The Misadventures of Britchick Episode II: Under The Hammer.
Caution, this story is for ADULTS ONLY. It contains material unsuitable for those under 18. DO NOT CONTINUE TO READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 OR EASILY OFFENDED.
All characters herein are my creations, and may not be used in anyway without my prior permission.
I do not advocate anyone trying these acts at home. They are illegal, immoral and unhygienic ;) Not to mention bloody impossible.
As usual, please mail all feedback to elmclo@hotmail.com, or post at my new forum http://groups.yahoo.com/group/britchickandfriends
This story takes place a few months after the events of Episode I: Deep Space Nightmare.
“…And so,” finished Britchick as she showed the last slide. “…Billy was caught stealing the teabags and went to jail for a very long time.”
There was halfhearted applause from the class, and only slightly more animated approval from the teacher. Britchick had a feeling that the teacher had spent the hour ogling her breasts between hissing at the more boisterous students in the class.
“Okay.” Said Britchick “Any questions?”
“Yes I have one.” Said a thin, weedy girl in the back; she looked to be about 13 “Do you have any conflicting emotions by presenting yourself as an object of desire rather than a physical person in your fight against crime?”
It took Britchick some time to work out what the young girl was saying. For the source of Britchick’s power, the Britbelt increased her strength tenfold, but reduced her intelligence by 20%. Because Donna Dudley was highly intelligent, the effect as Britchick meant that her intelligence fell to below normal levels.
“Hey, d’ya think that a villain would stop if I dressed as a Nun?” said Britchick. “Next question.”
Most of the girls in the room were muttering amongst themselves, feeling threatened by Britchick’s presence. The boys all stared at her open mouthed. All except for one person. He had a blank looking face, and thick glasses. He raised his hand.
“My Dad says you have a wazzo pair of jugs.”
“Okay, Robert.” Said the Teacher suddenly embarrassed. “You know that’s not true, he said she had a Wazzo, er, passion for justice.”
The bell rang, and the teacher dismissed the class, leaving him alone with Britchick. He loosened his tie and walked up to her.
“You know, the kids really appreciate these classes. Ever since the ISH was formed, you Hero types are so much more… exciting than paper pushing police officers. I’d be very interested in meeting after school to lay you, I mean, lay the foundations of a new curriculum.”
Britchick rolled her eyes. Perverts like this made interacting with the public hard, but she was used to it by now. The ISH community outreach programme was engineered in response to parents’ criticism that superheroes set bad examples. Normally, these school visits were the realm of lesser heroes like ‘ Mantastic’ or ‘Ms. Knowledge’ but Britchick was recruiting for a sidekick, although her school visits were yielding no results.
“I’m afraid you will have to take that up with Mantastic when he returns.” Said Britchick as she stood up. “I have business to attend to.”
She left the school, and mounted her Britscooter, the fastest two-wheeled vehicle in England. Britchick preferred to fight evil at night, but nevertheless, she still had her public responsibilities to attend to. The first matter at hand was her fan mail. In a journey that would take a normal vehicle an hour, she arrived at her ‘flat’ in a matter of hours.
Britchick never slept here, but she lived on the other side of town. However, she used this flat as a place to make phone calls and access the Internet as Britchick so that it couldn’t be traced to her true identity, Donna Dudley.
Britchick read her letters. She had three categories. A) Genuine pleas for help B) Letters from wannabe villains C) Requests for nude photographs. Every day brought hundreds and hundreds of Cs.
She had also received a parcel. She unwrapped it eagerly. It was a box of chocolates with a small card attached. She read it.
Britchick was touched by the gesture, so much so that she didn’t remember the fact that she hadn’t done any charity work in a year. She opened the box, as she did, also unknown to her a micro sensor in the box sent a radio signal to a parked van nearby.
She carefully scrutinised the selection of chocolate treats. Another side effect of the Britbelt was that she could eat anything while wearing it and retain her toned yet curvaceous form.
With her finger and thumb she popped one of the chocolates between her full, luscious lips and licked at the part in her mouth before sucking it all into her mouth and biting it. Caramel – her favourite. She swallowed and went to pick a second one when she light headed.
Must be tiring she thought. I should probably take these home with me and eat the rest in
front of Thelma and Louise. Oh sod it,
just one more.
She ate a second chocolate, this one was strawberry flavoured. As she swallowed the second chocolate, her light-headedness became full-fledged dizziness.
Blimey she thought Maybe I should have one more chocolate then have half an hour’s sleep here before setting off.
She barely bit into the third chocolate when the tranquilliser took full effect. Suddenly realising what was causing her ailment, she stood up to go and grab a cup of coffee but she wobbled and stumbled as if her legs had been turned into rubber. She reached the kitchen area, but the compulsion to sleep was too much. She slumped against a wall, and slid to the cold tiled floor where she completely passed out.
