NOTE:
THIS IS THE FIRST, OH, THIRD OF THE WHOLE STORY—MAYBE LESS. THE REST WILL BE
ALONG BY AND BY. SPOILER ALERT: IT ENDS
JUUST AS THINGS GET INTERESTING. SORRY ABOUT THAT, CHIEF.
“P-please,
Justice,” Savage Fury whispered, unable to keep the tremor of fear out of her
voice. “Don’t d-do this …. Please ….”
She
tested the bonds at her wrists and ankles.
She knew she could break them without too much effort. She also knew she'd better not.
“Sorry
darlin’,” Justice Juggs murmured back, crawling up to her, enormous tits
hanging out of their vest and dragging softly across the floor. “Got no choice.”
Fury
knew that. But it wouldn’t make it any
less humiliating. Or less painful.
And
it had all started out to be so much fun.
Her first patrol with Justice in weeks had begun on just the right note,
when they broke up a rumble between The Capris and the Poodle Skirts and got to
kick some serious retro-50’s girl-gang butt.
That had been about a million years ago tonight ….
*******
The
funny thing was, Fury and Justice weren’t even looking for the Capris when they
stumbled across the enormous red boat of a Caddie parked in the oldest and
junkiest part of the East Valley. That
was where most of the homeless lived and where the two super-chested superwomen
expected to run down their quarry: the sickos who’d been setting street people
on fire for the past week.
A
sixth body had been found the night before, so badly charred that only an
autopsy could determine if it was male or female. So at sunset Paige Powers was in the living room pulling on her
thigh-high boots to go out to (probably) waste a whole night trying to do what
the cops couldn’t
and
sure as hell won’t thank you for if you do!
when
the phone rang its special coded double-ring.
If Walt was home and answered, all he would hear would be some weird
noise, but Paige knew to push A twice then S (for Amazons Action Squad) and get
the message from their special answering machine. Amazons Action Squad was the
latest in a series of names that she, Raven O’Rourke, JJ and Scarlet Dragon
were using for their top-heavy little group, but Dragon insisted on calling it
“AA” and coming up with 12-step programs for various obscene goals, so the name
was probably going the way of all the others pretty soon. Dragon wanted to call their group the “Tit
Titans” or the “Boob Brigade” but those were long-shots. Even if (and maybe especially because) they
were accurate.
The
message was from Justice suggesting they patrol together, to which Paige
replied with eager assent. She hadn’t
seen the city’s other watermelon-busted crimefighter in several weeks and was
still new enough in the supergirl game to be glad of company on patrol,
especially company as experienced and sexy as JJ. Aside from that, she loved riding pillion on JJ’s fabulous Harley,
a supercharged high-tech custom V-Rod which Silk Stalker called the
Juggcycle. She loved the feel of the
wind in her masked face, her crimson ponytail whipping behind her
And
your hands on JJ’s impossibly hourglass waist feeling her heat right through your
gloves or hugging her big ribcage with the hot swaying masses of those gigantic
tits resting all over your forearms.
Does she feel the same about the way your billowing chest-blimps spread
out around her back like overstuffed cushions?
She does seem to lean back into them sometimes ….
Paige
shook herself out of the latest in an annoying and increasingly frequent series
of increasingly erotic trances.
Annoying and mystifying.
I
mean so okay, so you’ve had to, well, service a couple of super-villainesses—that
bitch Catwoman a couple of times now!—and let them go down on you. It wasn’t like you had any choice, having
been bound and gagged at the time. And
it wasn’t totally horrid or disgusting.
Neither was doing Catwoman later with her own salami-sized strap-on to
get back at her for the way she'd used that tail of hers to deep-ream you. And you’ve even necked a little with Dragon
and let her grope you to a few orgasms, and that was kind of sweet, especially
sucking your cum off her fingers and then off her lips and tongue. Different, anyway. She sure does know how to kiss!
But that doesn’t make you a LESBIAN for God’s sake! You still go mainly for guys—Walt anyway.
