you want, but believe me when I say that you could be. Weaker men than yourself have moved mountains with the force of their lust; history is wrought with those far inferior to us who have reaped vast rewards from walking on the backs of the bruised.”
He couldn't believe how drawn in by these seductive words he was becoming. Everything he was saying was making so much sense. How much of his life had he sacrificed in the vague name of being the “good guy?” How many opportunities had he missed for achieving what he wanted out of life? How many of his vast array of disappointments could have been avoided had he simply reached out and taken what he wanted, instead of holding back his gratification in the name of some hollow ideal?
“You could be one of us Charles. It's lonely at the top, and the throne we possess is a spacious one plated with gold... And, uh...” He turned Ashley around to expose him to her ripe posterior, his pink handprint from spanking her still not having faded from her skin. “...We don't mind sharing a seat...”
The great Captain Splendor didn't do anything. He just stood there. Stunned. Won over by Blaq's logic, but unable to move or to act upon it. He just stood. Mouth agape. Realizing that everything he had so far dedicated his life to had been a complete waste of time.
“Taking the first step is always the hardest part,” whispered Blaq, peering deep inside of him with his two black eyes. “Everything gets so much easier from there... Let me help you...”
He flicked his wrist. Captain Splendor's costume came slumping down from off of his body into a messy pile around his ankles, revealing that he'd become highly aroused over the course of this entire conversation.
“There you go...”
But it was several more moments before he could do anything.
“Come,” said Ashley, tilting back her head and thrusting forward her chest slightly, “Join us...”
Slowly, one step at a time, he moved forward across the bathroom's tiled floor. This was his final humiliation. The last time he would ever f
eel pride or shame or envy or failure. This was the end of that weak persona. This was the end of Captain Splendor.
He stepped into the basin of the tub, facing Ashley. She smiled at him, grabbing a hold of his shoulders and turned him to face Blaq. His once fiercest enemy leaned in, very, very, slowly, and kissed him squarely on the lips, precisely as he had done Ashely only a few days before.
“Welcome to the throne, Captain,” he whispered into his mouth.
And there went Captain Splendor.
Charles dove back into him, craving the touch of Blaq's lips against his own, pressing his entire body against him, desiring every ounce of him, needing the purpose that Blaq could offer him in exchange for all that he had just lost. They kissed, licked, invaded one another's sanctities, and Ashley began to touch herself behind them, instantly turned on. She crawled between their bodies without them hardly noticing, their arms entwined around one another's bodies, their erect penises crossed, and Ashley firmly seized her grasp around both members, one in each hand, and began jerking the two of them into an apex of delight in a steady unison.
After several, long, passionate moments, the two of them split apart, while Ashley continued to pump. Charles' expression was blank, but Blaq's hungry for more as he smiled darkly into his eyes.
“I think the three of us are going to get along quite nicely...”
They dried off and stepped into the candlelit bedroom. Ashley slid off her bath robe and the three of them stood in a circle, taking turns kissing, rubbing their hands across one another's bodies. Ashley took both of their robes off. Blaq bent down and licked Charles' erection. Charles bent down in return, giving several hard thrusts against Blaq's own insistent member.
Blaq bent Charles over, Charles wimpered from fear and anticipation and desire and lust, and Blaq plowed into him, thrusting back and forth without any concern for Charles' backdoor virginity, pumping and heaving and asserting himself to the inner reaches of his being, causing Charles to sweat and cry and scream and feel like every splinter of his being was about to explode with pleasure, with Ashley looked on at him from the sidelines, mouthing “I told you being bad was fun,” and pressing his slack-jawed mouth against her slippery cunt as Blaq pummeled him.
And this is how light is vanquished from the world. How justice is defeated. How the evil triumph over the good.
With Charles, screwing Ashley, two of Blaq's massive cocks grinding deep into his own ass, making his insides squirm, his loins burning with uncontainable rage inside Ashley; a third Blaq thrusting in and out to the back of his throat, gagging him. With Ashley, taking in the full girth of Charles in the front, as well as two Blaq's of her own thrusting in and out of her backside, two more in her mouth, and still two more to whom she is facilitating hand jobs, as they make out like teenagers over Charles' twisting, sweaty body.
On second thought, maybe this is just a very clunky, useless metaphor, and not worth paying any heed whatsoever. Just end this reading with the vivid mental picture I have just described to you.
Visualize just how much goddamn wonderful fun it is to be this bad.
THE END
Taboo Menage
I always wanted to become an artist. From my earliest days, I remember playing with crayons, water colors, building blocks… and music. I never learned to play an instrument, which has been one of my greatest regrets, but I still keep telling myself it is never too late. But I love music, in any imaginable way. Always did, and always will. Regretfully, my career and my family life – ugh, let's not get into that just yet – have taken me in different ways, until now. I found a job rather quickly after getting my degree in architecture, and got married a few years later. This is my story, of how I returned to what my heart always longed for, in more than one way.
He was a prick, to say the least. Catching him cheating was probably the easiest thing in the world, and then I cheated on him back. But unlike him, who found some buxom blonde airhead to cheat on me with, I went for something a little more classy – one of the best lawyers around. Needless to say, the divorce went through smoother than the lawyer had went into me. Picking up the money that belonged to me, I decided to get out of town and find my happiness elsewhere. So I moved to the big city just like my big brother said I would and I found a job that has nothing to do with my master's degree. I do not even care anymore about that as long as I get to pay the bills and have a little extra for myself, I guess all is fine. Instead, I decided to pursue my old passion again.
