. A second vibration, stronger than the first, sent clay offering jars crashing from their pedestals, where they shattered on the hard dirt floor. In the center of the vast circular chamber, curled upon an ancient bed that had long since decayed into tattered silk and frayed cloth, a great form, after an age locked in slumber, began to stir.The beast shifted. A third tremor rocked the chamber, and suddenly the creature rose. Chorded muscle, dormant for centuries, cracked and stretched in the impenetrable dark. Clawed hands pushed it up from the bed, until massive cloven hooves swung out to land upon the undisturbed floor.It opened its eyes, green felfire casting a new, hellish illumination into the burial chamber, and took a flaring, deep breath. The air was stale, old, and rife with the scent of the deep earth, yet still new vigor rushed through his limbs. Casting off the veil of its long hibernation, it yearned for the open fields and mist-cloaked hills, and of the vast, deep wood that was his domain.
An instant later, pangs of a hunger so aching it was a wild beast unto itself, rocked his being. He had been asleep far too long. Where were his servants? His disciples? Why had he been neglected for so long, left to rot in this chamber of rejuvenation?
How much time had passed?
In three great strides he descended the dias and reached the sealed door to the tomb. Stone slabs that would have taken eight men each to move were shoved open with barely a break in stride, and the monster entered the stygian hallway and followed it up, up, out from the deep earth where his temple lay.
With cold familiarity he followed the ancient, worn path, until he came to a dead end where the exit used to be. Massive boulders had crushed the path, sealing him in. When had the cave in occurred? Even so massive a disaster as this would not have deterred his followers; they would have cleared the path, reinforced the corridor, all in preparation for when their lord would once again awake.
The only explanation, then, was the simplest: all his followers must be dead.
If the beast cared at all, it was only in the passing annoyance of one who acknowledged that old conveniences would no longer be available. He had little love for his devotees; they worshiped him because it was his right to be worshipped. He was strength, virility, power and rage. They were weak, easily cowed, fawning supplicants who brought him food and drink and who begged for supplication.
They would be replaced.
But for now, satiating his hunger was paramount. He could eat a bear, a herd of deer, a pack of wolves, perhaps all three before his hunger would abate. He would drink from the mountain rivers and slake the thirst of centuries. And then…
Another hunger stirred, deeper, primal. He had been alseep far too long. Swaying between thick, dark furred thighs, the mark of his godhood began to ache.
The Horned God was famished. He needed to feed.
Then, he swore, a fanged grin creasing his face, he would breed.
With his hunger, and his lust, now propelling him forward, the beast drove his claws into the pitiless rock, and began to dig.
* * *
“Maxine! Time to come in!”
Sandra Howlett, Sandy to her friends, peered out into the night-shrouded backyard, trying to catch a glimpse of Maxine, her pomeranian, to no avail. She cupped her hands to her mouth, and called again. Normally, the little animal would come bounding back inside as soon as she opened the door; the little thing wasn’t all that fond of the outdoors, much less the expansive woods that lay at the edge of her property. But instead of Maxine’s yipping little bark, all Sandy heard in response was the droning of summer cicadas.
“That damn dog,” she muttered to herself, stepping out onto her deck and sliding the glass door shut behind her. Despite it being the middle of August, the nights could get a little chilly this far in the valley, and Sandy was poorly dressed for the temperature. Letting Maxine out was usually the last thing she did before going to bed, and she had already slipped on a silk pajama shirt, sans pants. So now, she stood out on her deck, beneath a clear sky, in only her night shirt and a pair of socks. She called again.
The full moon overhead was one of the biggest and brightest she could remember, hanging in the still summer sky like a great silver lamp. The backyard was clearly illuminated, and nowhere could she see the white furry form of her wayward dog. A quick glance at the gate beside the house confirmed that it was still safely shut. A fence boxed in her backyard, extending far back until it reached the thick trees. Maxine hated the woods, and never would have left the yard, so where—
Suddenly, a yip. Distant, but distinct. Sandy snapped her head up at the sound. It had come from, of all places, the damn woods. What the hell was her dog doing in the woods?
Annoyed, worried, Sandy slipped on a pair of sandals she kept by the door and made her way down to the tree line.
As she approached the woods, the heavy canopy blocked out the moonlight, so that a deeper darkness suffused the backmost part of her property. She slowed, wary, trying to listen for her dog. The dumb thing had probably caught sight of a squirrel or chipmunk, and in a spur of out of character adventurism chased it into the woods. Maxine had probably bounded only a few meters in before she realized what she’d done, and now the little coward was sitting there, begging for rescue.
Sandy glanced as best she could between the thick trees, but she could see nothing. A worm of fear had begun to coil in her stomach, for though she knew that the local fracking operation had driven away all of the wild game, the news had been all alight the last few days with the most sensational headlines.
A herd of deer had been found a few counties away, utterly ripped to shreds, strewn across nearly an acre of farmland. Not just once, but almost three times; a nightly occurrence that started nearly a week ago. Local rangers offered up precious little intelligent commentary: they assumed a pack of wolves or coyotes, likely fleeing the blast mining operations, was passing through the area. Still…the news was very explicit about how violent the acts had been, how much of the deer had been left alone, as if some had been killed simply for pleasure.
But that was nonsense. Wolves didn’t kill for pleasure. And that was counties away. Her woods were here, safe, and all she had to do was find her damn dog.
Another pathetic yelp, much closer this time, drew her attention back to the woods. But even with all her rationalizing, still the impenetrable dark seemed imposing. Her heart hammered just a little faster as she bit her lip and plunged into the woods, following the sound.
A few steps in and another yelp greeted her, closer still. Maxine could only be twenty feet or so away, but it was so dim, she couldn’t make her out. “Maxine!” Sandy hissed, and the tremor in her voice surprised her. Why was she suddenly nervous about making noise?
That dog was going to catch holy hell when she found her.
Another yip. Barely a bark. This time to her right, behind a copse of trees. Sandy edged her way around them, careful not to trip on the heavy roots, and came upon a small clearing.
At the center of which, sitting hip deep in a pile of leaves, was her dog.
Sandy exhaled, suddenly relieved to have found her. “Oh Maxine,” she admonished, stooping down to the little animal, “what in the world are you doing out here?”
Suddenly, she noticed that Maxine wasn’t just sitting in the leaves—she was visibly trembling. The poor dog was panting, her dark little eyes fixed on Sandy.
She was clearly terrified.
Lost in the woods, Sandy thought to herself, you are such a pathetic little animal.
But then Sandy noticed that Maxine wasn’t looking at her. Instead, the dog’s eyes were fixed on a spot just behind her, back in the dark of the woods. Puzzled, Sandy began to turn around, and then the forest itself seemed to move.
A shrill bark from Maxine was the only warning she got. In a blur, a hulking thing, the size of a bear, charged out of the woods and was upon her. Sandy only caught the briefest of glimpses of it in the shadows—the massive torso, the way it loped forward on two legs, the rack of horns—before she felt huge hands grab her about the waist and pull her forward.
She made to scream, but as she opened her mouth to pull in air, the creature bellowed forth a thick, green mist from its gaping maw. It enveloped her, even as she pulled it deep into her lungs, and suddenly the scream choked in her throat. An instant lethargy claimed her, her limbs felt like lead, her head swam. She tried to push away from it, but her hands only found the unrelenting swells of its massively muscled arms. Her vision began to dim, her head falling back, and the last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was the beasts eyes, glowing green and hungry.
Sandy swooned, and passed out, helpless in the beasts’ grasp. Effortlessly it threw her over a shoulder and disappeared back into the woods.
* * *
A cave. She was in a cave. But how…
In a sudden flash, she remembered what had happened, and fear shocked through her. Desperately she looked about the cave for the thing that had attacked her, and when she saw it hunched against the far wall, a scream broke from her beleaguered lungs.
Except it was barely a scream, more a whimper, but it was enough to get the thing’s attention. It looked up from what it was doing, its green eyes burning in the dim. It had been eating, she thought in horror, seeing the haunch of meat it dropped at the sound of her voice. It rose up, horns grazing the roof of the cave, and loped toward her.
She recoiled, tried to backpedal away, but her body wouldn’t move. She felt drunk, disoriented. It was upon her in a moment, and gathered her wrists in one massive pawed hand before raising her arms helplessly above her head. It was three times her size, the size of a bear, and looming over her it filled her field of vision.
Oh God, she wept, tears streaming from wide, terrified eyes, Oh God it’s going to eat me next!
But the creature didn’t tear out her throat, didn’t rip into her flesh. It barely moved at all, she noticed; it just hung there, hulking over her, watching her.
Tasting her with his eyes, she thought. God, those eyes. They burned like green flames, dimly, but in the scarce lighting of the cave (was there a fire somewhere? the walls flickered with shadows…) they were undeniably bright…and hungry.
“P-please,” she begged, struggling with the word, “Please don’t hurt me. Let me go.”
She could see him cock his head, as if her language were familiar but the pronunciation wrong. Slowly he seemed to recognize what she was saying, and chuckled in response. When it spoke, it surprised her so much that she gasped aloud. She’d been holding her breath.
“Do not worry, female,” the creature intoned, the rumble of its voice sounded like a distantly falling tree, “I did not bring you here as food.”
It could speak. She was shocked. Staring up at it, as he eyes adjusted to the dark, she took in her first close look at the monster. It had the countenance of a man, but bestial; the horns that curled up from his forehead, the long curve of its ears, the fang-filled mouth, all lent a monstrous favor to otherwise human features. He was massive, hulking shoulders and barrel chested. His arms were chorded muscle. A mane of dark fur cascaded from its head and melded with the fur mantle about its upper chest, where sparser fur continued until its waist. From there, it had two furred, goat-like legs. She could see one massive black hoof beside her.
And the eyes. Like a lion’s eyes, they shone in the dark, but green, not gold, and seemingly illuminated from within by some infernal flame.
They regarded her as a tiger might regard a doe, with palpable hunger, but if not for food, then…?
She was terrified, but with no way out, she couldn’t simply stay quiet. He was probably going to kill her anyway. She hazarded a question, “Then…Why did you bring me here?”
A grin spread across his face. and once more she saw the gleam of razor teeth, but instead of answering her, he rose up, carrying her by her arms like a doll and moving purposefully across the cave. He reached an alcove, a natural pocket in the rock that created a large basin in the floor. This, the beast had filled with leaves, moss, grass.
It was a bed, she realized. This was the creature’s nest.
He lowered her to the packed foliage, once again pinning her arms over her head. Suddenly she knew the answer to her own question, and a moment later, he confirmed it in reply.
“It has been far too long since I sampled mortal flesh,” he grinned. “You my dear, will be my first.”
“Like hell I will!” she snapped, struggling, trying to twist her arms free, but his grip was like stone. Her bare legs flailed in the nesting, but he was too close, and she still too weak, so none of her kicks did more than glance against him. He chuckled at her, cruelly.
“A fighter I see. Good. I am pleased that women of this time still have some fire in their bellies, even if your clothing has become…strange.”
The sight of his other hand moving toward her, talon extended, stilled her movements. She cried out as it flashed forward, she felt it graze against her neck before tearing down, and the resulting sound of tearing cloth pulled her eyes down to her chest. In a single swipe the monster had hewn through the buttons of her nightshirt, ripping it to shreds, so that it fell apart in tatters. Her naked breasts heaved before his lascviscious gaze.
“Very nice,” he breathed, tracing the back of one clawed finger up the generous slope of one breast, and the other. She began struggling again, painfully aware of how sharp that claw was, as the beast began tracing circles across the flat expanse of her stomach. “I will enjoy seeing you submit to me.”
“L-like hell!” she yelled at him, “You’re sick! Let me go! This is rape!”
He paused at the word, turning his head. “Rape? But you are confused, my dear. It will not be rape; you will beg me to take you!”
With that, the beast opened his mouth, and a cascade of that same thick, green mist poured into the bower.
“What do you mean, what are you…do…doing…what….ohh…” her voice trailed off, as the green mist once more enveloped her. It clung to her flesh, caressed her skin, her belly, her breasts. A heady musk filled her nose, the scent of deep earth, and of….male. It was the heavy, thick scent of pure male beast. As in the clearing, she suddenly felt her limbs grow heavy, her eyes swam. It was hard to focus on anything…except the bright glow of the monster’s eyes as they bored into hers. Bright. Inviting. Hypnotic.
The beast grinned, watching the helpless human drown in his breath. He watched as her breathing deepened, drawing more of the poison into her body. Her eyes glazed over, fixed on his own; drawn like a moth to flame.
“That’s it,” he said, “Breathe in my essence. Feel it suffuse you, fill you. Your body feels as if its floating in warm, still water.”
Now his hand resumed tracing lazy circles on her skin, dipping into her belly button, making her gasp as what had only just filled her with dread, now suddenly caused her belly to tingle, her skin to warm. He continued speaking to her as he caressed her flesh, barely grazing her with his claw. His voice was like honey in her ear.
“There is no reason to fear. You are a woman, a woman with needs, primal needs. I can feel them. They sing to me.”
The claw began to trace again up the slope of her breast, but this time, her body did not flinch away. She stared at it as it drew careless lines across her soft, white tit flesh, a deep, hot glow beginning to grow in the tormented breast. Slowly, it zeroed in on her areola, and her nipple burst to torrid attention. It ached to be touched. Still the claw circled, unrelenting, close but never touching the turrid nub.
“Your body seeks pleasure. Even now…it yearns to be touched.” Now the beast pressed the pads of its fingers against her tit, spreading across, until her nipple pressed into the rough palm and lurid excitement coursed through her. He squeezed. She moaned, utterly involutarily, her back arching to push more of her breast into his conquering hand.
It was diabolical. Her body felt lethargic, warm, her mind felt drugged. Drugged! That was it! He had drugged her somehow, and was trying to lull her…seduce her!
“I—no..no!” she fought, clawing back through the heady fog that filled her mind with lurid thoughts. “I don’t want that! I don’t want you! Let me go!”
At this he seemed genuinely amused. “You are strong! Your mind resists even as your body succumbs. Still, I wonder if you can resist…this.”
He sat up, straddling her prone body, and thrust his hips forward. What she saw made her gasp.
Between his thick thighs, rising out of its furred sheath, was the largest cock she’d ever seen in her life.
It grew before her rapt attention, growing and filling until it curved over her body, dark red and lined with thick, pulsing veins. It was easily a foot long, and that was only the part she could see extending from his sheath. The head was as big as a baseball bat, the shaft imposing, long and thick. It hung over her imperiously. She was agape. She’d never seen something so…so…
“No female can resist my cock,” the beast breathed. “Stare at it. Imagine it pressed against your body. Imagine tasting it with your mouth. Imagine spreading for me. Imagine watching as I enter you, deeper, deeper, deeper than any man ever has touched.”
His voice was mesmerizing. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from that magnificent organ. The warmth that had started in her breasts had spread outward, lower, and now she could feel it in her pussy. She could feel the hot wetness fill the core of her being, could feel it soaking into her panties. Her clit seemed to swell in time to that massive cock, until it ached with every pulse of that veiny shaft.
God…she wanted to…she wanted to…
“Touch it,” he commanded, and suddenly released her wrists. Her hands were free, but rather than pulling herself up, rather than trying to run away, they moved, as if by their own volition, to wrap themselves around his heated shaft. She gasped as the burning flesh slid beneath her fingers, smooth, but rigid, steel wrapped in the softest leather. Before she knew what she was doing, her hands had begun a slow, deliberate stroking, from his furry base to the raging head. Even with both hands, still he spilled out from her grasp, and he was so thick, she could barely get her fingers around him.
“No…no…” she begged, still fighting, desperately, even as her hands began moving faster. A thick stream of precum had bubbled out from the head, and as it fell onto her breasts, she sighed. Wicked images began to form in her mind, of her hands moving faster, faster, caressing the head, squeezing that potent shaft of male flesh until finally it exploded, enourmously, all over her face, her breasts, her open, waiting mouth…she shook her head, vainly trying to force them away. “I musn’t…I…”
“You want this inside you,” the beast whispered, undermining her resolve, “Feel your body as it aches for me. You are so empty. Your pussy is so…hungry. My cock can fill you. Only my cock will satisfy you. ”
His claw reached down, and with the smallest of tugs, ripped her panties clean off. A thick strand of her fluid pulled away as he removed the garment, but Sandy barely noticed. She was fixed, hypnotized, by the movement of her hands as they slid up and down the massive shaft. The stream of precum had thickened, grown, until now a steady rivulet of him poured onto her chest, oozing down to her neck. So much precum…so much…!