She
pulled on the cowl as she went out the back door, glad for the umpteenth time that
none of the neighbors could see into the back yard thanks to the high
fence. What WOULD the Cleavers
(especially Ward, who ogled Paige so much that June wouldn’t even speak to her)
think of the cowled thighbooted and armgloved dominatrix who at least 3 times a
week stilted from the house to the garage then drove off, sometimes not to
return till after dawn?
Savage
Fury climbed into the station wagon and started it up. She always felt so funky driving this old
clunker dressed like a huge-titted vision of, well, savage fury. Something like the Batmobile would be sooo
cool, or a Harley like JJ’s (or even a Honda 750 like Walt used to have), but
it had cost a lot just to get the wagon’s windows tinted so no one could see
who was behind the wheel when she drove the streets. Just in case the old girl ever broke down she always had a change
of civvies (as Raven called them) in a travel case. Though the gloves would definitely come in handy in place of a
jack.
God
only knew what she'd do if she ever got stopped by the police driving in
costume. So she always drove verrry
carefully. Especially since the time
she'd had to make a panic stop and put her foot right through the floorboard—fortunately
her spike heel slipped off the brake pedal and struck the pavement below and
that dragged the car to a halt, like a kid with a wagon—without even breaking
the heel! She still hadn’t fixed the
hole, just covered it with a floor mat.
What could she say to Walt or a mechanic that would make any sense?
She
drove downtown and stashed the wagon in its usual spot: the underground parking
lot in Silk Stalker’s building. Made
sure with her super-ears that no one was around before getting out, of course. Then raced up the stairwell to the roof
(took 5.2 seconds to do the 20 floors, a little off her best time)
Where
Justice Juggs waited in the dusky gloom.
-2-
But
Fury didn’t get to ride with Justice after all. The 6-shootin’ sexbomb thought they’d do a better job working
both street and rooftops, and Fury had to admit she was right.
So
while JJ’s motorcyle raced through the dark streets (only maybe one in 10
street lamps worked in this part of the Valley) with all its sensors on full,
probing the night for activity (just about any outside movement around here
after dark was probably illegal), the Cowled Crusader leaped from roof to roof,
her powerful thighbooted legs effortlessly spanning the narrow streets and
empty lots, super-ears attuned to every faintest sound, super-eyes illuminating
the darkest corner.
This
“leaping tall buildings at a single bound” routine had been far and away the
hardest thing for Savage Fury to master.
She couldn’t count the number of times she'd turned a heel on landing
and fallen flat on her masked face, good thing the heels on these boots were indestructible—so
far. Also a good thing she healed
quickly, otherwise some mornings when Walt and she had sex, he might’ve
wondered how her gigantic boobs got so bruised.
Just
learning to walk and run and especially JUMP in 6-inch spikes had been a real pain—really. Walt took her to the circus not long after
she'd begun this whole crazy life and just watching the stilt-walking clowns
had made her feet and ankles ache.
Good
thing yo’ feets’ so big! Can you
imagine trying to balance on these stilettos with PLATFORMS??
Funny,
though—she remembered the boots not being nearly so comfortable at first—a
little tight at the heel and long in the toe.
Now they slid on her long strong legs as easily as if they were two
sizes too big, then all by themselves molded to her muscular calves and great
thighs like a second skin. Another
mystery about this costume she was perfectly content to not wonder too much
about.
But
she'd kept at it, learning how to land on even the shakiest roof (and there
were a lot of them around here) so that her 160+ pounds (all of it boobs and
muscle, dammit) wouldn’t plunge through to God-knows-what below. And around here, even He probably didn’t
want to know.
“Hey,
y’all!” a honey-smooth voice crackled in her ear. “Lay off the wool-gatherin’
or we’ll never get t’ bed t’night!”
Shaking
herself, she saw that the motorcycle’s swath of headlight in the street five
stories below had pulled almost two blocks ahead of her. So the Cowled Crusader hunkered down till
her thigh muscles bulged their boots almost sheer, and with an explosive “Hunh!”
launched herself into the air after the speeding motorcycle.
But
instead of reveling in the feeling of almost-flight, or marveling at the
bejeweled skyline, let alone preparing for her landing:
What
did she mean by getting to bed?? She
knows Walt’s out of town, is she inviting me to—?
And
there was that funny urgent tingling in her stomach again.
