by Don Ship
“Oh…YES!” Rex cried, and then groaned long and deep.
Ms Patriot felt his cum squirting deep inside her, filling her with creamy lust and pleasure. Her skin goose-fleshed and she smiled serenely despite her circumstances. It felt good to have a man cum inside her. It was so right.
“Great Freya, yes! Yes! YES!” Ms Patriot cried, hands raised high and fists clenched. She had done it. She had outlasted her trick, so wasn’t de-powered. In fact, now she was filled with sexual frustration, which fueled her power belt. “All right.”
“You liked that, huh?” Rex said, misunderstanding her reason for joy.
“I’m pleased,” Ms Patriot said. She still had to get away from him before he asked or demanded anything else, which she’d be forced to give him. “Can I go now?”
“Sure,” he said. “I need a cigarette and a beer, or three.”
He swatted her naked rump as she was climbing off. Seconds later she was standing outside the car in the alley. With the dome light, she found her super heroine costume, and the money he’d given her. She frowned at the sight of the cash on the floor board, but she had to take it. When she completed her ordeal, she had to give any money she’d earned to the pimps. So she picked it up and stuffed it down the top of her left boot.
In less than two minutes Ms Patriot was dressed and halfway to the street. She was out of the alley before Rex even had his pants on. She wasn’t going to take any more chances. There was too much at stake. She’d let them fluster her earlier, her emotions raging, and she’d walked straight into a hooker. It went terribly downhill from there, and she didn’t want to repeat that mistake.
“Nice and easy,” she muttered, pausing at the end of the alley and looking both ways carefully.
Ms Patriot silently cursed her luck. Rex had taken her three blocks further away than the direction she had to go. The street was another hotbed of hookers. She could see twenty just on her block. The buildings lining the street were sleazy strip joints, peep shows, arcades and some of the seediest brothels in Sugar Town.
She considered how best to navigate the mean streets of Sugar Town. Should she drop her gaze and try not to be noticed? Or stride down the street purposely, head high and glaring daggers at one and all. The latter was how she usually operated. Few ever spoke to her, unless she confronted them and gave them no choice. But the whores and pimps especially liked to yell crude suggestions and offers at her, but mostly when she challenged them or one of their friends.
“I will march through Sugar Town defiantly, head high,” she decided, smiling. “No one in Sugar Town wants to be noticed by me, so they will scatter to the winds at my approach.”
So the Freya's Champion stroke out of that alley and headed for King Pimp’s main brothel, the Palace. As expected, the moment anyone spotted her a cry went up and miscreants scattered, finding their favorite bolt holes until it was “safe.” A self-satisfied smile curled her full red lips.
“Hey, Sweetheart, you new here?” a hawker in front of a strip joint called, leering at her bouncing boobs. He stepped out to block her path. “I wouldn’t have forgotten those twins! Ha ha!”
The voluptuous vigilante graced him with a withering look. He had to be new to Grimme City not to recognize her. Or he just couldn't believe he'd crossed paths with a living legend.
“I work all over town,” she said sidestepping him. “Now, leave me be. I’m busy.”
“Hey, Sweetheart, come back and talk to ole Herb here,” he called jokingly.
She knew he didn’t really expect her to turn around and return, much less want to talk to her. But she was obliged by the rules of that foul pimp-imposed contest. So Ms Patriot stopped, looked up at the silent Heavens with a look of disbelief and frustration. Then she forced a smile, turned around and walked back to him.
“So, what do you want to talk about, Herb?” she said, cocking her head and striking a super heroine pose: hands on well-rounded hips, shoulders back and right leg thrust out to the side. Her expression was doubtful expectancy, that she hoped knocked the wind out of his sails before he said something she’d regret. “We going to talk about sports? Fine dining? Or about how you can’t get that tiny little pecker of yours up anymore?”
He just stared at her dumbfounded.
She smirked and started to turn around and leave.
“Uh, I was just going to ask you to go inside and check out our hot dancers,” he said.
Her face screwed up in distaste. She did not want to go into that den of depravity. The immoral men inside only wanted one thing from a woman, any woman. But if he asked, she had to go in. But did he actually ask? He said he was going to ask her to go inside. Did that constitute a request? She had to be sure.