Her tongue licked across her lips, her mind going blank. The scent of his cock was overwhelming, like the mist, only so much stronger. Then, slowly, the cock began to descend, but whether it was because of him or her own trecherous hands, she couldn’t know. The drooling head lowered until it pressed against the smooth valley between her panting breasts, smearing into the puddle of precum it had spilled and surging yet more out. Slowly, tantilizingly, it began to glide forward, the slick monster trailing thick, viscous lubricant to ease its passage between her aching breasts. Her hands held that heated shaft of manflesh against her body as his cock moved toward her open, gaping mouth.
“N-no, I won’t, I—mmmfph!” the protest was cut off as that massive glans suddenly surged forward, and filled her mouth with its devastating size. Her lips kissed against the impossibly soft flesh, her jaw flexing, he was so big that the head barely fit. The gushing precum poured into her mouth, the taste intoxicating. Her tongue moved forward, trying perhaps to dislodge him, but as soon as it came into contact with his invading cock, it forgot its resistance. He tasted…so good! He felt the velvety caress of her tongue as it moved across the tip of his cock. He watched as her eyes slowly rolled back, as they closed, and felt the soft tremble as she began to mewl in desire. Her hands gripped him tighter, stroking faster, urging more precum to flow into her now sucking mouth.
He leered down at his conquest, at the woman helplessly overcome by his cock. Just like all the others. He enjoyed the worshiping of her mouth for a moment more, then pulled himself back, popping out of her even as she gasped at the loss. Her tongue chased after him, but he pulled out of her reach.
“Beg for it,” the beast whispered, eyes narrowing creully.
She looked up at him then, jarred out of her sense of loss, and her eyes found his, captured by those burning coals. She fell into their green depths.
“P-please don’t make me,” she pleaded, tears welling up in her eyes, even as her hands continued their long, milking strokes. “It’s wrong, I musn’t…AH!”
She gasped. His claw began tracing up and down her labia, circling her clit, making her ache with need. She looked up at him, beseeching, wishing he would just end her torment. Rape was terrible enough, but this…making her want him…need him…making her body betray her so thoroughly…
He stared into her eyes. “Beg.”
she tried to fight him, tried to muster whatever will she had left to deny what he had done to her, whatever will hadn’t been captured by his eyes, his voice, his magnificent cock…and lost.
“P-please…” she whispered, stroking him faster, “Please—I need it…I’m begging you…”
“What do you want me to do?” he asked. His claw began dipping into her pussy, gently, only so deep as to cause her need to spill out onto the mossy bed. “Do you wish to taste me again? Do you wish for me to spill into your mouth, to drown you in my seed until you choke, until you have slaked your thirst for my cock?”
She hesitated, but shook her head. God it sounded awful, terrible…wonderful. She did want him back in her mouth. It watered, even now, as that beautiful, male organ hung just out of reach. How much could she take, she wondered? Could she swallow him all?
But that’s not what she wanted most. Her body was on fire, her legs had fallen open, obscenely, but she was beyond caring. Her hips thrust upwards against her will. The hunger he has stoked in her was irresistable. And she felt weak…so, so weak…and he was so strong, so…potent. Slowly, the last of her resistance crumbling, she began pushing on his cock, guiding him lower…lower…
The drooling cockhead traced a path of submission down, between her breasts, down her stomach, grazing through her short cropped triangle of pubic hair as it crested her mons. It left a thick, shimmering trail of fluid behind, the mingling of her saliva and his delectable seed. She shuddered in exquisite agony as it passed her clit, crushing her beneath its imposing weight, until finally he came against the trembling opening of her vagina. Her labia split against his massive size, kissing him, just as her mouth had done only moments ago. Any further reluctance vanished as that tool ground against her, pressing in, pulling back, weakening her defenses, but staying maddeningly still. It promised fulfillment, satisfaction, an end to the hell she was enduring, but he wouldn’t take her…not until she gave him what he wanted.
“Please…” she begged, pulling the massive head against her soaked pussy, her heart hammering with shame, lust, and fear, “please…fuck me…!”
He had never heard this word before, but the meaning was clear. With a grin, the beast leaned into her, grabbing her hips with his massive hands, and slowly drove in.
“Oh….Oh. My. GOD!” Sandy screamed, throwing her head back, arching her back as the head spread her apart and drove inside. It was the greatest feeling she’d ever experienced as that massive cockhead barreled past her vainly resisting pussy. He filled her, driving in deeper than anyone ever had before, until the massive thing was burried inside. He was stopped halfway in, and even then it was more than she’d ever taken before. Her pussy spasmed, gripping him, gushing wetness and begging for more. He withdrew slowly, drawing out her torment, and drove in again, deeper. Back and forth, plundering further and further into her womanhood with every turn of his bestial hips, until her head tossed back and forth, her mouth agape and eyes screwed tight at the hopeless pleasure of it all. Finally, after an eternity, it seemed that all of him was finally burried inside her. The head bulled against her cervix, crushing it, pushing deep into her belly. She cried out as she came then, harder than she’d ever had before. Her hands clutched at her tits, squeezing them, as she raised her hips off the soft mossy bed and offered herself, totally, to her monstrous conqueror.
Nothing could compare to this. She was filled, maximally. She could feel every ridge of every vein as it throbbed inside her, as that taming cock made her his. Having tasted of it, she would never be able to live without it now, never be able to deny him. Her body would crave submission, would eagerly beg to be serviced by that magnificent organ, again and again. She opened her hooded eyes, looked up into his cruel, glowing orbs…and surrendered completely.
“Please, more, please don’t stop, I need more…neeed…moooOOOHHH!!!”
He pulled back, and drove back in. Harder. Faster. Like the sex puppet she now was, urged by her master’s silent command, her hands rose to clutch and squeeze the quivering flesh of her breasts, her fingers tormented her own nipples. She moaned in ecstacy, playing with herself, losing herself in the sex trance that he’d snared her in. Now the true fucking began.
He pushed her knees up alongside her breasts, spreading her totally for him, while he plowed his king’s cock in and out of her desperate pussy. Her eyes were shut, her head tossed back and forth as waves of pleasure sealed her fate. She was his now, totally and forever, and there, in the dark, she began her supplication.
“Oh yes! YES! Oh fuck me! Fuck me! OH GOD! OHH!”
The beast enjoyed feeling her explode around his cock, relished her surrender. He was in no hurry. He would fuck her slowly, quickly, however he wanted until he was satisfied. He would fuck her mindless, fuck her until she was nothing but his eager sex slave, his first disciple in this new and strange world.
Her orgasms echoed through the cave, and would continue to…all through the long, humid night.
Miss Americana vs The Horned God
Chapter 2: Brides of the Beast
by Soul in Shadow (firstname.lastname@example.org)
He’d left a plaintive message for her alter ego, Miss Americana, begging her to look into the problem.
The forest was normally outside her jurisdiction; Delta City usually had more than enough crime to keep her busy, but a change of pace was very appealing to the wealthy brunette. Besides, as Tessa had pointed out during their last web conference, the whole mystery seemed to start right around the time DeltaNatural, a local blast mining and natural gas conglomorate, had begun fracking activities in the forest hills. Brenda found their attitude about environmental conservation absolutely repugnant, and hoped that Miss Americana’s high-profile could help cast some much needed sunlight on their shady activities.
But Tessa was still speaking, pulling her from her reverie.
“Not all of the missing are related,” she said, “Many of them I’ve been able to eliminate from our search matrix by pinning them to other police investigations. The Commissioner has a nice fat envelope of my notes to help spur those along.” She beamed, adjusting her oversized glasses. Brenda smiled back.
“Always going above and beyond,” she said, “That’s my Tessa!”
The young researcher blushed noticeably, fidgeting a little uncomfortably at the complement, “Um, yeah, it’s no big deal really. Most of them are just runaways or drug-related. But these,” she hit a few keys off-screen, and suddenly Brenda’s monitor was filled with the pictures of three young, attractive women. “These are more troubling.”
Brenda leaned forward, trying to memorize the faces. “Go on.”
Tessa cleared her throat. “These young women have all vanished within the last week. They all live within a ten mile radius of the DeltaNatural mining operation in the forest hills. The first victim, Sandra Howlett, has no immediate family in the area, no spouse, no children. She’s 22, just moved to the area. Works for DeltaNatural, actually, but that seems to be coincidence and not casual at this point. Neighbors reported her missing after they found her dog in the back yard, unattended, her house empty, and her car still in the garage. This was 2 days PBE.”
PBE. Post-Blast Event, what Tessa called the fracking explosions that had rocked the area a week ago. So Sandy had been missing for five days.
The second photo swiveled to the foreground. A pretty girl, short red hair, wearing what looked like a school uniform.
“Angie Blake,” Tessa explained, “19, goes to a local college, lives off campus here, near the forest trails on the north edge of our perimiter. Went missing 4 days PBE. Friends say she drove to the park to do an evening run through the forest trails, and never came home. Police found her car. No apparent signs of violence.”
The last picture came forward, an older woman, with long dark hair and elegant features. “Carmen Santiago,” said Tessa, “Wife of Jacob Santiago, the—”
“I know who Jacob Santiago is,” Brenda interrupted, sighing in annoyance. “He’s a local real estate mogul. Pervy old fart. I run into him every month at the Delta City Rotary Club. He’s had a new wife every three years since I’ve known him, and he’s been around here much longer than that!”
Tessa nodded, “Mr. Santiago is also a major contributor to the Mayor’s campaign. His wife Carmen went missing 6 days PBE, this time from their private home, located here, along the Delta City lakefront. You’ll notice they sit adjacent to the forest edge. Unlike the others, this time our perp seems to have acted more boldly. He broke into the house, tripping every alarm and security system they have on the place. Tore right through the french doors on their patio, abducting Mrs Santiago before escaping back into the woods.”
“Pretty ballsy,” Brenda quipped, now putting two-and-two together. The Mayor’s call had come exactly two days ago—right after Carmen’s abduction. Clearly, Jacob Santiago was worried about his wife, and had pressured the Mayor into taking action. “Awful nice of Mr. Santiago to pull so many strings to find his wife.”
Tessa smiled ruefully, “Well…sort of. It seems he took out a fairly sizeable life insurance policy on her a year or so ago. If it turns out she’s dead, he’s looking at a six figure payoff.”
Brenda snapped her head up, bile burning the back of her throat. Slime ball. “Do you think he’s involved somehow?”
But Tessa was shaking her head. “Not likely. Mr Santiago always takes out big insurance policies on his wives. Elaborate pre-nups too. He doesn’t keep them around very long, and Carmen was overstaying his…replacement pattern by a year already. He was probably getting ready to dump her for a newer model. He’s just after the incidental payout.”
Charming, Brenda frowned. “Did the Santiago house have any surveillance cameras? Did they catch anything?”
Tessa nodded quickly, straightening, eager to get to the point. “Oh yeah! They had them all over the place. Proximity cameras, set to trigger on movement or when the alarm system went off. In this case, both. Mind you, the footage was really spotty. there was some kind of weird localized interference around the point of entry, so none of the closest cameras were able to pick anything up. I did manage to find something on a perimiter camera though. Check THIS out.”
She called up the footage. The camera was apparently affixed atop a security fence post. It panned back and forth a few times, the black and white imagery of dense forest seemingly utterly innocuous. Then, suddenly, something large and dark darted across the screen, distantly, some hundred feet or so from the camera. Brenda leaned forward, trying to get a closer look. It was only on screen for a brief moment, pausing at the base of the fence, before vaulting over the wall in a single leap and disappearing from view.
“Holy cow,” Brenda gasped, “What the hell was that?”
Tessa rewound the footage to just before the shadow arrived. “The camera was pretty far away, which is why it was unnaffected by whatever interference screwed up the ones at the house, but I passed the footage through sequential image filtering, and was able to get a better look. It’s not HD, but…well…you’ll see.”
And see she did. When Tessa resumed play with the filtered video image, the difference was night and day. The shadow levels had all been reduced, the contrast improved; Brenda could see the details of the forest and the base of the fence. Then, the thing appeared, and Brenda couldn’t believe her eyes.
The monster—it could only be described as such, Brenda didn’t know what else to call it—was huge, and fast. It loped across the forest floor effortlessly on two massively muscled, hooved legs. A long tail swished in its wake. A rack of intimidating horns crowned its head. It was utterly demonic looking, utterly sinister, and on its far shoulder, the limp body of Carmen Santaigo was slung. It reached the fence, stopped, backed away. The horned head swivelled side to side, apparently gauging the length of the barrier…before deciding simply to jump over it.
It was a moment before Brenda could speak. “I don’t believe it.”
“I know! Isn’t it awesome? All those rumors about a local Jersey Devil, it looks like they were right!” Tessa was grinning; apparently the idea of an actual monster didn’t phase her in the slightest. Quite the opposite, she seemed positively excited at the prospect.
Geeks, Brenda thought, I’ll never understand them.
“So we have our perp,” Brenda said, standing up. “Do you have any idea where he might be keeping the girls?”
Tessa called up a map of the area. She had circled five spots on the map. “Geological studies show a small network of caves in the area. These are the largest ones, which are about the only ones capable of housing something that big. By my estimate our perp stands about eight feet tall, weighing somewhere between three hundred to four hundred pounds of pure monster muscle. That fence he jumped? It’s fifteen feet tall. He didn’t even take a running leap at it, just jumped it straight. That’s NUTS.”
Tessa’s smile flickered, uncertain, “He’s strong. Like, REALLY strong. Are you sure you’ll be ok?”
It was Brenda’s turn to smile now, as she reassured her informant and friend. “I’ve fought thugs just as strong as he is. I can handle him. Remember sweety, it’s not about how big they are.”
Well, not the way Tessa meant, anyway, Brenda thought with a chuckle.
Brenda rose and began striding to her equipment wall. She slid open a hidden compartment, where her uniform as Miss American lay hidden. Her star spangled bra and bikini, her power belt, her red gloves and knee-high boots. And most importantly, her mask. She began to pull the articles out. “Can you print this off for me? I need to get out there before he hurts those girls, if there’s any chance I can get to them alive.”
“Already done,” Tessa replied, “The folio is waiting for you on your desk. But Miss Americana, there’s one more thing.”
Brenda stopped, looking back at Tessa to see that worried look return to her face. “Yeah Tessa, what is it?”
“The first victim disappeared 2 days PBE. The second one, 4 days PBE. Carmen was abducted 6 days PBE.”
Brenda nodded in understanding. “So he’s got a pattern, so what? I’m going to catch him before he is able to hurt anyone else.”
“That’s what I mean,” Tessa said, “Tonight will be 8 days PBE. You might be out there looking for our perp Miss Americana…but he’s going to be out as well. Hunting.”
Despite herself, Brenda felt a shiver run down her spine.
“Just be careful, ok? I’ll see what else I can dig up on this thing.”
Tessa’s video portrait went blank. Brenda paused a moment, letting the whole thing sink in. It was so beyond weird. She didn’t normally deal with honest to god monsters. The video footage from the fence camera was on loop, showing the creature’s escape again and again. Brenda waited till it started over, and hit the slow command on the console. A few moments later, she hit pause.
There, fixed on screen, was the shadowed face of the creature that had abducted those three women, staring at the camera before he would vault the fence. It was like he knew it was there, she thought, as she studied the horror on the monitor.
But as she stared at that demonic face, as her eyes studied the way those orbs glowed hellishly green in the dim, a strange feeling passed through the buxom super heroine. As she stared into the monster’s eyes, her own seemed to glaze over, a strange, not unpleasant warmth spreading through her body. She stood there, wavering, staring into the monster’s eyes far longer than she intended. They seeemd to be getting bigger, deeper, filling her vision…so hard to…look away…
Uncounted moments passed before she pulled herself out of it, blinking suddenly, feeling dizzy, disoriented. She brushed the hair out of her face, a little unnerved. “Weird…” she muttered, shaking the cobwebs away, as she went to get changed. Yet still she couldn’t quite banish the memory of those piercing, glowing eyes from her mind. She didn’t know what was worse, the way her hands trembled slightly as she slipped out of her dark slacks, or the way her nipples had hardened to pleasurable, rapt attention beneath her expensive blouse.