Which
distracted the Masked Mammazon as her long delirious arc ended two blocks down
the street on a porno theater rooftop.
So she neglected to pull her knees up as her heels touched down (much
the way a parachutist would), and throw her body weight (most especially her
titanic tits) back so she wouldn’t overbalance.
Which,
after landing with a startled squawk, is exactly what the suddenly
non-preoccupied Fury did. Pitched
forward helplessly into a stumbling pell-mell run, barely able to keep her long
booted legs beneath her,
Crashed
through a long-unused pigeon coop in an explosion of feathers and mesh (and
stuff the pigeons left that wasn’t feathers)
Sheared
off three ventilator stacks in a row, each of which was juust tall enough to
slam hard into her pussy (“unh—ughh—oWWW!!”) as she blundered over it
And
blasted into a chimney like an Amazonian artillery shell, scattering bricks for
a hundred yards and not even leaving a stump in her wake.
Then
it was only a half dozen more floundering strides to the edge of the
roof—seeing what was coming but totally unable to even slow herself down—where
she tried to launch herself again, and maybe make it across the gulf of the
wide dark street.
But
Fury was totally out of control, and the instant she stepped off the roof
Down
she went
With
all the aerodynamic grace of a rock
A rock
that wailed like a banshee for about 7 seconds (2 seconds slower than she could
have made the trip by stairs)
Till
the hood of a parked car intervened, and saved her from sprawling in the
gutter.
The
crash was loud, the silence that followed deafening, at least to Fury’s
ears. She just lay there on her back in
a Savage Fury-shaped depression, cowled head against the shattered windshield
and her thighbooted legs draped from the knees down over the steaming radiator. The engine was warm beneath the crumpled
steel which now conformed to her great round ass and wide muscular back.
She
could have gotten up. If she wanted
to. But some things required more than
sufficient strength to toss the car beneath her half a mile or so.
Things
like responding to the soft but deep whir of an well-muffled engine that
approached, and stopped. And waited.
“Y’all
gonna spend the night there?” a soft buttery voice asked blandly.
“I
might,” Fury muttered, watching the sky.
“My,
it’s a good thing some f’sure idiot parked this Cad—hey.”
The
sudden change in Justice’s voice made Fury sit up. Only now did she notice the car she'd landed on: about half an
acre of mid-60’s Cadillac painted a bright bright red, a shade more usually
applied to fingernails. And the smell:
Chanel No. 5. The thing was drenched in
it.
She
hopped off the rumpled hood. “Engine’s
still warm,” she said to the colossal-chested cowgirl who straddled the idling
motorcycle a few feet away. “They’re around.”
“Yeah,
they don’t stray far from Priscilla.”
Justice’s ripe lips curved to a small smile. “Gonna be mucho pissed you
broke her.”
“Wish
I’d done it on purpose,” Fury frowned. “If we had time I’d finish the
job.” She reached in and with two
gloved fingers, like plucking a flower, snapped off the steering column.
JJ
nodded. “But we don’t have time. Not if we want to get at least something
productive done tonight.”
-3-
As it
turned out the Capris were easy to find, because in the burned-out ruin of an
auditorium a few blocks away they were having the monthly (or so it seemed)
turf war with their arch-rivals the Poodle Skirts. Once she activated her super-ears, Savage Fury picked up the
sound of their battle almost immediately and zero’d in on the location an
instant later.
“We’re
going to have to make this quick,” Justice said, “We need a big surprise, or
some of them will get away.”
Fury
nodded. She knew just the thing. Something only she (and maybe Wonder Woman)
could carry off.
And
now from the top balcony of an abandoned auditorium, one of the super-bombshells
watched the Capris and Poodle Skirts—easily told apart since their attire
matched their names—mix it up in a screaming switchblade-flashing
brassknuckle-swinging hair-pulling melee all over the rubble-strewn floor
below—with occasional breaks to check hair and make-up. On the stage, Laverne and Shirley, their
respective leaders, circled each other warily, brandishing switchblade and
broken bottle. The whole chaotic scene
lit by the headlights of a pair of chopped, dropped and channeled roadsters straight
out of “Rebel Without a Cause.”