My stepbrother Mitch was already in the big city, and he had always been supportive of me in every possible way. When I was four, my dad and his mom got married, he was fourteen at the time and we lived together until I went off with that prick I call my ex. He moved to the big city around that time, and never got married. To be honest, dad always thought he was gay. Sometimes I thought the same. What matters is that Mitch was the complete opposite of what you would call “brotherly love”. Always showing nothing but appreciation and support for everything I do, be it drawing and painting when I was just a little kid, all the way to my school and career choices. Even if he disagreed with something, he always made it clear that he would always be there for me. When I was just a little girl, he always applauded and commended loudly for every little drawing I would make, usually giving me a big kiss on the cheek, and proudly telling everyone “This is my little sister!” When I was in high school, he would embarrass me in front of everyone by reading my girly little poems out loud. He meant well though when listening to him, one would be deeply convinced that he thinks the best about me. Then, later on in school years, he introduced me to a gang of bikers, rockers and metalheads. We drank together, sang together and banged our heads together at local concerts and gigs. When I started university, he held me in his embrace as if we would never see each other again. He could not have been more wrong, as I am about to tell you.
So now, after having a few ups and downs in my life, and after a few strong decisions, I figured I should finally start doing something about it. A girl at work told me about this exotic dance course, and after giving it a bit of thought, I figured why the heck not. I am nearly forty years old, and I should do something for my body. The lazy bum dropped out after two weeks, but I did not. I enjoy the music, and I enjoy learning how to adapt my body to the rhythm. I am not the best, especially when I started out, but I am far from the worst. I think my passion for art was my first and greatest driving force, which made me follow the rhythm with my movements, as well as change my pace gracefully, according to the melody. For the first time in years, perhaps even decades, I felt like I was heading somewhere good, somewhere beautiful.
“Watch your hands, Madeline!” my trainer's voice threw me out of my thoughts, making me focus on what I was doing again. “Your feet, too!” she said in a strict tone. I stumbled for a beat or two, then got back into the rhythm, taking closer care of my hands and feet. I have to admit those were the main reasons why I thought I was not the best. Annabelle, my trainer, apparently thought otherwise. Just now, I was doing an extra hour, as she demanded at the beginning of this lesson. The two of us were left alone, her leading me and taking close watch over my moves, and me mostly enjoying the opportunity to dance a little bit more than usual. She hadn't said why she wanted me to stay, and at first I feared it was because she thought I needed extra attention in order to catch up with the rest of the group. As I started doing a more complex figure, she walked around me, looking over my body closely.
I must admit, after years of a fruitless marriage, I was not used to people looking at my body anymore. It was not that I had let go of myself, I had always taken good care of my diet, but it was only when I turned thirty-five that I realized how important some kind of exercise would be. I remember my ex twit once saying, “Your body ain't built for bedrooms anymore.” Needless to say, he never got any sex from me again. I could not give a damn about what he thinks, though my body has never been one of a glamor model, but I never had a pot belly (unlike him), a
nd I had my fair share of curves. At first, I even thought they would get in the way of my dancing after seeing some of those girls on TV. They looked far thinner than me but I found a few girls in this course who filled their yoga pants and had cleavage much more than I ever could. One of these girls was so voluptuous that one would think her boobs were going to spill out every time she would jump or arch her back. They never did, though. And she was really trying hard, I'll give her that. If there would ever be a guy watching us dance, I'll bet his eyes would be fixated on her. Or on Annabelle.
Back to my own dance routine, though. I could sense Annabelle's eyes scanning all over my body, almost as if they were trying to laser-sculpt some kind of a Greek statue out of me. She put her hand on my shoulder, and the other under my lower back, helping me arch properly. I remember the first time she did this it was as if my entire body turned into a rock. A rock with millions of goosebumps. Her hands were strong, but had soft palms, and her touch on my body felt almost too sensual. After a few weeks of these lessons, my skin would not tense at this sensation anymore. The touch of her hand was always like a gentle caress, and a strong massage at the same time – and it always managed to put my body in a certain state of trance. It was as if my every single muscle was tightened, yet my movements after that were as if I had danced all my life. Even she commended me for that. Still, I accepted it as helping hands, not as seductive ones – it was a little silly of me to ever think of them otherwise. It was her job to teach me, not to seduce me. Besides, neither of us had any interest in girls. She was happily married, and although I never told her anything about my private life, I did not get the impression she would fall as low as to poke her nose where it did not belong.
“Oh, I'm divorced too,” she noted dismissively as we sat for a coffee break, an hour later. “You mean the ring?” she chuckled again, as I looked at her left hand. “I put it on later. I am now married to dancing,” she stated. I sipped my coffee, quietly. “You know,” I finally said, “I think I understand you.” She gave me a look, then smiled. “I knew I made a good choice when I told you to stay for an extra hour today,” she asserted. “Yes.” I noted my curiosity, “What’s all this about? Am I that bad?” “Oh no”, she replied quickly. “Au contraire.” Her eyes burned into mine as she purred a sexy French expression. Was she trying to seduce me? I chuckled at the thought. “Here is the deal,” she started, leaning towards me a bit, exposing a glance of her cleavage. I swear, if I was a guy, I would be swimming in my own drools by now. “Yesterday I heard about this competition,” she continued. “Nothing too big, just a few local TV stations recording, and one of the categories is called solo dancing. I was thinking you might want to show your talent there.”
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