“Are you asking me to go inside? Or asking if I’d like to go inside?”
“Yes.”
“Yes what, moron?” she snapped, frustrated and more than a little afraid.
“Yes, I want you to go inside and check out the dancers,” he said, eyes narrowing. “That’s how I make my pathetic living, bitch. Asking people to go inside.”
Not the answer she wanted. But at least all she had to do was go inside, take a little time to check out the topless dancers, and then depart. Quickly.
“Fine then,” she said, turning towards the door. “I’ll do just that.”
He looked incredulous as she marched through the door and into the sleazy strip joint. The club was dark and smoky. It reeked of cheap perfume, dirty ashtrays, and alcohol. There were maybe a dozen girls, mostly wheedling drinks out of customers or giving lap dances. Three girls danced topless atop the stage.
“Ok, I’ve checked out the dancers,” she said, and turned around.
“Are you the real Ms Patriot?” a beefy man said at a table near her.
“Of course, who were you expecting?” she said, giving him a wary look.
“I wasn’t expecting a genuine super heroine in here,” he said. “Hey, Joe, check out who came in here. Hey, Ms Patriot, you after some big, bad, evil titty dancer? Did she slap her fat titties in the mayor’s face or something truly terrible? Hahahaha!”
Though the loud rock music still blasted, the dancers had all stopped dancing to watch, the patrons had all set down their drinks and turned to watch. It was too much attention. Ms Patriot wanted to crawl under a rock and hide.
“You’re funny, Burt,” Joe said. Joe was a slightly smaller version of Burt. “Maybe, as a public service, she’ll give you a mercy lap dance! She’d have to be super strong to get close to that rancid stench you reek of, dude.”
“Shut up, Joe, you ain’t funny,” Burt said, slightly grinning. Ms Patriot started to leave, before they remembered her. But he saw her start to turn away, so slapped his left thigh, and said, “Why don’t you wiggle that sweet super ass of yours over here and have a seat?”
His request was like a gut punch. She had no choice now.
“Ok,” Ms Patriot said, and walked over and sat daintily upon his lap.
Everyone, including Burt and Joe, just gawked at her. No one expected that.
“I always thought you were some ball-busting, uppity bitch, Ms Patriot,” Burt said, well pleased with how things were going as he started stroking her long, silky black hair. Then when she didn’t stop him, his hand dropped lower to her rump. “But I guess even super heroines like to have some fun, under the sly, so to speak, heh?”
He winked at her.
“Yes, something like that,” she said, not sure what to do now. Surely she’d satisfied the letter of the contest. Besides, his hands was entirely too bold, and she wasn’t sure about making him stop. It was a gray area in the rules. At least she didn’t recall it being addressed. “Well, this place isn’t the place I’m looking for, but thanks anyway.”
“No problem,” Burt said as she stood up. “But how about a lap dance for the road?”
“What?” she said, incredulous.
“He wants you to give him a lap dance,” Joe said, eyes glittering with wicked gl
ee. “So give him a super lap dance.”
That last statement was definitely a command. She was told to give him a lap dance, and Ms Patriot groaned as her gloved fists clenched in frustration.
“Ok, one lap dance, but then I have to go, all right?”
“I understand,” Burt said, suddenly excited. “Are you really going to give me a dance?”
“That’s what I said,” she said, smiling tightly.
“Then you aren’t the real Ms Patriot,” he said. “The real Ms Patriot wouldn’t do anything that base, that depraved. What are you, a dancer or a hooker?”
“I am the real Ms Patriot,” she said, strangely annoyed. She knew it was best if they thought she was some cheap whore, but she couldn’t let it go.
“Prove it,” he said.
Since she hadn’t been climaxed, Ms Patriot still had super strength. She sighed gustily, picked up one of the steel frame chairs and easily twisted it into a big iron pretzel before everyone’s startled eyes. At that moment, everyone in that strip joint knew they were dealing with the real Ms Patriot.
“I’m ready for my lap dance,” Burt said, bug-eyed and leering at her boobs. “You’re going to take off your top, right?”