Justice
Juggs wondered how they’d gotten the roadsters inside as she pulled a special
blue-colored bullet from her belt and loaded her big Colt .45 Peacemaker. The gun was modeled (with modifications)
after the presentation set given to Buffalo Bill Cody by Samuel Colt himself,
one significant difference being that this version could pack the wallop of an
artillery piece as well as other, more specialized loads like this one. She waited till the center of the big room
was empty for a moment (they didn’t want to kill these crazy bitches) then
fired.
The
pistol’s suppressor was active so the shot was barely audible in the ruin’s
vast space. What the girl-gangs reacted
to was its result: an explosion of thick foul smoke in their midst (a custom
brew, like tear gas only it smelled worse and clung longer) and the loud
piercing siren that howled forth from the center of the nauseating cloud, like
a SWAT team’s idea of July 4th.
But
the siren wasn’t only to add to the confusion, it also provided a source for
Savage Fury, waiting outside, to home in on with her surprise. Which she did now after a 10-count. JJ knew exactly when her cowled mountain-busted
partner reached 10. So did everyone
else in the auditorium.
Because
that was when the huge Cadillac came smashing through a wall like a diving
plane. Headlights flourished over
gutted walls and ceiling as the massive crimson juggernaut did a slow
somersault high above the confused coughing girls. It came crashing down almost exactly in the middle of the
spreading stinking smoke with an impact that shook the building and knocked
down showers of dust and debris.
Primly,
Justice brushed plaster off her titanic vested tits. One of many problems with being built like she was (some day she
was going to go out and find a brick shithouse just to see if the comparison
was apt) was that any hat with a brim big enough to shade her gargantuan chest
was too big to be practical. Or stylish. So she had to be content with some of her
more prominent parts always getting wet when it rained, hot in the sun, or
dirty at times like these.
But
she smiled as she whacked the dust off her hat against a broad powerful
hip. And a couple of seconds later, so
did Savage Fury when she appeared at her side to watch the stunned confusion
below.
“Y’all
definitely take the Gold in shotput,” JJ remarked.
She
pictured the Cowled Crusader waiting outside for the signal, balancing the
enormous Cad overhead on one gloved hand like a waitress carrying a food tray
across a crowded room. When JJ had left
her, Fury had been less concerned with the Cad’s 3 tons plus weight than about
the oil dripping from the crankcase and spattering her thighboots. JJ had promised to hurry but Fury just
shrugged. With the arm holding the
massive car. Whose muscles were barely
flexing.
But
she'd hurried anyway.
And
now only the rear half of the huge Fleetwood projected from a crater in the
auditorium floor. Its horn blew a
single monotonous note. All the women
below stared in frozen astonishment, the Capris’ expressions adding a strong
note of horror. But nobody moved.
“What
the fuck—?” Laverne was barely audible under the horn’s blare. Then: “Hey, that’s Priscilla!”
Justice
moved away from Fury, took position for her part of the fun. Got out her lariat, fashioned a loop and
began to twirl it over her head. Though
not magic like Wonder Woman’s, it had certain unique properties.
Fury
leaped down from the high balcony and alit right in front of the Cad, in the
midst of the astonished gangster girls.
For once the V-straps that barely covered her gigantic tits held them
down—it was always embarrassing to make a big dramatic entrance like this only
to get poked in the eye by a nipple from a massively-flopping watermelon. And not only that ….
Didn’t
turn a heel! Smoooth one!
“Do
you bitches know what this is?” she demanded as she straightened and threw out
her gargantuan chest. Several of the
closest girls jerked back.
“I
know this!” Shirley cried. “Ooo, I know this!”
“It’s
a bust!” Fury and Laverne yelled together.
“Hey!!”
“Get
‘er, girls!” Laverne yelled, sticking her tongue out at her rival.
Screaming
like a pack of banshees and flourishing chains, knives and saps, both gangs
converged on Savage Fury. The Cowled
Crusader waited till they were almost upon her to leap straight up like an
awesomely voluptuous near-nude rocket
Passing
right through the middle of the ever-widening loop of JJ’s
not-magic-but-still-useful lasso as it sailed high over the auditorium floor
and continued to expand.