+++
Britchick’s eyes began to roll as she woke up in her new surroundings. With shaky vision, she realised that she was in some kind of warehouse. It was filled with piles and piles of cardboard boxes. A few yards away from her was a table, assembled around it were about six thugs, engaged in a card game. Britchick didn’t want to see what they had planned and with a tug of her wrists, she snapped the chains that were binding her wrists to a small pole on a high set of shelves. Alarmed at the noise, the six cronies rose from the table. The first lunged at her, attempting to take her down with a rugby tackle. The Britannic Babe didn’t budge at his tackle and threw him across the room into a pile of boxes. Two more reached for baseball bats. Britchick lunged at them and effortlessly yanked the weapons from their arms and hit them on the head with just enough force to take them out for a few hours. The remaining three drew guns and fired a barrage of shots at the heroine, but Britchick rolled into a ball and steamrolled over them like a large breasted bowling ball.
She gave a satisfied nod of triumph and quipped “Game over.” Before looking for an exit. Unfortunately for her, a seventh assailant fell from the rafters of the warehouse straight onto her back. He grabbed her waist in a tight leg lock and immediately shoved a rag in her face, Britchick just took one whiff and new that it was chloroform. She desperately tried to fight the intense stench, but her assailant’s already formidable grip was growing stronger by the second, forcing her to the ground. She shuddered as the exposed parts of her curvaceous body touched the hard, cold concrete. The smell continued to fill her nose, mouth and throat until the dizziness returned. In her light headed state, a thought occurred to her.
The thought couldn’t be finished as she collapsed on the floor and fell to sleep.
+++
Britchick woke up again and found that she was again, hanging from the same iron bar in a new pair of chains. They felt the same as before, so she attempted to tug them away, but they wouldn’t budge – in fact the effort hurt her. She looked down, and as before her Union Jack Bikini was on, her red and blue gloves and boots were also present, as was the most important thing – the Britbelt… no, this wasn’t the Britbelt. She could feel it. It was more like plastic than metal.
She looked at the guards. This time there were only three of them – the three who attempted to draw their guns.
At least that’s three less obstacles, she thought.
Before she could demand that they return her belt, a man wearing a black suit and a top hat approached. He carried a cane, and the way his hand gripped the its head made her realised that it was the man who had taken her down.
“Ah, our guest awakens. I trust the defeat I handed you will keep you in line.” His voice was like Ice wrapped in barbed wire.
“But guv, Sid checked the chains an’ they…”
“SILENCE” hissed the leader in a way that even made Britchick jump. “It is only the fact that I know for certain you cretins are not undercover police or super heroes that is keeping you here. One more slip up and wrong word, and you’re all out. Now, go and check on your fallen cronies and get ready for the show…”
The men shuffled off without argument.
“Britchick, my name is Clarke Duncan Saint Paul, AKA The Auctioneer. I bet you’re wondering why I swapped your belt for a fake and let my men believe it was their idiocy that almost let you escape rather than your ample strength.”
“No” said Britchick, only half truthfully “I’m wondering how many ways I can kick your arse before the police arrive.”
Her assailant allowed himself a cruel smile. “Tough words, for a powerless bimbo such as yourself. Well, to answer my question, the reason why I swapped your belt myself is because I paid two million pounds for that secret, and I don’t intend to share it until I get every penny back from my investment.”
He reached out and groped one of Britchick’s plump tits. His hand was icy; she could feel it even through the spandex of her bikini top. Beneath the cloth, her nipples could clearly be seen hardening.
“Ugggghhhhhh er, Investment?” she asked. One of the first things she learned about super villains is that they cannot resist gloating about their schemes. Perhaps if she could get this one to gloat, then it might throw him off track and allow her to come up with a plan before he does whatever he has planned.
“Oh yes.” He said as he took his hand back. “You see, I own evilBay The Underworld’s Online Market Place. Ever wonder how they get celebrity look-alike porn videos and pictures when the star in question denies such transgressions?”
“Fakes” said Britchick “Bored saddos impose heads of actresses on bodies of pornographic models, or they find really really really good look-alikes for videos”
“Mostly yes, but not in my case. You see, I capture female celebrities, force them into acting in my films, erase their memories after and auction the finished item off to the highest bidder on my secret website!”
“That’s as perverted a thing as I’ve ever heard.” Said Britchick “But that doesn’t explain how you got the secrets of my belt!”
“Well, like anything worth its salt on the Internet, my website is interactive. Other villains can sell goods too. For example, selling the services of henchmen while you’re in jail is useful in order to earn money to buy cigarettes to trade your way out of becoming intimate with Mr Big. That’s how I found those undereducated buffoons. The website also stocks secrets. I believe you know the Dominatrix Queen?”
“Noooooo!”
“That’s correct. Two weeks ago, for two million pounds I purchased information about your biggest weakness – being stripped of your belt!”
“You fiend!” she hissed.