* * *
Sandra’s own pussy quivered sympathetically. No one could help Carmen now. She would be his willing, eager cock puppet for as long as it took the master to find satisfaction.
A nearby stirring drew Sandra’s attention. Curled beside her on the bed of furs lay the second girl, Angie, the young red-head the master had brought to their den a few days after he took Sandra. She was asleep despite Carmen’s cries, dreaming fitfully, and of what Sandra had a pretty good idea. The girl’s body was flushed, and between her tightly-squeezed thighs Sandra could see copious amounts of fresh wetness drooling down. Every waking moment for them was consumed by sex. Their dreams were no different. The master visited them there too, where the memory of him fueled the most vivid sexual fantasies and nightmares. They awoke to their breasts engorged, their pussies aching, their bodies and minds primed to serve their master.
With almost sisterly affection, Sandra gently brushed a lock of Angie’s hair out of her face, gazing down the young woman’s naked body with growing…hunger. At first she was startled by how quickly her mind seemed to be changing, how rapidly she seemed to accept her new place in her master’s bed, but he made it impossible to resist him. Every day he came to her, and every day she submitted to him, more eagerly each time. She craved him, ached without him, and it was only when she was on her back, spread wide, lost in endless ecstacy as he had his way with her, that she felt whole. At peace.
She was his first, she thought with some pride. He had chosen her to be his bride. First of many…but still first. That gave her a sense of authority over the other girls. They were sisters now, bound by the same chains of lust and submission to their lord and master. And just as they were his for the taking, the newer wives, Sandra felt, were hers.
More aggressively now, she carefully rolled Angie onto her back, staring intently at the redhead’s inflamed nipples, her perky breasts, her scandalously bare pussy. Sandra siddled up to her sleeping sister, purring as she rubbed her own needy clit against her silky thigh. Angie stirred, but stayed asleep. Periodically she would sigh or moan, as her dreams elicited those sweet sounds of subjugation from her slender throat.
Sandra traced her long, slender fingers down the sleeping girl’s stomach, pausing at the soft rise of her bare mons before sliding down, between the engorged and wet labia, to take possession of the girl’s hot, hard little clit.
Angie gasped, startling awake, as Sandra gave her littel button a loving squeeze. “Wha-what’s happening? S-sandra, what are you—oooh…!”
She shuddered. Sandra’s fingers were doing magical things to her clit, but Angie hadn’t been a prisoner as long as Sandra had. Part of her still understood that this was wrong, that they had been taken against their will. She tried to push the older woman away, to escape those maddening fingers. “No, please stop, this isn’t right! Sandra—ah! P-please, let me go!’
Her reluctance thrilled the older blonde. A predatory smile pulled at her full lips, as she slipped an arm under her young victim, pulling her tight against her, trapping her leg between her own and preventing her escape. Angie struggled harder, trying to pull free, but her body was lethargic from sleep, and Sandra’s wicked fingers were not still.
Even as the redhead tried to pull away, those questing digits were doing terrible, terrible things to her engorged clitoris. They caressed, pressed, massaged, and squeezed, all with the knowing familiarity only a woman has for another woman’s body. Despite herself, Angie’s protests grew weaker, her struggles sporadic, as her body came alive to her sister’s masterful touch. “N-no…oh god….noooohhh.”
“That’s it dear,” Sandra breathed, brushing her red lips against the other girl’s sensitive ear. “Relax for me, let me pleasure you. I can see how badly you need it. Your body doesn’t lie. Let Sandra take you away…”
When Sandra sent her hot, sinuous tongue into her ear, Angie just melted. Her feeble struggling slowed, then stopped. She was too hot, too turned on, and Sandra’s fingers felt so, so good. They were unhurried, and so gentle; it was an intoxicating change from the furious, merciless pounding her master could administer, and her body responded eagerly. Her eyes began to droop shut, her protests dissolving into moans, and her thighs slowly, unwillingly spread for her assertive sister wife.
Sandra relished the dominance she held over the beautiful redhead. She toyed with her, moving faster and harder to accelerate her orgasm, then slowing and drawing down to prolong the agony. Soon, Angie’s voice joined with Carmen’s in a chorus of sexual submission; one to the rigid pole of masculinity that forced orgasm after orgasm from ravaged pussy flesh, and another to the conquering dance of knowing fingers as they drew out forbidden pleasure.
“Sandra! Oh Sandra, y-you’re making me…you’re going to make me…!”
“Yesss!” the older woman hissed, speeding up her attack, “Come for me baby. Give in. Let go.” She pulled the redhead close, turning her head. She brushed Angie’s panting, parted lips with her own. “Submit,” she whispered, and sealed it with a deep, dominating kiss.
Angie exploded, gasping and crying out into Sandra’s hot, open mouth. Their tongues danced together amid Angie’s groans of release. She shuddered in Sandra’s embrace, sinking into it. Sandra rode her orgasm, her fingers never ceasing, forcing more and more pleasure onto the hot, helpless redhead. Angie quivered, succumbing to Sandra’s kiss, groaning as the woman’s tongue plundered her mouth. Her body stiffened, she cried out…then went still.
She’s passed out, Sandra realized, slowing her assault until she was just idly toying with her captive’s sopping cunt. Poor dear. Sandra would have to wake her up soon, and make her return the favor.
Sandra pulled away from their tangled embrace at the increasingly frantic and desperate sounds from Carmen. She looked back to see the other woman rocking back, faster and faster, fucking herself on their master’s divine cock as her breasts swung erotically beneath her. She went rigid, eyes flying open, as he sank in as deep as he could go, and unloaded into her eagerly sucking vagina. The horned god groaned, and Carmen cried out, as they came together. Her arms trembled, then gave way, so that she collapsed onto the soft fur pelt, her panting face to the fire, and her ass still offered up and out to the monster crouched behind her.
He pulled his spurting cock out, and despite the prodigious amount of cum he’d already shot into her pussy, let loose another stream of jism across the round globes of her ass and down her back. Thick ropes of it slid down her thighs and dripped out of her gaping pussy.
He left her there, ass trembling in the firelight, and rounded the chamber in long, easy strides until he came to his two other sluts. His cock was still hard. It swayed, thick and glistening, with every step. Sandra stared at it with open need, licking her lips in anticipation.
He reached them, and wordlessly knelt down. She saw with some satisfaction the gleam of approval that passed his face when he saw what she had done. Maybe she would take Angie again, put on a little show for him, to work her will on her delicious sister until he was inspired to fuck them at the same time.
But for now, Sandra knew what he wanted, and moved quickly between his open thighs to take that gigantic penis into her eager mouth. He was still much too big for her to swallow completely, but oh how she tried, plaintively moaning as she sucked the mingling of fluids from his heated shaft. She could taste Carmen’s familiar flavor, and beneath that, the overwhelming richness of his own cum. Lovingly she cleaned his cock, until the shaft gleamed and the head shone in the firelight of the den.
A breeze of cool air passed through the chamber, and her Master seemed to perk up. His nostrils flared, his eyes narrowing to firery slits. She barely noticed. Her hand had begun firmly milking the base of his engorged member as she licked up the precum that oozed from the tip. “Master, what is it?” she asked, between licks.
“Someone is coming,” the monster replied, tasting the unfamiliar scent. “Someone different. Strong.” He looked down at his adoring slut, and pet her cheek with a taloned finger. She mewled appreciatively. “I will soon bring you a new toy to play with,” he promised. “You make your Master proud, my little slave.”
She beamed in pride. She gave him a loving suck. In the dark of the cave, Sandra’s eyes had taken on a dim, hellish green glow. “Thank you, master. And please…”
She rose up, wrapping her arms around his great neck, and pressed her large breasts against his furry chest. “Please,” she breathed, as sweetly as possible, “Fuck me again before you leave…!”
Miss Americana vs The Horned God
Chapter 3 — Eyes of the Beast
by Soul in Shadow (email@example.com)
“Three spots down,” she murmured to herself, noting the targets she’d already investigated, “and nothing to show for it.” She panned the map just slightly north of her position and saw the fourth marker. It sat over what appeared to be a the foot of one of the areas larger mountains, nestled between two diverging river streams. She was nearly at the heart of the circular search radius Tessa had triangulated based on the locations of the kidnapped girls. On foot it had taken her almost five hours to get this far, but she was hardly a normal human being. Her strength and speed had helped her cover significant distance across incredibly rough terrain in half the time it would have taken even the best forest ranger. The champion of Delta City was formidable, but even she was starting to have doubts about being able to cover the entire area in one night.
A pang of worry had started to nag at her since the second target site turned up nothing, one that had been growing increasingly anxious as the night progressed. She feared for those girls, feared that even now she was already too late. At each of the last three sites she had explored with dreadful certainty that she would stumble upon their massacred remains, nothing but another meal for this hellish creature. It was almost a relief that she hadn’t found anything yet. That meant there was still a chance. There was still hope.
A wisp of wind rustled the treetops, and Miss Americana froze. The hairs on the back of her neck pricked up, and a low sense of alarm fluttered in her belly. She spun, expecting something—anything—to move in the surrounding shadows, but there was only the forest. That in and of itself was worrisome, she thought. Normally she should have at least seen the fleeing of animals, or heard the drone of insects…but the forest, absent the sound of leaves rustling in the wind, was dreadfully quiet. She felt utterly alone, and the solitude was starting to play on her nerves.
Just the wind, she thought to herself, but she could’t quite shake the feeling that she was being watched.
She checked her compass, made mental note of the visual guides she could follow from the landscape, and stowed the tablet. Righteous determination spurred her on, and she leapt down the hillside. The fourth target was only about half an hour north, closer if she hurried.
What Miss Americana failed to notice was the large, dark form that was silently stalking her path. She did not notice the gleam of hungry eyes that devoured her superhuman physique. It had been centuries since last he’d seen a woman like this! Her flowing raven hair, the alabaster smoothness of her skin, her long, strong legs, and those impossibly large, bouyant breasts, she was a PRIZE. And dressed in such revealing clothing! It was as if these modern females were simply begging to be ravished. Already he felt his lust surging, and it was only with some difficulty that the beast held himself back. He could sense that this one was different. The ease and speed at which she moved spoke to her physical prowess. This one might have even put up a fight, had he sought to engage her directly. Though part of him yearned for battle, it was only against the forces of men that he wished to slake his bloodlust.
He had other, far more effective ways of subduing females.
He had no need to chase her down; the fool was walking right into the heart of his domain. Soon she would come upon his lair, where evidently she hoped to take him unaware.
He chuckled to himself, moving with utter silence and tremendous speed. How naive of her. How utterly arrogant. This beautiful doe was walking right into the lions den, so prideful in her own abilities that she thought she could best him.
He would relish putting her in her place.
It was midnight by the time Miss American reached the fourth target location on her map.
She braced a red-gloved hand against the thick trunk of a nearby tree and stopped to catch her breath. She’d run hard to get this far so quickly, and the going had been tougher than she’d anticipated. She’d managed to cut her travel time by a third or so. Every minute was important, if it meant being able to save those girls from that monster.
She was at the base of the Whitestone Hills, a series of small rises in terrain that were the hallmark of this satellite town of Delta City. Though quite beautiful and a prized location for hiking, they were far too remote to realistically attract any meaningful tourism, and for whatever reason, the township of Whitestone had steadfastly resisted efforts to intrude on the space. Whitestone was an odd township though, anachronistic almost. The town had been established many years ago, predating Delta city itself, a forgotten outpost descended from Puritan explorers. Their descendants were rigidly traditional, and often made allusions to being the caretakers of the forest. They were among the most outspoken critics of DeltaNatural’s efforts to frack mine the region, and were almost apoplectic when Delta City, under its eminent domain clause, offered a small section of the Whitestone Hills to DeltaNatural purely as a ‘prospecting site’.
The mine itself was barely two miles from her present location; it was situated almost at the center of the search region on her map.
“Makes sense,” Miss Americana thought, “If the blasts from the site somehow woke this thing up, it would naturally stick close to its original home…”
She looked up at the hillside. The face was a little too sheer to safely climb without equipment, even if the rise was eighty or ninety feet up. Miss Americana resolved to follow along the base of the hill, heading west, until the terrain allowed for easier ascension. She was looking for a cave, and the mountain seemed to be the best place to start looking.
She traced her way along the rocky foothills. Here the trees grew scarcer, and the moonlight ignited the landscape in bright silver hues. She’d only been walking a few minutes when something made her stop in her tracks.
A dozen or so yards away, there looked to be a break in the mountain face, on a terrace slightly higher than her present elavation. She might have missed it totally…except for the strange, green mist that seemed to be seeping down the rocky rise leading up the terrace. It slipped and flowed, oozing eerily between the rocks, a green river of thick smoke nearly ankle-deep.
Ok, she thought, that’s definitely weird.
Cautiously, she began following the current of the flowing mist. She picked her way between the rocks, moving as quietly as she could. She failed to notice how the mist seemed to cling to her boots…how long, wispy tendrils licked at her calves. She pressed on, and soon came to a large, wide opening in the hillside. The entrance to the cave was masked by old overgrowth and shielded from the path below by large, fallen boulders. If she hadn’t noticed the mist, she would have missed it entirely.
The mist was much thicker here, nearly knee-deep. The miasma was pouring out of the mouth of the cave, where inside, it appeared even thicker.
Miss Americana hesitated. Could it be some kind of natural gas? What if it was methane, or something worse? But she couldn’t for the life of her recall any deadly gas that looked or behaved like this.
Suddenly, from deep inside the cave, she noticed the dim, flickering glow of firelight.
Her heart was pounding. This had to be it!
The fire made her feel a little better about the gas; methane would have ignited, and this stuff…cautiously, she knelt down, and very gingerly, took a whiff.
It didn’t smell…bad, per se, just…odd. Like overturned loam, or moldering leaves. She risked a longer, deeper breath, inhaling until her enourmous tits strained at their confining bikini top. Not just leaves and earth, she realized, but something…animal too. Something very….male.
She stood up, made to step forward, and had to catch herself on the mouth of the cave as she unnexpectedly stumbled. She blinked hard, as a sudden wave of dizziness came over her. Must have stood up too fast or something, she thought, trying to shake away the cobwebs and only mostly succeeding. Weird.
Whatever the mist was, it didn’t appear to be toxic, and she’d come too far to turn back now. She would have to trust her enhanced stamina to hold off any ill effects, if there were any at all.
She didn’t realize that her stumble had knocked her tablet loose from her belt holster. It fell into the thick mists, landing quietly on a patch of thick moss, unnoticed, as Miss American entered the dark and misty maw.
A few steps in and the ground seemed to slope down sharply. She held a hand against the wall of the cave to keep her bearing. She wouldn’t risk activating her flashlight now, she would just have to move carefully. Distantly, the glow of firelight continued to flicker. The path leveled off after a brief descent, and the passage remained open and mostly unobstructed. The mist was hip-deep now, and in the dark of the cave, Miss Americana could see that it actually had a vague luminescence. It totally obscured the ground, but it did help guide her way, and for that she was thankful. As immersed as she was though, the heady aroma of the mist was much stronger, and seemed to be growing stronger still as she moved further and further into the cave.
Forty feet or so in, and she had to pause a moment to collect herself. Something was wrong. Was it getting warmer? It certainly felt that way. Her skin felt flushed. She could feel color riding high on her hot cheeks. And why did she suddenly feel so…drowsy?
This is nonsense, she scolded herself, you’ve been running hard for half the night. Of course you’re fatigued. As for the warmth, it had to be from the fire up ahead, insulated as she was in the deep of the cave.
She pressed on. The glow was coming from a bend up ahead, just a little further. She had to find those girls.
Beneath the surface of the mist, Miss Americana couldn’t see how the miasma eagerly clung to her passage, caressing her calves, her thighs, the swell of her toned ass and the soft, gentle mound of her sex hidden beneath her bikini cut panties. The touch was barely perceptible, but despite her enhanced physiology’s best attempts to resist, slowly, the ancient poison was beginning to weave its sinister spell on the unsuspecting superheroine.