“Do you want me to take off my top?” she asked, knowing the answer. But she had to ask.
“Yes, take it off,” he said.
She rolled her eyes in disbelief at what her devil’s deal had reduced her to. The pimps, pushers, and whores of Grimme City would be laughing for years about this most humiliating, most degrading of nights for the Ms Patriot. So she reached back and unzipped her bustier, held it in place a second, and then pulled it away. There was a collective gasp in the titty bar as her boobs were exposed, jostling before their wide eyes.
“Let’s get this lap dance done and over with,” Ms Patriot said, and started to gyrate her well rounded hips to the hard driving rock music. Her hands rose up above her head and she started shaking her tits.
“You’re too far away, Ms Patriot,” a blonde stripper said.
“You tell her, April!” someone called.
“Straddle his lap,” she continued.
Ms Patriot had no choice. She was told to do something by April, so had to obey. She stepped up close, very close. Her inner thighs were rubbing against Burt’s thighs.
“Bury his face in your cleavage, and them push those big jugs together,” April said, walking up close. Ms Patriot obeyed, hearing Burt’s aroused groan from deep within her cleavage. April was rather short, at five foot two, though very shapely. Her eyes were bright green and she had long blonde hair. All she wore was a pair of red stiletto pumps and matching red leather thong. “Now drop low and stroke his crotch with your own.”
Ms Patriot bent her knees, hoping her tits would be pulled off Burt’s face. He was kissing and licking them, and it felt too good for her own good. But Burt bent with her, continuing to rub his ugly face all over her tits and into her deep cleavage. At the same time, she did as commanded and rubbed her now quite sensitive pubic mound back and forth across Burt’s hard bulge. Each stroke felt better than the last. The fabric of her costume bottoms wasn’t protecting her at all.
That insistent, demanding fire of need she felt with Rex had returned. Fast and more demanding this time. She fought it hard, but couldn’t contain the groan that welled up her throat. Seconds later she realized she was panting and sweating from the erotic internal heat of sexual arousal.
Thank God I still have my bottoms on, she thought, barely coherent with the erotic sensations. I would climax in ten seconds without that scant protection.
Burt’s big, callused hands began massaging her shapely rump and upper thighs, and she groaned with the pleasure of his rough hands on her warm, soft skin. April also began stroking Ms Patriot’s long, black hair. It felt so good, so delicious. Then the sexy stripper ran her long nails gently down the gorgeous super heroine’s back, sending a strong shiver throughout her body.
“Mmmmmmmm,” Ms Patriot groaned.
“Yes, I thought you’d like that Ms Patriot,” April said, leaning in so close she could smell the stripper’s cheap perfume. She grabbed Ms Patriot’s hair at the back of her head and jerked it back. The helpless heroine gasped. “You’re a grade A slut, Ms P, and I’m going to enjoy proving it to one and all.”
“No, I’m an icon of all that is good and right,” Ms Patriot said with a sexually strained voice. “Girls and young women look up to me as a role model. I am what they aspire to be — a superior woman.”
“A superior piece of ass,” April said, laughing. Then she slapped Ms Patriot’s hiney — hard. “Grind that cunt harder into his cock, bitch.”
“Great Freya!” she cried, obeying. “You are all so evil!”
“Burt, watch this,” April said, turning Ms Patriot’s face towards her.
Burt pulled his face out of the sexually stressed out super heroine’s bottomless cleavage and looked up. April slowly pushed her face closer and closer to Ms Patriot’s face. The costumed vigilante just gawked at her open-mouthed, watching April’s perfectly painted pink lips heading straight for her lips.
April kissed Ms Patriot long and hard, her hungry tongue darting in and out, taunting and teasing Ms Patriot’s tongue and mouth. It was such a sensuous feeling, that lipstick kiss.
“Hhuuummm,” Ms Patriot said, as her tongue tangled with April’s.
“Oh God yes,” Burt cried. Ms Patriot felt his strong hands seized her rump, then he tensed a long moment, before sighing and relaxing below her. “That was a damn great dance, Ms Patriot.”