Fury’s
leap carried her to the ceiling, where she jammed the gloved fingers of one
hand into the concrete, then hung there from that muscular leather-sheathed
limb and watched JJ take her part of the fun far below. Well, she could see some of it—the Masked
Mammazon had to keep twisting her monumental body around because its
gigantically-joggling tits kept getting in the way of her view of the action.
And
she didn’t want to miss a moment.
Justice
could have wrapped the take-down up in a moment by doing the same to the girls
with her rope. The loop in her lasso as
it settled around them (still clustered about the Cad staring up at Savage Fury
like good little girlz) was big enough.
But from the top balcony she gave her gauntleted wrist the tiniest of
flicks that drew the lariat a bit tighter so it dropped around almost all the
gangstaz. Laverne and Shirley were left
(so to speak) out of the loop. And a
few others.
The
rest gave a concerted shrill squeal as the rope (at a much bigger yank from its
massive-mammed masked mistress) encompassed and jerked tight around all 18 of
them and hauled them into a cluster around the Cadillac, where they looked like
they were about to be burned at the stake.
A very red gleaming and massive metal stake whose horn had finally
warbled silent.
They
all struggled but the rope was unbreakable.
And it pulled tighter until they all were jammed in against the big car,
complaining and cursing.
Hah! JJ thought. Let’s see
Wonder Woman do the same with that piece of string of hers!
“C’mon,
Shirl,” Laverne said. “That’s our cue—”
“—to
skiddoo!” the brunette Poodle Skirt finished.
“You
always do that!” the head Capri yelled as they raced off the stage.
“Me??”
Shirley shot back. “You’re the—”
“Don’t
let me interrupt you,” Savage Fury said, gloved hands on her broad bare hips.
“Whoooooaaaa!” The two gangsters skidded to a halt at the
awesome-bodied apparition before them.
As one, they spun in a clatter of heels and swish of skirts and plunged
back the other way, toward the opposite wing
Only
to run smack-dab-jiggle-boooomp into the Cowled Crusader’s elephantine
taut-strapped milkbags on that side. It
was like diving face first into a pair of enormous over-inflated water
balloons—that were backed up by a redwood tree. They sank in almost to their multiply-ringed ears, then (without
the slightest move from the ponderous pair’s owner) bounced back again,
sprawling on the ground.
“Just
the thing for a couple of boobs,” Fury smirked.
“You
tryna poke my eye out with that thing?” Laverne said dazedly, rubbing a teary
nipple-impaled orb.
“I
thought I was gonna drown,” Shirley muttered in a high little-girl voice. “It
was like this dream I have, where I fall into a whooole swimming pool filled
with jello—the lime-green kind I really hate—”
“Shirl,”
Laverne groaned from where she lay.
“Yessss
Mommy?”
“Shut
up!”
On
the auditorium floor the two pair of Capris and Skirts left free by the
lariat’s snare galloped for the front exit.
Only to backpedal with shrill yelps when suddenly faced with the same
imposing road blocks that had stopped their leaders. This titanic swaying twosome however were (kind of) restrained by
a powder-blue spangled vest held waaaay out by its heaving contents, and topped
with a gorgeous masked face framed by a leonine blonde mane and glittering
cowgirl hat. The face regarded them as
rats in a place rats should not be.
“Whoa!”
one of the Capris yelled. “Udder alert!”
“Alert??”
a Skirt said. “Look at the size of those things! It’s an all-out attack!”
“Feel
free t’ counter-attack,” Justice drawled.
“Oh
right, with those 6-shooters?” a Capri snarled.
“Don’t
need ‘em for the likes of y’all,” JJ replied sweetly, and folded her gauntleted
arms.
With
a soprano growl the quartet lunged at the Amazonian Lone Ranger, who just
smiled, and stood her ground. The only
move she made was to the single wire-taut (and utterly inadequate-seeming)
chain that held the two outrageously-overloaded halves of her vest together.
And a
few seconds later the unfortunate four, like their bosses, sprawled stunned at
the ponderous-pontooned paladin’s spikeheeled feet, without more than a hazy
idea of what had hit them. Whistling a
favorite Clint Black tune, Justice ambled over to the prostrate gangsters and
stooped down (causing one Capri’s eyes to widen in fear at the avalanche of
doughy barely-clad tit-meat that plunged into her face, coming so close she
could’ve bitten a teat poking like a finger through its vest). She took them by their collars, one pair in
each gauntleted hand, and dragged them toward the screaming swearing
noose-encircled crowd of their friends.