Only a little further, she thought, breathing harder from the exertion of moving her slowing legs, drawing more and more of that heady musk into her lungs as she did so. It was good that she had the wall of the cave to hold on to, she was starting to feel a little light-headed.
Finally, she reached the bend in the path, and pressed her back against the wall of the passage before carefully peering around the corner.
The voice that greeted her nearly made her jump.
“There is no need for stealth,” came the rumbling call from the next chamber. “Come. I’ve been expecting you.”
She snapped back into the dark passage, falling into a defensive crouch. Dammit, how did it know? It can talk? what the hell was she dealing with?
she didn’t have time to figure out an alternative. she couldn’t back away at this point. If she had been discovered, then she had no need for further pretense. She took a deep breath, and sprung into the firelight.
She was ill-prepared for what greeted her.
The cave rapidly opened up into a natural, circular chamber, with a cavernous ceiling so high it vanished into impenetrable shadow. Along the walls, makeshift sconces had been shoved into the hard rock. Sputtering torches crackled and sparked, casting the entire room in dancing orange and red. The floor of the great chamber swirled with thick green mist, a flowing whirlpool, at the center of which, seated in a great stone chair that would have dwarfed even a large man, the creature sat waiting.
It was just as monstrous as the camera footage had shown. Ram horns curled up from its broad forehead, while dark, thick fur curled out in a mane that melded into a mantle about its shoulders. Its bare chest was massive, broadly muscled, its skin the milky color of moonlight. Goat-like legs, covered in the same dark fur, ended in massive black hooves that gleamed like obsidian. A wide, toothy grin showed gleaming, wicked-sharp teeth. And its eyes, smoldering like green fire, were fixed on her and her alone, wide, staring, and openly hungry.
And his size! The camera footage barely did it justice. This beast was massive, even seating he was as tall as she was standing. Miss Americana stepped forward, swallowing hard. This wasn’t going to be easy.
The bigger they are, she reassured herself…but it was scant comfort.
“My name is Miss Americana,” she snapped at the creature, summoning all the force she could muster, “I am the protector of Delta City and all its residents. I’ve come to take back those girls you took, monster!”
He cocked his head, “Miss…Americana…” he practiced the name, the syllables unfamiliar. The creature leaned back into the throne. His head and upper chest suddenly vanished into the deep shadow cast by its high back and curved wings. Only his eyes remained visible; bright, piercing. They conveyed utter confidence. “That name is…unsuitable. Women shouldn’t have such pretentious titles.”
“And just who are you to decide that?” she shot back, anger welling inside her. She detested mysoginy. This pig would have to be taught a lesson.
“Who am I?” it responded, before chuckling low, and deep. In the chamber, the sound seemed to come from everywhere at once. “Why, my dear, I am a GOD. And this…” he jestured wide around him with his great arms. “…is my temple.”
Miss Americana shifted uncomfortably. The lightness in her head was getting worse, and her arms felt like they were moving through mud. She couldn’t see signs of the girls anywhere. The chamber appeared to be a dead end; any adjoining tunnels were hidden by the dancing shadows. God, those damn torches. The flickering light of the flames was playing tricks on her eyes, making them feel strangely…heavy.
“R-release the girls,” she ordered, “If you cooperate, I promise you a fair trial for your crimes.”
“I have lived on these lands for nine hundred years. I answer to no court of mortal man. As for the females…” his eyes betrayed a self-satisfied smile, “It think you’ll find that they no longer wish to leave.”
The way those burning eyes stared into hers was making her feel strange. She found the sound of his voice weirdly soothing, like the bubbling of a wide, dark brook. Again and again, she found her gaze being drawn to meet his, to stare into those burning orbs. It made her body feel…warm.
“What the hell do you mean by that?” she said, after slightly too long of a pause. She didn’t realize it, but she had started to sway, ever so slowly, as the dancing firelight seemed to make the room dance around her. The horned god watched her intently, seeing the way her breathing quickened, the way her shoulders had started to slump. She was trying hard to fight it, but here eyelids were beginning to droop. At last, he grinned, they could begin.
“You will see for yourself…right now.” And now he rose out of his throne, stepping away and to the side abruptly, making her reflexively step back, spinning to face him. Another sudden movement, and he was behind her, blocking off the exit. Miss Americana took a defensive step back…towards the middle of the chamber. Slowly, the beast began to stalk around her, circling. Miss Americana followed him, continually adjusting her stance, wary of any sudden movement, poised to punish any strike…but none came. The beast merely began to pace a cirlce around her, slowly, confidently, all the while staring at her with those bright, luminous eyes.
“You have traveled a very long way, my dear,” the beast said, it’s voice languid, sonorous, and strangely…compelling. “You must be feeling tired. So very, very tired.”
“I d-don’t know what you’re talking about,” Americana replied, struggling to follow his movement. Every time she turned, it felt like it took a second for her eyes to catch up. It was hard to focus, everything in the room seemed to be moving; the flickering torchlight, the swirling miasma. But she WAS feeling tired. So tired. Her thighs trembled. Her breathing was labored. The thick, green mist filled her nose with a heady, musky aroma. Warm, enveloping, heavy. She could barely catch her breath.
His pace began to quicken.
“Oh, but I do,” came the honeyed drone of his voice, echoing in the cavern. “I can see it plainly, my beautiful toy. Your breathing is labored. Your body, so very heavy. With every moment that passes, you feel the strength slowly draining out of you…”
Beautiful toy? She didn’t like the sound of that at all. It should have made her angry, should have infuriated her, but instead, the words seemed to spark an unwelcome blossom of warmth in her belly. It was getting so hard to move now, she was barely able to keep up with him as he circled the room, faster, and faster…making her head spin…making her so…dizzy…
She couldn’t focus. Everything was shifting around too fast. She was never able to stand still for more than a second before he was nearly behind her again. She couldn’t let him get behind her, in her blind spot, so she kept turning…and turning…
Her eyes were drawn, naturally, irresistably, to the only thing in the room that seemed to stay constant: the beasts deep, inviting eyes. No matter how fast he moved, or how swiftly she had to turn her head, they were always there, almost like they were floating in space. Wide. Open. Deep. It was so easy to let her tired eyes focus on those deep, glowing eyes.
He met her stare, saw with mounting satisfaction the glazed, far away look in her baby blues, and began to inch closer. Each revolution drew him closer to his prey.
“I know more, my dear,” he said, fresh cascades of the thick, green mist pouring from his fanged maw. It wafted toward her, tendrils of it caressing her face, and the swell of her heaving bossoms. “Your eyelids are getting heavy. It’s getting harder and harder to keep them open. Why not close them for a moment? Just a moment. Feel them closing…closing…”
And sure enough, Miss Americana’s eyelids began to droop. Warm, welcoming darkness filled the edges of her vision. But then, just before they shut, she seemed to find some hidden reserve, shaking her head forcefully, “N-no! I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but if you think that I’m going to let some deranged animal h-hyptnotize me, you’re crazier I thought!”
She dashed forward suddenly, surprising him with her tenacity. Such vigor! Despite the mist, despite the force of his will, still she resited him. This woman was truly magnificent! His pulse quickened, and he felt the lust surge in his loins. Breaking her, seducing her into sexual slavery, was going to be far sweeter than he imagined.
Her attack was brave, but the mists had taken their toll. Her movement was clumsy, sluggish. He avoided her easily, stepping back at the last moment, before she moved to pursue him again. Her strikes only met swirling tendrils of mist where his hulking form used to be, and to her mounting dismay, Miss Americana realized she was being toyed with. At any point he could have struck back—could probably have killed her on the spot—but he only perpetuated their dance.
He’s trying to wear me out, she realized, missing again. Her heart was throbbing from exertion, but the thundering of her pulse, the surge of adrenaline, was helping keep her focused. She was in too deep; she had come expecting some kind of wild beast, not the cunning foe she faced now. If she couldn’t find some way of changing the dynamic…
All too soon though her movements began to slow again, her attacks became more haphazard. She staggered to a halt, barely keeping her balance. She screwed her eyes shut, trying to stop the room from spinning.
“A valiant effort,” the beast chuckled, “But it’s time to put an end to this little game. You were so close before my dear. Now, you will fall completely under my spell. Come…look into my eyes…”
“N-not a chance,” she panted, “I know what you’re trying to do, and it isn’t going to work!” But even as she said it, she found her gaze being pulled irresistably back to his own. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop from staring. They seemed to draw her in, tugging at her resolve, making her feel drowsy…so, so drowsy. “Not…going to…work…”
But as the moments passed, her breathing once more began to deepen, to slow. The aggression slowly began to drain from her eyes, and a red flush rose on her cheeks, on the upper swell of her breasts.
“You’re will is strong,” the beast agreed. “A normal female would have been entranced almost instantly. But hypnosis is hardly my only weapon, my dear. I am a god of fertility, and my most potent power…is desire.”
He took a step toward her. She fell back into a combat stance, but it was about all she could do. Her arms felt like lead. Her feet felt like they were burried in sand. “S-stay back!”
“Surely you can feel it,” he said. His voice had taken on a low, smoldering bass that made her belly flutter. “You felt it as soon as you entered this chamber. A warmth, deep, primal…intoxicating…is spreading through you.”
Miss Americana wanted to deny him, but to her horror, she realized he was right. Her tired limbs…tingled. Her nipples had hardened trecherously, poking proudly into the thin fabric of her bra. Around her waist, sinuous tendrils of green mist continued their almost imperceptible caressing of her legs, her ass, her sheltered womanhood. They licked along the edges of her bikini bottom, as if trying to worm their way to the sultry, hidden treasure therein.
Worst of all, the lethargy that she’d been fighting so hard to resist now seemed almost alluring. She was so drowsy…so tired. It would be so easy to give in. To close her eyes. To lay back, and let this monster have his way with her…
Wait, what the hell, why would she think that? This beast had kidnapped those poor girls, had apparently raped them, and was even now threatening her with the same thing. It was obscene, wrong!
And yet…why was she feeling so…excited…?
He could see her struggling with her conflicting emotions, saw the way her brow furrowed in confusion, in distress. He took another step forward, and this time, Miss Americana barely moved in response.
“There’s no need to fight it, my pet,” he soothed, his voice like honey, compelling her to listen, “Just relax. Look into my eyes. Look deep, deep into my eyes. My eyes control your will. My eyes control your desire.”
“Y-you’re…wrong…I’m not…I won’t…” she halted, her protests catching in her throat, as she tried, vainly, to look away from him. But it was impossible. He had snared her. The strength began to seep from her limbs. She began to sway.
“You already are. Already your body responds to me. My pressence excites you…arouses you. Let yourself go. Look into my eyes. Yesss. Deeper. Feel the desire rising inside you. Filling you. You want to give in…you want to let go….you’re falling…falling…”
“Oh…oh god…no,” Miss Americana wailed, the blush on her cheeks unbearable, the wave of light headedness irresistable. Suddenly she swayed too far, and staggered back. She would have fallen, but the beast moved with cat-like speed, wrapping a massive arm around her waist and pulling her close. He leaned her back, pressing her side to his broad chest, supporting her effortlessly as she tried to struggle against him. “No! No, let me go, I won’t let you do this! Stop!”
Her fists beat against him ineffectually, rebounded off of his hard, muscled chest and collosal shoulders. Being so close caused her already inflamed body to smolder. She felt so weak next to him, so small. So…female.
Yes, trapped in his grasp, she felt something primal stirring inside her. She basked in his form, in his pure, bestial masculinity. She found herself sinking into his embrace. She was so tired, so very very drowsy…and the way he held her made it so easy just to let go, to lay back, to float…
“That’s it, my pet,” he whispered as she started to swoon in his arms. “You’ve been fighting for too long. You have no more strength. Give in. I will not harm you. Quite the contrary…”
His free hand came up, and before she could move to stop him, his wicked sharp talon sliced through the thin material between her breasts, and all at once, her massive, engorged breasts spilled into the open, her nipples painfully erect.
“Stop it! What are you—what are you do….oh…!”
He began gently raking up the curve of her bountiful tits with the tips of his razor-sharp claws, weaving tantilizing trails that made her glow. She managed to grab his wrist with her left hand, but the sensations from her breasts were making it hard to think, hard to focus. It felt so wrong…so…good.
She did not push his hand away.
A rush of unmistakable arousal now began to pulse through her. Every time those evil claws would caress her breast, or brush enticingly against her diamond-hard nipples, she would gasp. No one had ever made her breasts feel this way before.
As she stared, his touch began to grow firmer, more brazen. Now he hefted one tit in his monstrous hand, feeling its weight, gently squeezing until the soft, white flesh began to push out between his fingers. As he began to knowingly knead her sensitive brests, she began to pant. Her hand trembled, then slipped away from his wrist to hang limply at her side. God, he was making her feel so…oh!
“I know what you want,” he breathed, as a fresh cascade of mist bellowed from his maw to circle around her head like a halo, filling her nose and lungs once more with his alpha scent. “I know how to stoke the fire of your need. I know just how to make you tremble.”
He leaned her back so that her chest bent up towards him, offering her jutting tits to his leering mouth. It opened wide, and Miss Americana watched as an impossibly long and sinuous tongue slipped out to take her right breast into its hot, wet embrace.
“N-no!” she gasped raggedly, “Stop, don’t do that! Don’t…don’t….ohhh”
But the sensation was impossible to resist. His tongue was so long that it curled around her entire tit, squeezing it, trapping it, while the tip began to lash and circle her hard nipple. An involuntary moan was ripped from her parted lips as that sinewy tentacle did its job. Unhurriedly he moved from one breast to another, lavishing them with layers of slick spittle, until both breasts gleamed wetly in the firelight. Her whole body quivered. Between her tightly pressed thighs, her pussy began to throb. Against her will, she could feel herself growing wet. Thoughts of what other wicked pleasures that devil tongue could give began to race, unbidden and uncontrollable, through her fevered mind.
Then a sound, a sudden, light click, registered through her lusty haze. Her heart stopped. That noise, oh god, it couldn’t be…!
But to her utter dismay, her worst fears were realized. The monster held her unfastened power belt before her wide, fearful eyes, before tossing it casually across the room, where it vanished beneath the swirling mists along the cavern floor. Miss Americana groaned miserably, as what little boost the belt had been giving her was stripped away. She had only a moment to lament the loss of her power belt though, because all too quickly, the languid, lingual assault on her too-sensitive tits burried her under a fresh tide of helpless arousal.
But even as the beast licked at her breasts, his clawed hand began to move lower, lower, gliding talons down her spasming belly until they came to the front of her blue panties. She looked down in horror as it began another series of tempting strokes, this time against the sensitive flesh of her legs, her thighs. Jolts of erotic pleasure were dancing across her alabaster skin as he stroked her legs, her ass, the tight juncture of her thighs as they struggled to keep his questing fingers at bay. She should have tried to stop him. tried to swat that evil hand away, but her body wasn’t listening.
Gently, patiently, the monster toyed with her flesh. Made her squirm.
God, she was getting hot, he was making her so, so…hot!
“Spread yourself to me,” the beast whispered in her ear, the sensation of his hot breath making her quiver. “Open your legs, my pet. You know you cannot resist.”
“No…no…” she wimpered, but all too soon, her thighs began to unwillingly spread to his coaxing fingers. Just a little at first, then wider, wider, as those knowing talons began to dance up the sensivite flesh along her inner thighs, rewarding her obedience with a surge of sensation, and revealing her covered mound. Despite her protests, tell-tale wetness had seeped through the fabric as it clung to her heated sex. He paused with his finger tips just brushing above her parted knees, then slowly, slowly, he began to move up her leg.
She couldn’t take her eyes off of his hand as it moved purposefully upwards, knew she should shut her legs tight, to trap him, to halt his progress…but couldn’t. “D-don’t you dare!” she moaned, “Keep your hands off…of…me…”
But just before he reached her throbbing, covered cunt, he stopped, descended….and began to climb just as slowly back up her other thigh.
Again and again, he came close, so very very close, before moving away. Teasing her. Making her twist, and tremble, battering her resolve. Her pussy was aching. Her stomach would clench in anticipation as he neared her the front of her covered sex, and then shudder anxiously as he dropped away. She started to pant, then moan. Her thighs spread even wider, and her hips began to unconsciously thrust against his questing hand.