“Come with me,” April said, gently pulling Ms Patriot off and away from Burt, and towards the main stage by the hand. “It’s time we put on a proper girl-on-girl sex show for these naughty boys, and prove what a slut you are beneath that goodie-two-shoe veneer.”
The patrons and other dancers cheered that idea. Ms Patriot could only look around wide eyed, wondering if she’d ever get away from these oversexed fiends. And she had a very, very bad feeling that at least April now understood she had to obey every command given her.
The topless dancer led the now topless super heroine to the main stage. April walked up the stairs onto the stage, but guided Ms Patriot to the side. Then hand-in-hand April led Ms Patriot to the center of the stage, and then coaxed her to crawl up onto stage.
“Climb on up, Ms Patriot,” April said sultrily.
The stage was waist high. Ms Patriot crawled up easily, the men crying out joyfully and cheering at the sight of her well rounded rump. April commanded her to stay on hands and knees. Her face started to burn, for she knew the humiliations were just starting, and that they would be heaped upon her that night.
“Lick my shoe, Ms Patriot,” April said, moving one foot forward.
Ms Patriot looked down at the fire engine red, patent leather pump. She lowered her face slowly. The crowd cheered when she gave that first, tentative lick. After that, there was nothing to do but finish the job, so she licked April’s red pump front to back, and up and down her tall stiletto heel. Then she was ordered to start licking her way up April’s long leg.
“Pull off my thong, Ms Patriot,” April commanded.
"Okay," she muttered, and slowly pulled the red thong down April's shapely legs.
"Now eat me out."
Kneeling before April, Ms Patriot looked around the room, at all the hungry faces staring at her expectantly. Man and woman alike. Then she looked up into April's beautiful, yet unmerciful face.
"Eat me, now."
"Okay," she whispered, and felt her skin gooseflesh. She shuddered violently, then pushed up on her powerful legs until her mouth was pressed hard into the sexy stripper's cunt. Then she began to lick. "Mmmmm."
"Good girl, Ms Patriot," April said. "Or should I say, bad girl."
Ms Patriot paused to glare daggers up at April, which only amused the stripper. She thrust her hips forward, grinding her cunt into the helpless heroine's face and mouth. Ms Patriot answered by using bo
th thumbs to spread April's cunt lips wide so she could have better access to her inner folds. In little over five minutes, Ms Patriot managed to climax April on stage.
"Line up, boys, and gang bang this super powered bitch," April gasped out, stepping back. "Give them what they want, Ms Patriot."
"Yes, I'll give them what they want," she whispered, horrified and aghast. Within seconds Burt knelt behind the Freya's Champion, pulled her bottoms down and guided his thick cock up against her slippery twat. She slanted a big baby blue, wide-eyed glance back over her shoulders as he pressed the head of his cock against her sopping wet cunt and forcing the lips to spread. They locked eyes, he smiled cruelly and thrust his hips forward with force, penetrating her vagina. His dick was very thick, and stretched her love canal to the max. She arched her back instinctively, giving him better access and the ability to go even deeper inside her. "Aaaahhhhh."
"Oh, yes, she felt that, Burt," April cooed in delight. "Make her feel it."
"Oooohhhhh," Ms Patriot groaned.
"Damn, this bitch is tight," Burt groaned, straining. "But very wet."
They were sideways to the audience, so everyone was getting a splendid view of her defilement. Looking right, she saw what they were witnessing in the floor to ceiling mirrored wall. The sight aroused her libido so much she had to turn away.
There were ten men behind Burt. Ms Patriot couldn't believe she'd be able to keep herself from climaxing before they all had their turn. Indeed, she suspected she'd have multiple orgasms.
How many times can I be forcibly climaxed before they break me, before they tame me? she wondered, feeling her body afire with arousal. Will it be the first climax that tames me?
Ms Patriot felt sweat breaking out all over her shapely, overheated body. Her belly was quivering and she felt supremely weak and helpless. April was walking around and rousing the men's libidos. She groaned as an eleventh man joined the gang bang line.
"Wahoo!" April cried. "Another man on the fuck the shit out of Ms Patriot gang-bang train!"