“What
was the last thing you saw?” a Poodle Skirt asked numbly.
“A
flying boob,” a Capri answered. “What was the last thing you saw?”
“A
flying boob,” the other Skirt replied.
“What
was the last thing you saw?” they all asked the remaining Capri.
But
the punchline was lost because that was when the police finally began to arrive
in a storm of sirens and flashing lights.
“Late
again, Bullwinkle!” The Cowled Crusader sighed.
And
yet too soon—she was just starting to enjoy making the crouched Laverne and
Shirley lick her boots.
-4-
From
a nearby rooftop, Savage Fury and Justice Juggs watched the police haul the
first of the Capris out and escort them to a waiting van. Lights from half a dozen cruisers splashed
red and blue and yellow over the street and buildings below.
“So
they are out tonight,” JJ said, coiling her lasso, now back to its normal
length, and hooking it to her gunbelt. “Nice of ‘em to show.”
“They’ll
be pissed we didn’t stick around,” Fury said.
“They’ll
be pissed we didn’t give ‘em another chance to stare at our tits.” JJ snorted.
“’Sides, we’d spend the rest of the night dealin’ with ‘em, and we’ve got more
important work.”
Fury
couldn’t argue with that. Later on, she
fervently wished she had.
When
it happened, it happened quickly. The
titan-titted twosome were taking a short rest break and JJ was hoping aloud
that all the ruckus with the Capris and Poodle Skirts hadn’t scared their
quarry off. Fury was kind of hoping
silently that it had. The coy but
disgusting news footage of the charred bodies was as close as she really wanted
to get. She had no problem at all with
leaving this one to the cops.
That
was when she heard the scream. It was a
man and it went on and on till it reached the base of her spine. Her super-ears pinpointed the location
instantly: about six blocks due west.
“What—?”
was all Justice had time to say before Fury swept her up in muscular
shoulder-gloved arms and, hunkering down, launched them both skyward.
JJ
just looked at her as they lofted across the night and Fury nodded.
She
saw the light from the flames long before they landed. This was the part she'd dreaded: knowing
there was no way they could save this poor loser, whoever he was. All they could do was keep the monsters who
killed him from burning any more.
Damn!
Two
leaps brought the pumpkin-chested pair to the roof of an apartment building
that overlooked the alley where the blaze was.
The pyromaniacs were getting thorough—whatever was burning below no
longer even faintly resembled anything human.
If it hadn’t been for the scream, anyone would take it for a pile of
trash.
“D’you
see anyone?” Justice asked as Fury set her down.
The
Cowled Crusader cast her super-eyes about.
“No one. But I can still smell
the lighter fluid, so they aren’t long gone.”
Fury
put a gloved arm around her partner and jumped lightly down into the
alley. They stared at the blaze for a
moment, masked faces grim with horror.
JJ put a gauntleted arm around Fury’s broad shoulder, felt her
trembling.
Intently,
the Savage Sensation listened, filtering out the crackle of the flames. She could almost hear—
Breathing? Lips being licked?
The
scuffle of footsteps, two pairs, probably sneakers, breaking into a run—
That
way!
Justice
didn’t need to be told, she followed Fury instantly when without a word The
Thighbooted Thunderbolt raced off—though without her motorcycle there was no
way she could keep up with her speeding partner. She just hoped Fury would save some of the fun for her. She'd relished for some time now the
prospect of beating these monsters to within an inch of their lives, then
getting around to reading them their rights.
No,
within a millimeter.
And
forget the rights.
-5-
In
her super-haste, Savage Fury was upon the fleeing torchers almost before she
knew it. She overshot the pair three
blocks away with such a rush of wind that they were sent tumbling
ass-over-teakettle into some trash barrels with a crash. And by the time Fury had checked her speed
and come back, they appeared to be gone again.
The steet was empty.