Oh God, was he right? Was he really some kind of…of sex god…? Is that why he could make her feel the way she did, so utterly turned on, so helpless in his strong, dominating embrace?
Finally, apparently satisfied at the overheated, struggling mess he’d made of her, the monster’s talons flickered twice, slicing fabric, and her soaked uniform fell away. At last her soaked pussy was laid bare to him, naked and vulnerable. When he saw her bald cunt lips, he chuckled derisively. “You fancy yourself a hero, and yet you groom yourself like a slut. For that is what you truly are: not a hero at all, but a ssslut,” he hissed the word into her ear, searing it into her mind. Her eyes fluttered as she whimpered in denial. His hand returned to the super-sensitized flesh of her inner thigh, and once more, slowly began to rise.
This time, she knew, they would not stop.
“Ssslut….ssslave….you cannot deny it…”
“No, I’m Miss Americana…I’m not a…a…” She couldn’t say it. She was afraid if she said it, she would know it was a lie. Her cunt twitched in need as that conquering hand drew closer, closer.
What if he’s right, she sobbed inwardly. Why else would she be letting him touch her like this? Why wouldn’t her body obey her? Her thighs were slick with her own juices. The feeling of his fingers slipping closer and closer to her pussy was beyond arousing. She ached for him to end it, to touch her there, and when he finally did…!
“Oh…! Oh….God…noo….OOOH!” she moaned, as his masterful hand finally, mercilessly, cupped against her throbbing sex. She melted in his arms, as the waves of pleasure he had been denying her began to crash against her battered will. Her wetness gushed against his fingers, though he only barely moved. He was content to hold her there, at her most vulnerable point, enjoying the sensation of her gooey wetness oozing against him. The lips of her pussy spread easily for him, and the fleshy nub of her clit stood out proudly from its protective hood. He brushed his fingers against it, making her swoon.
“Sssaaay it….” he hissed, slowly, methodically assaulting her sex. He played with her, a languid, messy manipulation, stroking up and down her overheated pussy and forcing her to moan in wicked pleasure. “Sssay it….ssslut….sssaaaay it….sssssluuut…”
Over and over he whispered his demand for her submission, his voice alluring, irresistable, mesmerizing. The pleasure of his hand made it impossible to think, impossible to gather her will, for each time she began to struggle, he merely had to brush against her engorged clit to send her crashing back down. Her panting grew ragged. She couldn’t escape. She bucked against his stroking hand, no longer able to control her trecherous hips. She could only think about the desperate, overwhelming NEED that he had stoked in her. She was too hot. Too turned on. She felt like any moment she might completely explode, but his fingers never let her get that far. They tormented her. She was so close. It would only take a little more, just a little more pressure, just a harder caress….but he would not let her come. She wanted to come. She NEEDED to come…!
Wordlessly, she began mouthing the words he was whispering into her drugged, receptive mind. Her eyes were hooded, glazed, staring sightlessly up at the black shadows on the cavern ceiling. She was floating on a cloud of pleasure, rising higher, and higher. She could not stop herself.
“…slut…” she barely whispered, and abruptly, his fingers grew still. She squirmed against his hand desperately, begging him to keep going, to keep touching her there. Oh god it felt so good.
“Louder,” he hissed. Tears of shame welled in her eyes.
“No…please…I can’t…oooh”, she groaned as his hand began stroking harder. Assaulting her. Making her shake. His control of her clitoris was absolute. She moaned helplessly.
Tears rolled down her hot cheeks. Her hips swayed to the rhythm of his devilish fingers. Her body sagged, melted…she could take no more of the delicious, wicked torture.
“S-sslut..” she breathed, then gasped as waves of pleasure rewarded her admission. He assaulted her clit, massaging, squeezing, perfectly in synch with the rising submissiveness in her moans. “Slut….slut…” she panted as he fingered her. Every time she said it, he rewarded her, manipulating her clitoris, driving her closer, closer. “I’m…I’m a….OOOH!!”
His fingers moved purposefully now, one thick digit beginning to probe at the entrance to her pussy, dipping in, opening her up. He trapped her clitoris beneath the pad of his thumb and began grinding it against the firmness of her pelvic bone. Miss Americana began to cry out, thrusting her hips, so close…so very close…!
“Whose slut are you?” he said, maneuvering her in his embrace so that her lolling head turned to face him, until she was staring up at his cruel, grinning visage, her eyes hooded, glazed. He stared into them. “Say it.”
She tried to fight him. She tried to muster even an ounce more resistance, but her body was hopelessly in his control…and she no longer had the will to resist his dominating gaze.
Her baby blue eyes fluttered, drooped, and as the conquering manipulation of her sex continued, began to slowly…slowly…shut. Her ruby lips let out a long moan of pleasure, of resignation, then she whispered:
“Your slut. I am…your…slut…!”
The monster grinned down at his entranced conquest, totally in his power. “That’s my good little slave. Now…here is your reward.”
The finger that had been dangerously circling the opening of her vagina suddenly stopped, and began to press into her, filling her up, massaging the throbbing walls of her pussy while his thumb rolled against her clit. His finger was as long and thick as any man’s cock, and her pussy clenched around it, squeezing, sucking him in deeper and deeper. She could only moan helplessly as he began to slide it in and out, in and out, faster and faster. Her hips rocked eagerly against his hand. The thick feeling of penetration, the friction against her clit, and most of all, the release as her mind finally succumbed to his hypnotic domination sent her over the edge.
“OH my god…OH god yess…yesssss…YESSSSSSSSS!!!”
The champion of justice exploded in the monster’s torrid embrace, her body spasming, cradled like a doll in his sexual grip. She wailed in ecstacy as the orgasm he’d long been denying her finally came crashing down, surging, overwhelming, until finally, mercifully, Miss Americana passed out.
The beast chuckled in satisfaction, as he continued to manipulate her heated sex through her body’s helpless spasms. A second, smaller orgasm followed her first, he felt it as her pussy clamped down greedily on his probing digit, but the only sign Miss Americana gave was a weak, powerless moan. He was cementing in her mind the feeling of overwhelming pleasure that came with her submission to him. It would make the next step so much more satisfying. It would lay the seed for her total and utter surrender.
“Sleep now, my lovely slave, and dream of my touch. From now on, when you are in my pressence, your body will unconsciously crave this pleasure I give. Now sleep. Dream. Obey.”
He watched as her eyes began to flutter beneath her eyelids. A fresh blush of color rose on her cheeks, and her red lips fell open in a soft moan. He gave her rigid clitoris one last rolling caress before finally removing his hand from her sopping pussy. He brought it to his fanged mouth, where his long tongue snaked out to taste her sweet wetness. Gathering her up, he cradled the overcome superheroine in his demonic arms, and carried his newest victim deeper into his temple of vile hedonism.
The thick, green mist swirled in his wake.
Miss Americana vs The Horned God
Chapter 4: Den of the Beast
by Soul in Shadow (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Her brow furrowed in confusion, then realization came crashing down on the horrified superheroine.
The beast! He had—she’d let him—oh god where was she now?
She turned, looking about, her heart hammering in her chest. She was in another part of the cave complex, but unlike the natural cavern in which she’d encountered the monster, this one was chisled, refined. The walls were carefully carved with long, standing murals, though the carvings themselves looked like they’d degraded over the years so as to be barely recognizeable. Worn brass censershung from black chains along the edge of the chamber, though whatever incense they once held had turned to dust long ago. Tall candelabras dripped with ages of built up wax, and fresh candles sputtered in their sconces, lending a dim glow to the room. She herself was lying on a raised dias against one wall. It was a rounded pedestal, almost like the frame of a great, stone bed. It had been filled with layers of animal pelts to act as a mattress, and as Miss Americana shifted to sit up, it sagged with welcoming softness beneath her weight.
She struggled to remember what had happened, but her mind was so foggy. She remembered finding the mist-shrouded passage, remembered her surprise to find the beast waiting for her in the chamber that followed, and after that…
She flushed in shame. She couldn’t remember everything, but what she did remember was bad enough. He had drugged her somehow, subdued her with some kind of strange animal hypnosis…but everything after that was muddled, and if she thought about it too much, the dizzy spell threatened to knock her back down.
She looked down at her naked body. The monster had stripped her, she seemed to remember. Worse, he’d taken her power belt, though she didn’t think he knew what it actually did. She cursed under her breath. She’d been caught totally by surprise, and now she was somewhere in the cavernous complex the thing had called his…temple.
Power belt or not, she couldn’t just lie there until it came back. She had to find those girls and find a way out of this hellish place.
She shifted onto her side, and let out a loud, startled gasp as a sudden jolt of unnexpected pleasure. Her movement had caused her thighs to press together, and had inadvertently squeezed her incredibly sensitive mound. She reached down, winced as she tested herself with her fingers, and raised her hand back up. The tips of her red gloves gleamed wetly in the dim light.
What the hell…? She was soaked. Was it…her dream? What was wrong with her?
“Awake at last, I see.”
The voice made her jump, and she sprang onto all fours, and faced the carved portal at the far end of the room. But instead of the monstrous form of the beast, in the doorway stood the tall, lithe form of a woman. Her curvy figure was draped in white fabric that might have been silk, tied around her neck, gliding down her torso in two strips that covered her breasts before joining at her waist turning into a long, flowing skirt. The dress covered all the essential parts, but was scandalous for what it left bare; her breasts spilled out on either side of the strips of silk, and the front flap of the skirt totally revealed the entire lengths of her toned legs and her bare hips, and her tight, round ass. A simple chord was cinched around her waist, holding everything together. She was barefoot. Her blonde hair was tossled wildly around her head, and she was staring at Miss Americana with bright, relfective eyes. Almost catlike. It had to be some trick of the light. Suddenly, recognition flashed in Miss Americana’s mind.
“You’re Sandra Howlett!” she exclaimed, shocked and relieved at the same time. “You’re alive! But the others, are they…?”
“Yes, we are all here,” Sandy answered, drinking in the sight of Miss Americana’s large, naked breasts with brazen openess. She continued to stare as she turned her head to call over her shoulder, “She’s awake. Bring a basin of water, and some cloth.”
A moment later, two more figured slid into the room, a young redhead and a woman with long, dark hair. Angie Blake and Carmen Santiago, Miss Americana realized. The two were dressed the same way Sandra was. They quickly and silently came to the side of the bed, one carrying a wide, shallow brass basin filled with water, and the other a handful of white cloth. Miss Americana couldn’t contain her relief.
“I’m so glad I’ve found you! We have to get out of here before that beast comes back! Lets—hey, hold on, what are you doing?”
The redhead, Angie, had soaked one of the cloths in the water and was wringing it out. She smiled at Miss Americana, then gently dabbed the cloth against her forehead. The coolness of the water against her skin brought a rush of relief, but Miss Americana brushed her hand away. “Thanks, but we don’t have time for that, we need to leave—right now!”
“We aren’t going anywhere,” Sandra said, her hips swaying as she walked to the foot of the bed. Then, just under her breath, she added ominously, “And neither are you.”
Angie climbed up beside her on her right, while Carmen slipped to her left. Miss Americana looked from one girl to the other, totally confused. “I don’t understand. What’s going on?”
Carmen pressed a freshly damp cloth against the slope of her neck, “We are trapped her.” She whispered, “There IS no way out.”
Miss Americana’s mouth fell open. She turned to Angie, but the redhead only shrugged. “We’ve looked everywhere for an exit, but the only way out is through a huge stone door…and none of us are strong enough to move it.”
“Only He can move it,” Sandra explained.
Miss Americana pushed Angie and Carmen aside as she made to stand. “Show me where it is, I’ll open the door. I’m a lot stronger than you are.” But even as she said it, her legs wobbled as she tried to take a step. She staggered, and tripped forward…right into Sandra’s waiting arms. “My legs…! They feel like jelly. What’s wrong with me?”
But Sandra shushed her, helping her back to sit on the edge of the bed. The blonde knelt in front of her, and took the wet cloth Angie held and began to gently press it against the masked heroines flushed cheeks. “You’re still weak,” she said gently, “Just rest a moment. Here.” She gestured to carmen, and suddenly a bronze goblet was in her hand. She pressed it to the heroine’s lips. “Drink, slowly.”
Before she could protest, Sandra tipped the goblet, and cool water rushed into her mouth. It made her realize how parched her throat felt, and she swallowed gratefully. She drank down the whole cup, then gasped for air.
Sandra was wiping the cool cloth against her forehead. The water felt heavenly against her hot skin. Miss Americana sank back onto the bed, and suddenly found Angie and Carmen pressed up on either side of her, supporting her weight. Against her protests, both girls began quietly running their own damp cloths along her neck, her shoulders, down her back. Despite herself, Miss Americana couldn’t deny how nice it felt, how much of a relief. She sighed. “A-alright, just for a minute, I just need to get my strength back. Are you girls alright? Has it harmed you?
Almost at once, the three girls paused. Miss Americana looked at each one, and noticed a sudden blush that colored their cheeks.
It was the young redhead who answered first. “No…he hasn’t harmed any of us. It’s not like that…it’s just…”
Her blush deepened, and she suddenly averted her eyes. Was what Miss Americana saw flash across her eyes…shame? Before she could press her though, Carmen began to speak.
“It’s worse than that,” she said, a tremble in her voice. “It…he…he makes us feel…good.”
And now she, too, had to look away. Miss Americana’s mouth fell open. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“What are you talking about? Good? He kidnapped you! He’s holding you against your will! How can any of this be good?”
Sandra knelt in front of her, resting her hands on Miss Americana’s knees. The sensation of her long fingers suddenly brushing against the soft skin of her legs drew Miss Americana’s attention.
“You don’t understand…but its like…this,” the blonde said slowly, wetting her lips. She looked up into Miss Americana’s uncomprehending eyes. “Have you ever had…sex, Miss Americana?”
Now it was the superheroine’s turn to flush in embarassment, her mouth working uselessly. “W-what do you mean—of course I have—that’s none of your busine—”
But Sandra shushed her again, her fingers softly running up and down the outside of Miss Americana’s bare leg. “Just listen. Imagine the best sex you’ve ever had. Imagine the best lover you’ve ever been with. This monster…this…thing…he’s better than any of them.”
Miss Americana was aghast. “But…that’s insane! You can’t be serious!”
“She’s right though,” Angie interrupted softly. She held Miss Americana’s right hand and hugged it against her soft chest, almost like she was seeking comfort. “I…I’ve never felt anything like it. I’m not sure I have the words to explain…”
“Angie is young,” Carmen spoke now, looking sympathetically at the blushing redhead. “She was the least experienced of us. She was the least prepared for…him.”
The 19-year old nodded, clutching Miss Americana tighter. “He surprised me on my run,” she began, her gaze growing distant as she remembered. “At first I thought it was some kind of a bear. A cougar, maybe. I was terrified. Before I could run, he grabbed me, and pulled me close to him. I remember…I remember something came out of his mouth. Like smoke. It made me dizzy, weak…I fell asleep…”
The mist, Miss Americana realized, her chest tightening. It was that damned mist!
“I woke up here…in one of these rooms.” She swallowed hard, glanced at Sandra, who nodded for her to continue. “He was in there with me. He grabbed me, pulled me into his lap. He started…he started to play with my—my breasts…he used his tongue…” To her shock, Miss Americana felt Angie start to squirm against her. The girl’s hand began to touch and squeeze her left breast through the fabric of her dress. Her other hand had fallen lower, beneath the long strip that ran between her legs…where it rocked slowly, back and forth. When Angie continued, her voice was thick. Her eyes were glazed. “I couldn’t stop him. He made it feel so good…his breath…it made me so hot…it wasn’t long before I stopped asking him to. And then he started to lick me…down there!” the redhead gasped. Her fingers were moving faster now. Miss Americana was beside herself. The thought of this poor girl being taken should have made her furious…and yet the image of that monster holding her legs apart, against her weakining will, while he plundered her pussy with his monstrous, serpentine tongue…it made her feel uncomfortably warm. Unconsciously, she rubbed her thighs together. She didn’t notice the sinister smile that had formed on Sandra’s face as the blonde saw the movement of her legs.
“I don’t know how long he did it,” Angie continued, “But it felt like forever. He wouldn’t stop. Even when I gave in, when he made me…made me come…” she shivered, “He kept going. He licked me over and over, and I kept coming for him…I couldn’t help it. No one’s ever made me come like that before. I must have passed out. When I came to, he had bent me over, and I could feel his…cock…against me.” Her eyes were distant…dreamy. “I shouldn’t have wanted him so badly, but his tongue had done things to me, had made me…weak…wanting….when he told me to beg for him….I did. And then he—oh god, he…AH!”
She shuddered suddenly, stiffening against her, and Miss Americana realized the girl had gotten herself off, right there, right next to her. She could only stare mutely as Angie sagged against her, resting her head on Miss Americana’s shoulder. The poor girl! She was out of her mind, this was madness!
“It was the same for me,” came Carmen’s voice, and Miss Americana turned. The dark-haired beauty reached down and took the heroine’s hand in her own. “He broke into my husband’s house, carried me away. Brought me here. He seduced me much the same way he seduced Angie…except he didn’t need his tongue to break my will…all he had to do was show me his cock.”
“That’s not possible,” Miss Americana said, her eyes widening in disbelief.
Carmen smiled…almost sadly, “I am not naive, Miss Americana. I’ve been with many men, but none of them could compare to this beast. He…has the most beautiful cock I’ve ever seen. It’s huge. Bigger than any man could hope to be. I couldn’t…I couldn’t look away from it. When he put it in my hands, all I could think about was how hard it was…how hot…how easy it was to slide my hands up…and down…” Carmen’s eyes were glassy, and her hands began to slide, up and down, gliding along the soft red leather of Miss Americana’s trapped glove. The shocked heroine could only watch mutely as Carmen sighed, and rubbed her hand against a heated cheek, remembering…pretending it was the monster’s throbbing cock that pressed urgently against her skin.
Miss Americana groaned. The heat between her legs was getting worse. The lurid stories were racing through her mind, filling it with torrid, racy images. What was wrong with her? why was she feeling this way? These girls had been seduced…no, raped! She shouldn’t be feeling so…hot…
“He let me pleasure him…no, worship him,” Carmen whispered, brushing her lips against Miss Americana’s trembling fingers. Before she could move to stop her, Carmen removed her red glove and pressed her bare palm against her flushed cheek. Miss Americana was surprised by how warm the woman felt, almost feverish. Carmen’s gaze was distant as she continued, “I begged him to let me…taste him….suck him…I knew it was wrong, but I felt drunk…dizzy…I took him in my hands. Touching it made me s-so hot, I…I…”
Suddenly her mouth parted, and Miss Americana gasped as the woman drew her gloved fingers into her hot, wet mouth. The sensation of her tongue caressing her bare fingers was impossibly erotic…and totally wrong.
“S-stop that!” Miss Americana gasped, “Stop it”!
Carmen bobbed her head a few more times, drawing her deep into her mouth, before letting her escape with a soft gasp. She licked at her lips. “He came in my mouth,” she whispered, looking into Miss Americana’s wide, staring eyes, “He flooded my mouth with his cum…so much of it…I couldn’t swallow fast enough…it spilled onto my face, my chin…by breasts…” She rolled her tits in her hands. “He sat back on the ground. His cock was still rock hard, still streaming hot, thick cum…when I climbed on top of him.”
“Oh…no…” Miss Americana whispered, “That’s…that’s awful…what he did to you girls was…awful!”
“Do you want to know the worst part?”
It was Sandra, speaking softly from where she knelt in front of Miss Americana’s tightly squeezed legs. Her voice had fallen to a conspiratory whisper.
“The worst part of it all was that he made us beg for him. Made us need him. His touch enflames you. His pressence makes you weak. The scent of him makes your head spin. He makes submitting to him feel like the most natural thing in the world…”
Lewd thoughts began to dance in Miss Americana’s mind. Were they dreams? Memories? Sandra’s words were filling her with a strange, familiar drowsiness. Her body sagged back, into the waiting arms of the two other prisoners. The reflection of candlelight danced in Sandra’s open, cat-like eyes, drawing Miss Americana’s gaze, fascinating her. In the darkest corners of her mind, a helpless, desperate, submissive voice was softly moaning, “Slut….slut….sluuuut…!”
Sandra held the captive heroine’s gaze and gently, slowly, began to sway. She watched as Miss Americana’s eyes stayed fixed on hers, hooded, open but unseeing, following her as she moved back and forth…back and forth. The evil blonde smiled, and began to stroke gently up and down her bare, smooth thighs.
“You know what its like, don’t you, Miss Americana?” Sandra’s fingers dipped into the tight seam between Miss Americana’s pressed thighs, tracing it…teasing it. “To be held against your will. To be made to feel things you didn’t think you wanted…needed. To lose yourself to the hot, irresistable need for pleasure…for sex.” She hissed the last word, watching in satisfaction as Miss Americana’s eyes grew wide, her face blushing red. Sandra smiled, and now her caressing fingers began to gently pry at Miss Americana’s trembling knees.
“Wait—what are you—”
“You fancy yourself a hero,” Sandra breathed, bending forward so that she could plant light, butterfly kisses along the top of the shocked heroine’s creamy thighs. Her fingers had wedged between her knees…trying to coax them apart. “But in the end you’re just like us, aren’t you? Just a woman…with a woman’s needs…”
“Stop that,” Miss Americana gasped, “Sandra, what are you doing?” She made to struggle, to get away from the blonde’s unwanted advances, when she suddenly felt strong, soft hands wrap around her own. She looked to her sides, where Angie and Carmen had each seized one of her arms, holding her tight. she pulled against them, but her strength was gone. She was as weak as a kitten. They had no trouble forcing her backwards, pressing her back into the soft fur of the bed, so that her ass slid down to the edge, toward the waiting, hungry eyes of the evil blonde. “No! Let me go! I’m here to save you! Let me go!”
But none of the girls were listening. Angie and Carmen each grabbed a wrist, raising and trapping both arms beside her tossing head. Her huge, firm breasts rose high on her chest, quivering enticingly as she struggled to free herself.
“But darling…thats what we’ve been…trying to tell you…” Sandra whispered, her kisses growing firmer, wetter. Her tongue drew tiny circles along Miss Americana’s trapped, struggling thighs. She looked up the prone body of the dark-haired beauty, past the rising mounds of her creamy tits, and into her wide blue eyes. “We don’t want to be rescued…and soon…you won’t either!”
Miss Americana stiffened as Angie and Carmen each suddenly took one of her tits in a warm, possessive grip. Skilled, knowing fingers began to knead and massage her massive mammaries, rolling them, gently milking them from base to tip. Their soft, feminine hands soon had her tits tingling all too pleasantly. Despite herself, Miss Americana felt herself responding to their erotic manipulation. Her struggles weakened. Her breathing began to speed up. And when they turned their attention to her rapidly hardening nipples, she let out a hoarse, reluctant gasp of pleasure.
“My, your breasts are sensitive, aren’t they?” Sandra said, smiling as her fingers managed to slip a little further between Miss Americana’s knees. “And there’s nothing like the touch of another woman who understands just how to make you feel. Don’t you think so?”
“N-no! I don’t want this! Let me go! Stop—Oh!—stop…touching me!” Miss Americana snapped, and tried to buck herself free of the vile vixens holding her down. But she had no leverage, and they easily subdued her attempts at escape. Carmen responded by taking her rigid nipple between thumb and forefinger…and gently beginning to twist. Miss Americana gasped as the motion sent pangs of undeniable pleasure through her body, right down, it seemed, to her suddenly throbbing clit. Carmen and Angie exchanged knowing glances, then Angie followed suit, trapping her other nipple, and gently begginging to roll it between her fingers.
Miss Americana stiffened, arching her back as jolts of unwanted pleasure erupted from her trapped nipples. She barely stifled an intense moan, her useless hands clawing at the fur blanket. “DON’T!!” she groaned, teeth clenched, as Carmen and Angie began to pull at her nipples, drawing them up and away from her body, until her breasts were almost perfect, alabaster cones jutting from her hammering chest. All the while they continued to slowly twist those oh-so sensitive nubs back and forth, back and forth. This time, they managed to drag a stilted, but betrayingly sweet, groan of pleasure from the restrained heroine.
The attack on her breasts had lowered her defenses, and Sandra had taken the opportunity to slide her penetrating fingers in a few inches further. They now pressed insistently on the hot, trembling flesh of Miss Americana’s inner thighs, probing, stroking, inviting her to spread herself wider…
No! Miss Americana summoned what strength she had, and clamped her legs together, trapping Sandra’s intruding hands. The blonde clucked in admonishment. “Now, darling, that’s not very cooperative of you. I know you’re starting to enjoy this. Why keep fighting? Why not just lie back, and let me take you someplace…nice…”
“L-like hell!” Miss Americana snapped, looking down past her tormented tits to the blonde’s smirking face. “You three have been…brainwashed! And if you think I’m just going to lie here and let the same thing happen to me…!”
Sandra regarded her with a mix of amusement and derision, her cat-like eyes sparking. “You think you’re so strong? Very well then. Let’s see just how long you can keep these pretty long legs of yours from spreading for me.”
She nodded to her two accomplices, who smiled in acknowledgement. All at once, they let go of Miss Americana’s throbbing nipples, letting her tits fall back to her chest where they settled with a heavy, enticing jiggle. The masked heroine gasped in relief, but her sentiment was short lived. For no sooner had her bouncing tits settled when Angie and Carmen each suddenly drew a succulent nipple into their hot, wet mouths.
“OH! Wait-stop, what are you….oooOOH!!”
But the ravenous beauties ignored her protests as they devoured Miss Americana’s vulnerable breasts. They would alternate between sucking on them so hard her nipples began to throb in ecstacy to rolling and flicking the engorged nubs with their wild, silky tongues. Their rampaging mouths had turned her aching breasts into conduits of sheer pleasure, every moment that passed her protests grew weaker, weaker, until at last they had reduced the once-proud champion of justice to a helplessly moaning, begging mass of quivering tit-flesh.
Worse still, Sandra’s fingers had resumed a gentle undulation against the inside of her legs. Trapped as they were, they couldn’t move much…but sultry, insistant pressure was enough to force Miss Americana to focus on keeping her thighs squeezed tight. She couldn’t risk the horrible (wonderful?) things those devilish fingers might do if they got any more freedom. But restrained as she was, overpowered and outnumbered, she knew she was facing a losing proposition. How long could she hold out? She had to come up with some way to escape, before…before the unthinkable happened.
That’s when she realized that something didn’t feel right. Or more precisely, something was beginning to feel altogether too…good. The twin assault on her breasts, totally against her will, was having a profound effect on her body. Her breasts felt as sensitive as they’d ever been in her life, and as the two lovely ladies continued to inflict their insidious tongue lashing, a warm, irresistable lethargy began to spread from her abused chest. It was getting harder and harder to keep her head up. The mattress was soft, the feeling of the coarse pelt made her skin tingle. And at the tightly-pressed juncture of her thighs, her trecherous pussy began to pulsate.
As a familiar, terrifying pressure began to build, Miss Americana’s eyes suddenly grew wide, and her head rose up to look down at the leering Sandra waiting patiently before her trembling knees. “Oh…no…!”
The blonde smirked. “Something wrong, Miss Americana? Poor darling. I don’t think you’ve thought this little plan of resistance all the way through…”
Miss Americana groaned in despair, tears welling in her blue eyes, as the truth began to sink in. The constant friction of pressing her thighs together was stimulating her heated sex. She could feel the hot wetness trickling out of her aroused pussy, where the movement of her legs forced it to churn…soaking her aching pussy lips, and making her trapped clitoris throb with unanswered need. The harder she fought to keep Sandra’s fingers at bay, the more she ended up stimulating her own cunt. She was slowly but surely driving herself to a devastating climax.
She reflexively relaxed, just for a split second, to try and relieve some of the wicked pressure, but Sandra, poised like a waiting serpent, was ready. In the momentary breach in her prey’s defenses she was able to slip her long, slender fingers until they were heart-stoppingly close to Miss Americana’s aching sex before the prone heroine gave a warbled cry of denial, and clamped her legs back together.
Sandra’s tinkling laugh made her heart sink.
“Oh, almost!” the blonde grinned, “A heartbeat later and I’d be all over that pretty pink pussy of yours right now.” She gave her fingers an experimental flex, then leered at Miss Americana, seductively chewing on her lower lip. “But maybe…this is close enough?”
Those fingers began to move again, only this time, to Miss Americana’s horror, they were far more mobile. They were scant inches away from her throbbing cunt…and were now sliding through the trails of slick wetness leaking from her aroused pussy. The lubrication let her glide sensuously against the heated, pressing flesh of her inner thighs, massaging her, projecting pangs of wicked delight into the very heart of her womb. She could feel those wriggling fingers sliding closer and closer to her reluctant pussy with every halting, heart-stopping push. Insistant. Aggressive. Demanding access to her vulnerable sex. The sensation was unbelievably erotic. Miss Americana let out a long, agonized moan, and though she still tossed her head in denial, she could feel her resolve wavering. The strength was beginning to drain out of her aching thighs.
Sandra gestured once more to waiting companions. It was time to crush the last of Miss Americana’s feeble resistance.
The helpeless heroine let out a gasp of undeniable pleasure as her abused nipples suddenly popped free of their hot, sucking lips as Angie and Carmen fell beside her on the bed. She watched felt them press up to her, and an instant later felt their hot, cinnamon breath as they brushed their succulent lips against her incredibly sensitive ears. A shiver of unmistakable lust shot down her body, and she let out a reluctant, all-too-turned-on moan.
“Did we make you feel good?” Angie whispered hotly, tracing her lips tantilizingly along Miss Americana’s earlobe, making her neck and sides erupt in goosebumps. A second later Carmen’s voice was in her other ear, and she shivered anew.
“I loved sucking on your tits,” the woman moaned, “Please, may I suck them again? I’ll make it good for you. So, so good…”
“Oh please,” Miss Americana gasped, “please stop, I—”
“You what?” Angie said, “Like it too much? Then why fight it?”
“We just want to pleasure you,” Carmen sing-songed sweetly, taking possession of Miss Americana’s vulnerable tit again with her searching hand. She gave it a loving squeeze. “And we know just what a sex-hungry woman wants…don’t we?”
“N-no…!” Miss Americana moaned, her eyes slowly beginning to droop. “Can’t…let you…rape…me…”
“You’ve got it all wrong, honey. It won’t be rape,” Angie whispered, blowing into her ear and making her moan against her will. “We’re going to make you feel so good, you’re never going to want us to stop…”
“Spread your legs, baby,” Carmen sighed dreamily, “You’ve been fighting for so long…just relax…let yourself fall open…relax…”
“Give in,” urged Angie, “Let yourself go…you want it so bad…”
Miss Americana could barely articulate words of resistance any more. As the girls continued to whisper sweet seductions into her defenseless mind, she could feel herself slowly drifting further and further away. Her body no longer seemed like her own; it responded to their whispered calls with trecherous obedience. Her back arched, offering her mountains of heated tit-flesh to their marauding hands. Her stomach fluttered and spasmed. She could hear her heartbeat throbbing in her ears, felt it in her engorged nipples, in her rigid little clit. And gradually, irresistably, her taught thighs began to relax…and to spread.
Sandra grinned lascviciously as she effortlessly parted the beguiled heroine’s trembling thighs, pressing her wide. Miss Americana let out a groan of defeat, shutting her eyes as tears of shame rolled down her face…but she made no move to try and close her spread legs, revealing the engorged, soaked lips of her bare pussy to the hungry eyes of the evil blonde kneeling between them.. Her sex was literally throbbing with unwanted arousal, humming in time to her frantic, pumping heartbeat.
“Now, your pretty little pussy is all mine,” Sandra breathed, sinking her fingernails into Miss Americana’s firm, sumptuous ass like a lioness snaring its prey. She lowered her head, fixed her cat-like stare on the helpless heroine’s swooning face, and slowly dragged the tip of her tongue along the spasming length of pussy laid out before her.
The effect on Miss Americana was electric.