But
she listened, and heard from behind the trash cans
Pounding
heartbeats (almost didn’t need super-ears, they were so loud)
Panting
breath
Something
like a scraping snick, repeated again and again, teasingly familiar (if only
she'd been a smoker, she reflected later in a moment of clarity between
onslaughts of pain)
And
the smell of lighter fluid.
“All
right you sick bastards,” she said in a thick enraged voice. “If I come and get
you, I’ll have to break a few bones.”
A
whispered “Oh shit!” that had to be—
But
the Masked Mammazon couldn’t believe it—
The
two monsters stood. And they were
exactly what the voice sounded like:
Boys!
Teenagers
anyway, maybe 16 years old, dressed West Valley in expensively torn and faded
jeans a few sizes too big, oversized shirt carefully untucked and flapping at
their knees and $200 tennies with Raiders baseball caps turned back. In the midst of her astonishment The Cowled
Crusader was willing to bet there was a Mustang or BMW parked somewhere nearby.
These
upscale West Valley high schoolers, who probably spent more for clothes and
computer games in a week then Walt’s whole paycheck, were the ones incinerating
drunks and street people!
“What
in hell?” Fury gasped.
Eyes
wide with terror, the two teens eased out from behind the cans and moved
hesitantly towards her in small mincing steps.
Their shoelaces were untied.
They were good looking boys with clear complexions, well muscled,
probably baseball or gymnastics. Frat
brothers-to-be, except that their fraternity was going to be Phi Beta Con—if
they didn’t get the gas chamber. For
this kind of horror they’d be tried and sentenced as adults.
This
early in her career, surprise and rage could still make her unwary. And they were just boys!! In her 6-inch spikes she was a full head
taller then either one.
“Please,”
they kept saying in trembling voices.
The blonde was holding back tears of terror.
So as
the towering titan-titted superheroine stepped toward them she noticed but
didn’t care that their hands were behind them.
She reached glove-sheathed arms out for them that could tear either one
to bloody shreds as one would pluck petals from a daisy
And
as she was ever so sorely tempted, the words “He loves me, he loves me not, he
loves me” kept running through her head, the tension bunched powerful muscles
across her broad beefy shoulders and back.
So
when the redhead suddenly dropped to his knees before her bawling, she reached
down to haul him up again and maybe shake a few teeth loose.
Justice
might be calling the cops right now and you won’t have enough time to run some
badly-needed changes on these creeps
Wrapped
in her rage as she held the trembling redhead (who was so scared he actually
looked like he was trying not to smile), the Cowled Crusader didn’t see what
the blonde brought up from behind him in a swift practiced motion.
Nothing
that’ll leave marks, nothing a smart shyster lawyer can prove in court, it’ll
be these bland little murderers’ word against—
Till
he squirted a stinging stream of lighter fluid onto her monumental milkbags and
Fury jumped back with a gasp of surprise, the fumes stinging her masked eyes,
making her blink
giving
the redhead plenty of time to make that scratch-snick noise with his Bic lighter,
but only once this time before a foot-long flame leaped out
And
set Savage Fury’s heaving pumpkin-sized tits on fire!
Justice
Juggs heard the shriek of agony just as she raced out of an alley into a
deserted street. Even having shared
only a few missions with Savage Fury she knew immediately whose it was. But though she had heard her
ponderous-pontooned partner scream in pain on a couple of unlucky occasions
(which she would just as soon not think about), she'd never imagined Fury
giving out with anything so strident or piercing.
What
in the world coulda happened?
Because
as had already been proven more than once, the Cowled Crusader could be tricked
or outmaneuvered—she was still inexperienced and not the brightest bulb in the
sign. But anything powerful enough to
really hurt Savage Fury wouldn’t have much trouble with Justice Juggs—guns,
rope, trick bullets, whip and all. Even
weeks after one unlucky occasion, the six-gun supergirl’s titanic tits still
throbbed if she so much as thought about imprisoning them in even her softest,
lightest mega-bra.
Let’s
face it darlin’, anything that c’n whip Superman’s ass wouldn’t even blink at
pore li’l ole Batman! So he’d better be
damned careful!