Her hips heaved, and a strangled moan of unwanted ecstacy ripped from her slender throat. Her eyes snapped open to watch helplessly as Sandra reversed the motion, tracing along and between her swollen pussy lips, mewling like a cat at a bowl of cream. Every long, smooth, muscular stroke of that devilish tongue sent a wave of knee-shaking pleasure coursing through her prone body, battering her will, hammering at her reluctance and rewarding her submission with forbidden bliss. Despite herself, Miss Americana was soon reduced to a panting, gasping, sordid mess under the devious lesbian’s lingual lashing. Beside her, Angie and Carmen pleasured themselves as they watched their mistress’s assault on the defenseless heroine. Their moans and sighs rang in her ears, joining her own in a chorus of female ecstacy that filled the candlelit cave. All the while, Sandra watched as Miss Americana fell further and further into her sexual control. She teased and tormented, licked and sucked, driving up her arousal, all while carefully avoiding that rigid nubbin of flesh that throbbed and begged for her attention. Soon, Ms Americana lacked even the strength to hold her head up to watch the blonde temptress work over her feverish cunt. It tossed in hopeless denial on the soft gray pelt, even as her trecherous hips rolled her pussy again and again into Sandra’s hot mouth. She couldn’t stop herself, her body had a mind of its own. Her poor clit ached in neglect. Just a touch would send her over the edge, would end her misery. Her shame was being burned away by the pleasure resonating between her legs. She wanted to come…needed to come!
She felt hands on her breasts, caressing, squeezing, manipulating her tits with a warm familiarity that made them tingle…and she realized they were her own hands, suddenly released her lesbian captors. Her wontoness made her blush with shame, pushing back the haze of pleasure that had fallen over her addled mind. She winced, summoning the remainder of her will, and shoved her hands over her weeping sex, blocking off Sandra’s clever tongue.
The blonde arched her eyebrows at her, breathing heavily. “What’s this? Still trying to fight? Oh darling, that’s adorable.”
“I won’t…I won’t let you just have your way with me,” Miss Americana hissed, hoping she sounded braver than she felt. It was all she could do to keep her hands still against her throbbing pussy, when it veritably screamed at her to touch herself, to stroke herself, to satisfy the evil urges Sandra’s cunt lapping had set it motion.
The blonde just smiled, and lowered her face back to the slender fingers blocking her from her prize.
“That’s a shame,” she breathed, planting grazing kisses on the backs of Miss Americana’s trembling hands. “I was just about to start on that delicious little clit of yours. I’d been saving it for the end. Why, it must positively ache right about now…”
To her chagrin, Miss Americana had to concede that the witch was right. Her poor clit stood rigidly out from its protective hood, throbbing. The heat from her hand was making her squirm. Suddenly, she felt Sandra’s tongue swipe at her fingers. “S-stop that!”
“I don’t really think you mean that,” Sandra smiled, slipping her tongue into the slim gaps between Miss Americana’s slender digits, seeking again the hot, gushing pussy hidden just behind. The sensation of that strong, wet muscle trying to get past her final, defiant gesture was undeniably arousing, disturbingly so. Miss Americana had to grit her teeth to stifle the moan that welled in her throat. Sandra’s golden eyes were drawing her in, making her head swim…she shut her eyes tightly, shaking her head in defiance.
“Just one lick,” Sandra whispered, pushing harder, feeling the gaps widening under her questing tongue. She could now graze the heated labia with the tip. “You’re so hot honey, so turned on. Do you really want me to stop…?”
“Stop it….no…please no…” Miss Americana pleaded, her brow creased. Her will was wavering. The tip of that invading tongue traced fire on the sensitive lips of her pussy, making her gush with renewed need. Her clit pressed insistently against her slick palm. Her pleading grew hoarser, her breathing heavier, as Sandra began to wear down her last ditch effort to resist. She could easily slip her tongue between slack fingers to lap against the juicy prize beneath. She sucked on her fingers, stroking them like tiny cocks. Miss Americana groaned.
“Just one, honey,” Sandra breathed, slowly maneuvering that guarding hand out of the way more and more. Her quarry was panting, her eyes shut tight, trying desperately to keep her raging need under control…she didn’t realize how far back Sandra had moved her hand. Her fingers barely covered her swollen mons, and her labia were almost completely unguarded. Worst of all though, her fingers had spread wide enough now that her clitoris was dangerously exposed to the evil blonde’s insidious attentions.
The blonde saw the tiny, pulsing nubbin of flesh at the apex of her prey’s dripping sex, and finally brushed it with her insidious tongue.
“OH!” Miss Americana gasped, her hips heaving. “OH don’t…stop!!”
“Don’t stop?” Sandra giggled, “I don’t intend to…”
Her tongue snaked down, lashing at that engorged button, making Miss Americana cry out. Every wet caress sent a whip of electric pleasure convulsing up her body. Her hands flailed uselessly, settling on her blonde assailant’s head. She knew she should fight, should try to push her away…but her hands wouldn’t listen. They spasm-clutched at those curly blonde tresses, luxuriating in their soft thickness, but couldn’t force her away from her relentless assault.
Sandra was in no hurry. After tonight, she knew the buxom beauty would be unable to deny her anything. She’d be her sister, her slave, her plaything…just like the Master had promised. Her skilled tongue caressed the seat of Miss Americana’s pleasure, circling it, flicking against it, forcing the dazzled superheroine to experience sensations she had never imagined a tongue could elicit from her rigid love button. Sandra listened as the moans became pants, and the pants rose to desperate whimpers. She coaxed that sensitive nubbin of flesh as Miss Americana’s hips began to heave, raising them up, up, pressing into Sandra’s insidious mouth. When it was clear her beautiful prey could take no more, Sandra sank her claws into her tense ass, and went for the kill.
“Now, you’re all mine,” Sandra breathed victoriously, took Miss Americana’s throbbing clitoris between her soft red lips, and began to suck. Hard.
“OHHH! OH MY GOD!” the overwhelmed superheroine could only scream as the orgasm that she’d just barely held at bay came crashing through, arching her back, making her muscle seize uncontrollably. Her clitoris exploded under Sandra’s loving minstrations, her pussy spasming as the pleasure wracked her body. Sandra rode the orgasm expertly, prolonging it, trapping her prey on its ecstatic plateau for as long as her body would allow. When at last Miss Americana’s thrusting hips gave out, collapsing back to the bed, the devastated super heroine was a flushed, panting, trembling mess.
Tears, both of pleasure and of shame streaked down her face. She’d lost, totally. It didn’t matter how hard she fought, how hard she tried to deny it, in the end, she’d been overwhelmed by the three vixens and drawn into their web of lesbian torment. And though tried to deny it, the warm glow that suffused her now was all that was left of one of the biggest orgasms in her life. It shook her to her core.
What kind of a hero was she? How did she expect to save these girls if she couldn’t even save herself?
“You’re not a hero at all,” came a deep, mesmerizing voice from within her subconscious, “You’re just another weak female. A slut…my slut.”
“Y-your…slut…” Miss Americana repeated helplessly, her eyes glazing over, the glow from her orgasm reinforcing the post-hypnotic words the Beast had planted in her fertile, sex-addled mind.
Sandra saw the glassy look, saw how the prone heroine’s skin erupted in a fresh, radiant blush, and smiled at her companions.
“Call the Master. She is ready.”
Miss Americana vs The Horned God
Chapter 5 — Slave of the Beast
by Soul in Shadow (email@example.com)
“There now,” Sandra whispered, running her fingers through thick, dark hair, “That wasn’t so hard, was it? You tasted every bit as delicious as I knew you would.”
Her other hand ran down Miss Americana’s back, enjoying the silky softness of her skin, rounding over her supple ass and sliding over her slender, pale thighs before reversing direction. Miss Americana struggled feebly in the lesbian’s embrace.
“Y-you’re evil…” she murmured, even as Sandra’s deft caresses drew them closer together. The blonde slipped a leg between Miss Americana’s soft thighs, making her gasp when she pressed it against the woman’s hot, wet pussy. Her hand settled on Miss Americana’s hip, holding her close, gently rocking against her defenseless cunt. She grabbed hold of her dark tresses, breathing across her soft lips.
“We just wanted to welcome you to the family,” she said, her breath smelling like sex and cinnamon. “And I think we both know how much you liked what I did…”
Miss Americana weakly shook her head. “N-no…it was wrong…I didn’t want that…”
That’s not a denial, the blonde seductress noted with a grin.
Miss Americana’s head was woozy. The pressure of Sandra’s leg against her clit was making her tingle. The womanly softness of her body was so enticing. She couldn’t muster the strength to pull away.
Sandra smiled at her empathetically, possessively squeezing the soft flesh of her taut ass. “There is no right or wrong here, darling. Only pleasure. And I know how to make you feel so, so good…”
As Miss Americana opened her mouth to protest, Sandra suddenly pulled their lips together, stifling her with a wet, dominating kiss. She slid her tongue into the instantly rigid superheroine’s open mouth, seeking out her own, and entwining with it. Miss Americana struggled against the kiss, but as it wore on, her resistance began to waver. Sandra felt her body sag and melt against her, felt the hot trickle of sticky love juice against her rocking thigh, and gradually, she felt her beautiful captive start to kiss back.
Miss Americana didn’t know what was happening. She shouldn’t be enjoying this, but Sandra’s lips were so soft, her tongue so hot. It had been ages since anyone had kissed her that way. It was so easy to forget where she was, the mortal danger she was in, and just sink into the woman’s wet, crushing kiss. Her eyes drifted shut, and moaned as Sandra’s tongue plundered her mouth mercilessly. Unconsciously, she began rocking harder against the slick, smooth thigh that pressed insistently against her clit.
The sensation of their tits rolling against each other was far too pleasant; devilishly enjoyable. Sandra knew just how much pressure to apply with her thigh, pressing and rubbing against her unprotected sex with experienced skill. And the way her fingers clutched at her hair, holding her still, forcing her to submit to her wild kiss, it was so…aggressive! Miss Americana couldn’t help but respond. Her thighs once again began to part for the dominating lesbian, as her deft sexual attack forced a helpless moan from the captured heroine’s slender throat.
Sandra grinned as she felt Miss Americana swoon. The bitch was totally at her mercy. It would be so easy to kiss her way down to those glorious tits, or that hot, wet pussy, and fuck her again, but she knew the Master wanted her for himself right now. She would enjoy turning this sexy, buxom broad into her eager little fuck toy, but that would have to wait till later.
Soon, Sandra promised herself, she would take her again, and she would relish making Miss Americana return the favor, whether she wanted to or not.
But all too soon, she heard the sound of heavy, cloven footfalls drawing closer. Reluctantly she broke the kiss with her dazed victim, noting with satisfaction how the woman’s chest heaved breathlessly. “We’ll have to continue this another time baby,” she said, “It looks like we have company.”
Miss Americana followed the blonde’s gaze to the chamber doorway, and sat up with a jolt, her heart skipping several beats. Framed in the massive archway was the Beast. On either side of him stood Angie and Carmen, a clawed hand resting possessively on their shapely hips. She felt his burning gaze fall upon her naked body and a rush of feelings—anger, shame…and excitement?—began to roil in her belly. She felt his eyes rove along her every curve, settling on her massive, jutting tits, as an almost physical sensation. It made her skin prickle hotly. His penetrating stare fixed her to the bed like a pin through a butterfly as he swaggered to the bed.
“Good evening, my dear,” the Beast said with a leer, “I trust my brides have made you as…comfortable…as possible?”
“Brides? You monster!” Miss Americana snapped, her voice betraying only the slightest quiver. “They told me what you did to them! If you think you’re going to get away with this—”
But he had raised a clawed hand to cut off her tirade. “More empty threats, I grow so tired of them. You speak too freely, woman. I will show you your proper place.”
He gave the two beauties flanking him a final tap on each curvacious behind before saying, “Leave us.” When Sandra lingered, he leveled a steady stare at the beautiful blonde beside Miss Americana. “All of you.”
Sandra gave her reluctant lover’s right breast a final, playful squeeze, nipping at her ear. “Have fun darling,” she breathed, feeling Miss Americana shudder against her, “We’ll…talk…later.”
And in a breath Sandra slipped away, leaving Miss Americana suddenly alone on the massive bed, her nakedness sprawled on the thick pelts, while the Beast, the monster, drew closer. At once the buxom heroine almost yearned for the evil blonde’s aggressive attentions; at least they were human. She saw Sandra glance back at her once more as the blonde reached the door to the chamber. The look in her eyes…Miss Americana couldn’t be sure whether it was jealousy, pity, or perhaps both.
Then Sandra was gone, and she was alone…with him.
The Beast stalked forward. His eyes burned with low, emerald intensity. His total demeanour, his every movement and gesture, bespoke of a predator closing in on its prey. His nostrils would flare as he sought out her scent, tasting her fear. She struggled to rise, but could only manage to sit up. The orgasm Sandra had inflicted on her had left her drained, shaky. Her limbs felt like gelatin. Worse than that though was the low, delectable throb that blonde’s evil embrace had left in her pussy. Her heart was pounding, the flutter in her belly risked making her nauseous, and yet with every passing moment the terror was increasingly intermixed with little flurries of…arousal.
“His pressence makes you weak,” she could hear Sandra’s voice whispering in her ear. Miss Americana didn’t want to believe it, but something was happening to her. She was starting to feel hot. Her cheeks burned like a school girl’s on her first date with the hunky quarterback. She could feel his eyes on her. The look conveyed only contempt, arrogance, and lust. He meant to rape her, to have his way with her like he’d done with the others, and God dammit she shouldn’t be feeling so…so turned on!
“S-stay back,” she stammered, pushing herself back up the bed until she was stopped by the massive, ancient headboard, “Come any closer and I’ll—”
“You’ll…what?” the Beast taunted. He had reached the foot of the bed, and the torchlight behind his hulking frame left Miss Americana cowering in his massive shadow. “There’s nowhere left to run. All that’s left is for you to…submit.” His eyes flickered brightly, inviting her to look into their brilliant green depths…deep into their brilliant depths…to fall….
No. NO! She shook her head, pulling her gaze away before he could snare her again. His eyes made her drowsy, made her want to lay back, to sleep. They would make her helpless…and she couldn’t let that happen!
She clutched at the headboard, panting, her breasts heaving. She could feel the wetness starting to ooze from her trecherous cunt. Her nipples were rock hard, aching. She had to look somewhere else, anywhere but his mesmerizing eyes. She saw how the fur mantle covered broad, muscled shoulders, how even at rest his arms seemed to pulse with strength. Her gaze travelled naturally down his broad chest, along the chorded muscles of his abdomen…and then Miss Americana made a fatal mistake. A movement caught her eye in the shadows shrouding the beasts’s hips and waist. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim, and what she saw made her gasp.
Something glistened, angry red, slowly emerging from a thickly furred sheath at the monster’s groin. Before Miss Americana’s wide, disbelieving eyes, she watched it lengthen, and swell. The large mushroom-shaped head that crowned his regal shaft was as large as a baseball bat, and throbbed an angry, deeper violet than the redness of the rest of his organ. Behind it the rest of his member continued to grow, monstrously large, easily as long as her forearm and chorded with thick, pulsing veins. The monster’s cock, now fully erect, arched toward her, hanging over the bed and throbbing in time to the beast’s terrible heartbeat.
Oh my god, Miss Americana could only gape, he…he was huge! She’d never seen a penis that…imposing before. A cock like that would rip a woman in two, would tear her apart…and yet…she felt drawn to it. Some primal, primitive part of her was reacting to his crude, flagrant display of his masculinity. Her wide eyes drank in every detail, staring…starting to glaze…the sight of that cock seemed to grow in her vision, eating up her focus, until it became all she was aware of.
If it had occurred to the stunned female to try to look away, she would have found herself incapable of doing so.
She was fascinated.
The Beast grinned as he watched the haughty superheroine become inexorably entranced by the sight of his godhood. Her tense form began to slacken, her body settling back onto the bed. Her legs unconsciously shifted, parted just slightly, offering a glimpse of her glistening pussy to his voracious gaze. He had seen it hundreds of times before, and it never failed to send a throb of anticipation through his engorged shaft. No matter how much they protested, or how vigorously they reviled him, one look at his cock could send any female into a lusty daze. Miss Americana had correctly recognized the hypnotic threat posed by his eyes, knew about the debilitating effects of the mist, but did not understand that of all those were merely meant to set up his prey for his most devastating attribute. The Beast was ancient, a manifestation of fertility and desire, a sex-monster from a world long forgotten. Hunting, bedding, and mastering human women was his entire reason for existence. Now, it was time to fuck this particular female into total sexual servitude.
He began slowly moving around the bed, closing in on the quivering female braced against the headboard. The movement made her jump. “N-no! K-keep that thing a-away from me…!” Miss Americana stammered, but her wide, shining eyes remained helplessly fixed on the throbbing cock as it drew closer…closer. A moment later and he was beside her at the head of the bed, towering over her. His cock was now dangerously close, so close that she could easily reach out, could touch it…
The Beast said nothing, content to watch her struggle against the maelstrom of desires he knew were bubbling up inside her. Her breathing was labored, her breasts taut, her nipples rigid. Her long legs shifted back and forth on the thick pelts covering the bed, scissoring open, closed. She squirmed. She knew she should get up, should try to run. The door was open, unguarded. She should roll away from him, dash for the door, try to find a way to escape this wretched den of hedonism…and yet she couldn’t. He was so close. She felt intense…attraction to this beast! More than she’d ever felt towards any normal man!
She felt naked, vulnerable…and hopelessly turned on. Wicked thoughts raced through her fevered mind, unbidden, uncontrollable, the longer she stared at his massive member. Lurid visions and fantasies swam in and out of focus in her mind’s eye. She imagined being back in that great chamber, kneeling between his legs as he sat on his great throne. She imagined taking that massive head in her mouth, sucking on it, worshiping him with her tongue and lips. She imagined him forcing himself on top of her, plunging that great shaft between her tits and fucking her until he spewed all over her chest, neck, and face. How much would he cum? But she knew the answer to that already; Carmen had told her. He would come endlessly, covering her with his seed, and still there would be more.
She swallowed hard. How would he taste…?
The images shifted again. This time she was in a forest clearing, the moon shining down through the canopy overhead. He lay on the ground, she astride him, riding him. She arched her back, moaning up at the clear sky as he took her breasts in his terrible hands and pleasured them mercilessly. He would make her explode around him. How could she not? Filled with so much male flesh, pierced to the depths of her core, how could any woman resist coming like that?
It was awful. Seductive. Overwhelming.
“Touch it,” he whispered to her, his voice low, compelling.
Every shred of her heroic morality, her pledge to defend the innocent and avenge the weak, the very heart of who she was as Miss Americana, struggled against the hot, sexy malaise creeping up from her overheated pussy. Her clit seemed to throb in time to the pulsing of his cock, as if it were already dancing to the puppet strings of his sexual control. She fought the urge to take his dreadful penis in her trembling hand…and lost.
“No…I can’t…musn’t…I…” her voice trailed off as she watched her hand close on his turrid shaft. The heat was amazing, searing. He was rock hard, and so wide around that she was nowhere close to being able to close her fingers together. Then she saw a second hand join the first, holding just behind his wide head…and realized with a start that it was her own, that she now held him in both of her small, trembling hands. As if they had a mind of their own, she saw them slowly beginning to stroke up and down his shaft, marvelling at his length. feeling the ridges and bumps made by hammering, thick veins. Almost immediately, a thick droplet of pearly white formed at the tip of his cock before dripping heavily onto the bed. Long strands of sticky fluid followed it back to the swollen glans, which was now oozing precum as her hands slowly but steadily pumped his shaft.
She shook her head in awestruck denial, even as her hands continued to stroke him, even as her panting breaths drew in the hot, heady scent of his masculinity, the seaside saltiness of his dripping semen, making her head swim. Smoothly, silently, the beast swung itself onto the great bed, stradling Miss Americana’s prone body so that she was sitting against the headboard, his throbbing cock aimed directly at her flushed face. She never stopped stroking him.
“Your hands move with a will of their own,” the Beast smirked, “Or could it be that you enjoy serving me this way?”
Miss Americana groaned as a fresh stream of precum spilled onto her pale, flat belly. It felt almost like warm honey as it pooled and oozed down her smooth flesh. She felt herself lean forward, felt her lips part, as if moving to catch the dripping fluid in her wet, sucking mouth…and the wantoness of the act made her pause. She flushed with shame, and with supreme effort managed to slow down her shifting hands, forced them to stop jacking that beautiful shaft of male muscle, until they were still, shaking. She felt him throbbing in her grip, urging her to resume her pleasuring, and it was all she could do to keep her trecherous hands holding fast to him. She could not bring herself to let him go.
“What have you…done to me…?” Miss Americana whimpered, her eyes closing as she tried to banish the lurid fantasies, the erotic visions of submission, that danced across the black canvas of her mind. “This is wrong. Why…why do I feel so…hot…?”
“I have only awakened you to your true desires,” he answered her soothingly, “Your body trembles in need. Your mind is confused, consumed with worries that no female should have to concern herself with…”
The lull of his voice cascaded over her overworked nerves like a balm, a sigh passing unbidden from her lips as tension seemed to ease away. She was confused. So confused. She should be angry, resisting, yet she was getting more turned on by the moment. The rigid pole in her hands felt so stable, so strong, whereas all her own strength was seeping into the bed. “I…I don’t understand…it’s so hard to focus…think…”
“Your position. Your responsibilities. They are a burden to you, are they not?”
It’s like he can see into my soul, Miss Americana thought dully. Being Brenda Wade was hard enough, and being Miss Americana was harder still. She never felt like she could rest. Every moment was a crisis, every day another person to rescue, another villain to defeat. She was so…tired. Deep inside, part of her wished for normalcy, for the blissful ignorance of the evils of the world and the responsibility of stopping it. It was so lonely being Miss Americana. She could never get close to anyone, could never let her guard down, lest they be hurt by her enemies. It was this seed of doubt, this wisp of longing, that the Beast could sense in her. He would draw it out.
He reached down and grabbed hold of her shoulders, and before she could utter a word of protest, lifted her up so that he could spin them both round. Now it was the Beast who sat against the headboard, with his beautiful captive’s back pressed against his furred chest. Her legs had spread, and her ass was perched on the furry sheath at the base of his cock. It jutted out obscenely between her legs, long and throbbing. She struggled vainly against him. “W-what are you doing? Let me go!”
His hands let go of her shoulders and came up beneath her arms, and Miss Americana let out a startled gasp as he took possession of her enormous tits in his rough hands.
“I can sense your suffering, beautiful one,” the Beast breathed in her ear, making her body flush anew in unwanted arousal. He held her tits, feeling their impressive weight, as he pulled her tighly against him. “You carry a heavy burden. You deny yourself, don’t you? You have no one to share your bed at night. No one to satisfy you. When was the last time you had a man inside your pussy?”
His words were mesmerizing, cutting through the fog of self-doubt and conjuring her deepest insecurities. How long HAD it been? She couldn’t remember…but her body clearly knew, and the hot, throbbing thing between her legs was making her drip with need. His hands began to gently massage her tits, rolling them, squeezing them, drawing a low, sweet moan of pleasure from the battered heroine. Miss Americana felt herself melting against him, and as she slid back, his cock rose up until the hot length of him throbbed between her legs…right against her slick pussy lips.
“OH. No…please…I can’t…” she whimpered, as his fingers found her jutting nipples and began to assault them mercilessly. Sharp talons grazed against her turrid nubs, drawing slow, endless spirals around her sensitive areola. She whimpered as her breasts began to tingle, then moaned, much too sweetly, as he began to rake and twist her aching nipples, pulling her heavy breasts up and away from her torso. He continued to milk her with practiced experience, while her useless hands flailed against his groping arms.
He ignored her pleas, marauding her breasts, feeling her start to rock and unwillingly grind her pussy against his rigid sex. He spoke in low, sonorous tones, the words filling her brain with a mental mist every bit as debilitating as the heady fog that had battered her in the caves. “Your body grows weaker by the moment. Your pussy is aching, empty. I can fill you, satisfy you as no man ever has. Submit to your need, to your desire, and be free of your burdens…forever.”
The underlying threat of his last statement barely registered to the overwhelmed Miss Americana. She was panting, her pussy dripping. The way he played with her breasts made her moan helplessly. She was like putty in his hands. She felt so utterly controlled, so purely…female, as she rested against him. She didn’t need to hold herself up, he supported her weight. Her hands raised over her head, grabbing handfuls of the thick fur pelt that mantled his shoulders and upper chest, raising her breasts so that he could more freely manipulate them. Her mind opened to his words and she felt all urges to resist, her very sense of self, oozing out of her to spill from her dripping pussy and onto the hot shaft of his cock. As she fell further and further into a sexual trance, the only thing that seemed to matter was the delicious agony of her breasts, the slippery longing in her pussy, and the hot, thick slab of manmeat that sawed between her legs.
The Beast watched as her head fell back against him, her heavy eyelids falling lower…lower. She was panting against him, her ruby lips glistening in the firelight. she was so close now. Slowly, tantilizingly, he dragged his cock through her slick labia, sliding his monstrous, leaking cockhead inch by torturous inch closer towards her spasming opening.
She groaned as he let go of her swollen udders to grab her behind the knees. He raised her up, lifting her the final few inches until his bloated cockhead finally pressed insistently against her slick labia. He held her there, grinding her opening against his massive tool, taunting her, teasing her until her panting turned to moans, and her moans into gasps of need. He could feel her struggling in his grip, but whether it was to escape him, to escape his taming cock, or to try and grind her pussy even harder against him he couldn’t tell. Not that it mattered. She was in his control now, and only one thing would get her what she so desperately wanted.
“Submit to your desire, woman” he hissed into her ear, “Your body betrays you. You can deny yourself no longer. Submit. Beg for your release.”
“Oh please…please…I can’t take any more…” the gasping female begged, all thought, all resistance, burned away the the throbbing ache from her weeping, empty pussy, and the heart-stopping offer of relief promised by the monstrous organ bullying apart her labia and crushing her clit. She clawed at his fur, grasped for his thick neck.
“Then say it,” he gloated, feeling her opening to his cock, “Tell me, what are you?”
Then she realized what she needed to do. What he wanted from her. Her heart sank, but she could deny him no longer. Her eyes rolled back, fluttered closed, her head lolling against his chest as her ruby lips parted in a soft, submissive whisper…
He grabbed her firmly.
“That’s a good little slave. Now…you belong to me.”
With that, the Beast began to slowly pull the unresisting female down onto his monstrous penis. Miss Americana’a pussy gave one last, desperate attempt at resistance, but her juices had so thoroughly coated his swollen head that it took only a moment before she yielded, spreading wide as that bulbous member forced its way into her tight passage. She cried out as she was penetrated, the sweet notes of her submission echoing in the firelit temple.
“AAgh! Oh, oh god, it’s…it’s so big…so…oooOOOH!!”
He pulled her down further, sinking in a few more inches, before pulling her back up and slowly repeating the motion. Her toes curled, her fingers clawed at his chest, and her enormous tits quivered with her ragged pants. Little by little, inch by terrible, blissful inch, the Beast impaled her on his rigid cock. Her pussy clung to him, hot, tight, almost sucking on his cock as he plowed into her. When she felt his fat head press demandingly against her cervix, she let out a warbled, helpless moan.
“D-deep….so deep…! I c-can’t breathe…it’s s-soOhh….gooooood….!”
He chuckled as she squirmed on his cock, her body taut, helplessly wrapped around his irresistable woman tamer. Her pretty blue eyes were glazed with lust, her cheeks flushed. Her heart was hammering. She had never felt so full before, so utterly stuffed with…cock! He stretched her to her limit, and she could feel every bump and ridge, every thick, throbbing vein against the tight walls of her spasming cunt. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before, and all he had done was come inside! Oh dear god, what would happen when he finally…started…
As if reading her mind, the Beast raised her up, eliciting a groan as he slid out of her, before driving her back down. In slow, deep, foot-long strokes he began to fuck her with his cock. Miss Americana whimpered, gasping, shaking her head in mute, awestruck denial as each penetration drove her closer and closer to momentous release. Back and forth. In and out. Relentless, unstoppable, he reached parts of her no man had ever touched. Her aching clitoris slid against him on every pass, making her belly spasm, her heart race. She couldn’t stop it. She couldn’t fight it anymore. All it took was one more thrust, one more crushing caress against her battered cervix, and Miss Americana exploded.
“Yes! Oh YES! I’m cumming, I’m cumming! OH!! Oh…my…GOD!!” she screamed, gushing around him, her hot fluids streaming down his massive tool as he sent her over the edge. So good! So hellishly good! He held her against him, her weight forcing her down onto his penetrating member, as waves of mind-numbing ecstacy cascaded through her, branding her. One time on his godcock was all it ever took; Miss Americana would be hopelessly addicted to him now, her submission sealed into her soul by the consuming ecstacy of her own orgasm.
She trembled, her spasms slowing, subsiding, until all that was left was the aching throb of her pussy around his swollen cock. She whimpered, panting, her body so sensitive after her orgasm. She moaned as she felt his hot, long tongue snake out to taste the soft flesh of her shoulder. She closed her eyes, bending her head away and offering him more of her slender, pale neck. She sighed as it ran along her delicate collarbone, sweeping up the side of her neck, before a taloned hand turned her head toward him and his tongue slid demandingly between her parted lips.
She mewled around the thick, muscular organ as it plundered her mouth, her throat, sliding in and out as if it were another cock. Her mind reeled, penetrated on both ends, and she began to suck on him as he held her in his corrupting embrace. He left her gasping when he finally relented, his sharp claws tracing languid circles on the swell in her belly where his cock was pushed inside her. She began to pant.
“Who do you belong to, slut?” he asked her, flexing his cock, feeling her shudder around him as her pleasure, her arousal, began to climb again.
Her hands, as if with a mind of their own, grabbed hold of her own tits, squeezing, rolling, caressing herself as he began resumed a slow, easy fucking. “MMmm….to you…Oh yes…I-I belong to…you….” she sighed dreamily. The claw that rested on her chin traced up across her red lips, along her cheekbone, and began to move along the edge of her mask.
“You won’t be needing this anymore,” he chuckled as he peeled away her disguise. Miss Americana moaned, but did not move to stop him. She barely noticed she had been demasked. His cock was moving in her again, making her moan, making it impossible to think. He tossed it away, once more turning her head so that her hooded, wet eyes were forced to look into his. The glowed hellishly, captivating her, drawing her helplessly into their emerald depths. She had no will left to resist him. Instantly, the buxom beauty was entranced.
“Tell me your name, slave.” The Beast commanded, thrusting into her eager, sucking pussy, relishing the hot folds that surrounded his cock.
Her eyes were glassy, drooping. “Brenda…” she breathed, “Brenda…Wade…”
“Do you want me to stop, Brenda?” the Beast taunted, fucking her faster, making her gasp.
“OOH…noo…” she begged, “Please don’t stop…don’t ever…stop…!”
He squeezed her breasts possessively, her inch-long nipples digging into his palms. “Tell me what you want. Beg me for it…”
“Please…fuck me…fuck me again…I want you again…” she whined, rolling her hips, meeting his thrusts and pressing her soft ass back against his furred hips. “Please…master…!”
He pressed her forward until she was on her knees, her ass high the air, her breasts and face pressed into the soft mattress. She moaned uncontrollably as his talons sank into the sumptuous curves of her ass and hips, pulling her back and forth onto his rock hard cock. In mere moments she was on the verge of another orgasm, babbling incoherently, clinging desperately to the thick fur covering the bed. “OH YES! More! Please…don’t stop! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck…MEEEEEE!!”
The Beast showed her no mercy that night. Again and again, he took his helpless captive, filling her with his corrupting cock, crushing her will and binding her into sexual servitude. When at last he’d reached his limit, filling her abused pussy with load after load of his thick seed, it was too much for her. A final, choked scream as cum flooded her pussy was the last sound the vanquished superhoine made before blissful, black oblivion claimed her.
* * *
Night after night, from the dark, labyrinthine caves, there came an ancient liturgy, a pagan tribute to a god long-forgotten. Prayers made with gasps, cries, and moans of ecstacy. Peans of female submission to a rioting monster of lust and desire.
And Brenda Wade, Miss Americana, was its all-too willing slave.