She
was losing track of that awful siren-like scream. It had gotten muffled and seemed to come from everywhere and it
just went on and on like some horrible train whistle or something, a train that
was getting closer but from which direction she couldn’t for the life of her—
Wait
a minute, it was comin’ from back—
That
was when the brick wall behind the colossal-chested cowgirl exploded outward
and she was battered by a meteor storm of brick and masonry! She staggered back, too strong to be knocked
down by the onslaught
Which
left her a monster-busted sitting (or standing) duck for the howling flaming
juggernaut that slammed into her like a speeding locomotive right through the
cloud of bricks, burning and blinding her with dazzling fire. Had it not been for the fact Justice was
already back-pedaling, even her super-body would have sustained serious injury.
As it
was, the shattering impact sent the mountain-chested manhunter flying across
the street and through a wall of her own, to sprawl stunned half in an
abandoned apartment and half out.
Spike-booted legs widely akimbo on the sidewalk, gold-bushed pussy
gleaming from the shadow of her rucked-up fringed microskirt. The collision had snapped the chain holding
the two halves of JJ’s vest together and her gigantic boobs flopped out,
ponderous heaving masses dragging them to her sides till her big brown nipples
pointed away from her in opposite directions.
Two
things followed her down into the blackness: a dim wish that she'd worn panties
tonight and a hallucinatory impression of two fiery dirigibles, and a screaming
wild-eyed face behind them, hellishly lit by their flames.
You
been watchin’ too much History Channel, girl—all them documentaries ‘bout that
Hinden—Hindenb—
urrrrrrggghhhhhhhhh
….
-6-
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!”
-7-
Savage
Fury ran! O how she ran! She ran screaming, blinded by the flames
that scorched her masked eyes and seared her lungs with every breath. She ran maddened by the agony that seared
her enormously heaving burning tits.
She crashed through brick and stone walls like an artillery shell, left
vaguely human-shaped tunnels through long-abandoned buildings, and tore through
a stolen city transit bus someone had left parked on a side street as though it
was a cardboard mock-up. She knocked
down signs and unlit street lamps like straws.
She
ran howling like a banshee out of hell and fire-lit like one, and those who
heard her in that desolate part of the Valley’s urban sprawl did what they
could to find shelter or secure their doors.
Heedless,
crazed, the Cowled Crusader fled through the night. But fast as she raced, the flames were always before her. And the faster she ran the higher they
blazed but she couldn’t stop or even slow down, she'd forgotten how, there was
only the fire on her gigantic boobs and the pain all through her body and
running was the only way to deal with it even though it only made it worse.
She
might have had a hazy recollection of a collision with something soft that
yelped and then disappeared from her private universe of agony—but that was at
least a minute ago, whole centuries in her new time frame of suffering.
And
then, when in her tormented delirium she decided her gargantuan globes would
burn forever and so would she ….
Salvation. Or so it appeared at first.
As
luck would have it, it was pure luck.
She stumbled over her release from hell—literally. Kicked something in her headlong fiery
flight that rang metallic
And
was suddenly blasted into the air by a geyser of water that erupted like Old
Faithful at her spikeheeled feet! Fury
screamed in both relief and pain as the gusher flung her monstrous flaming
mammaries up into her masked face for a brief flash of pain before
extinguishing their fires, and slammed up into her pussy like some kind of
atomic-powered douche.
The
blast from the broken fire hydrant tossed the Masked Mammazon’s
awesomely-overblown ultra-body straight up and for a painful moment seemed to
support her as it pounded into the depths of her gaping pink pussy like some
kind of super-high colonic
Before
allowing her to collapse sprawling to the pavement—on her back, thank God. Just the gelid jiggling of her elephantine
milkbags settling down on her chest flashed the most exquisite agonies
throughout her, from booted toes to the tip of her scarlet ponytail.
Fury
lay there, dimly aware of the rain, unable and unwilling to move for fear of
exciting her stupendous scorched tits to the slightest motion. The downpour was bad enough: like thousands
of fiery fingers drumming over their vast scorched expanse. Even her heartbeat made them pound like
heavy slow drums, each pulse a burning knife to her brain.
Despite
that, The Cowled Crusader managed to find oblivion. Persistent, not to be denied, the pain from her ponderous
pontoons followed her down but she finally lost it in darkness.