“And today I will make my biggest sale ever. You see, most of my previous stars have been well known, and easily identifiable. If one of them were to go missing, then the manhunt from the record companies or movie studios alone would be huge. No, too risky to auction them, that’s why I erase their memories with that machine in the corner. However, with the mask, you were not that well known to begin with. Plus I’d imagine when you’re not prancing around like the goody two shoes that you are, you keep a pretty low profile. Nobody will notice that you are gone, so, you shall be sold lock stock, and two massive barrels to the highest bidder. Now, I know that you won’t want your secret known, in the vain hope that you will escape and put me to justice. So you will have to keep quiet about your belt to the others.”
“Fiend… fiend… fiend… fiend…” she hissed.
Before the Auctioneer could respond with a heartless quip, his men approached. They were now all completely undressed and wearing odd-looking hard hats. Britchick could see the bruises she had inflicted on his men. By the size of their erections, they planned to make her pay.
He went over to a computer panel and fingered in some commands. A massive monitor lit up, and four squares appeared, each with its own occupant.
“Ah, may I present the people who each successfully bid for a mere invitation to this auction. I give you the Host of Horror, the Compare of Chaos, the Quizmaster.”
The first figure was a small man in a loud coloured suit; he seemed to constantly have an insane grin on his face.
“Next, I give you the woman who writes, directs, and stars in her own porn films with her slaves, the Devilish Diva!” The second box had one of the people that Britchick had been investigating for months. Mindy Heaving had allegedly abducted dozens of people against their will and forced them to star in her films, but Britchick could never prove that they were there against their will. Heaving wore the skimpiest of one-piece bikinis. It barely covered her nipples and her sex. She winked at Britchick and a shiver went down her spine.
“Next” said the Auctioneer “I give you the man who hopes to rule the world one day – to him I say get in line – the Cloner!”
Sitting in a chair stroking twin cats, with two buxom female twins standing either side of him, was a featureless looking gentleman. He had a nose, thin mouth, and presumably eyes behind his round sunglasses, but they were utterly plain.
“And finally, a man representing a mystery bidder. Not even I know who he represents, despite my assurances that this link is protected against methods of interception that haven’t even been invented yet. Nevertheless who ever he works for, he was the first to win a ticket for this auction as he paid over a million pounds more than anyone else.”
A man saluted dressed in a plain suit and wearing a black leather mask.
“Please, report this man to the police or the ISH now!” begged Britchick. “I give you my personal word that you will receive full immunity from us and…er… we’ll pay you!”
The Devilish Diva and the Quiz Master broke out into laughter. The Cloner allowed a cruel smile to cross his face. The auctioneer chuckled in his harsh, cold laugh. “I wouldn’t bother pleading. These are four of my hardest bidders, and my four best customers. If they have you in their sites, they won’t let go.”
He clapped his hands together.
“Very well, lets begin! Lot Number One is Britchick. Considered the greatest Heroine in England, maybe the entire world, at least, if you believe the papers that understandably are trying to flatter her to appear on Page 3.” He again groped the heroine’s left breast and turned her head in disgust.
“That’s right, I imagine if she hasn’t foiled any of your schemes, she may well do in the future. Imagine instead of punching you, those fingers could be massaging your favourite body part. You could be licking and sucking at those plump breasts, those full lips could be kissing or sucking that same favourite body part… I trust no mention is necessary of what awaits you in her crotch?”
“All very good, all very good.” Said The Quiz Master “But how do we know that this isn’t a) A robot b) a con c) a ruse to arrest one of us or d) all of the above? “
For the Quizmaster, had the rather annoying habit of phrasing everything as a multiple-choice question.
“The answer, my insane friend is e) none of the above… and I’ll prove it before bidding begins.”
A strange look crossed The QM’s face as if he was receiving an answer off screen. “Judges? Yes we can accept that answer! Congratulations, you’ve won my attention… for now.”
“Good. Now, let the demonstrations begin. My porters here will demonstrate the merchandise using their camera mounted helmets.”
Britchick began to hopelessly struggle against her restraints as the men clad in nothing but miner’s hats moved towards her.
“You’ll notice her clothes. Difficult to copy, even by law all replica masks and costumes must have a tiny tag visible to show that they are imitation.”
“You’ll never get away with this! Slavery is ill-” She was silenced by the gag that was shoved in her mouth and tied at the back. She continued to make noise, but the gag was practically shoved down her throat, and the effort consumed her now finite strength.
“So, not only is this costume proof of the authenticity of the lot, it will be a useful tool should you wish to brainwash Britchick into committing crimes in order to discredit the rest of the ISH.”
“MMMMMMFFFFFFFFF” Protested Britchick.
“Now, of course, there are the breasts.” Began The Auctioneer. “Sid, if you’d be so good.”
The shortest of the three cronies removed her bikini top. If ever you needed an explanation of the theory of potential kinetic energy, this was it, for as soon as the clasp on the Union Flag bikini was unfastened the heaving breasts fell out with such force, one would almost think they were chemically propelled.
‘Sid’ grabbed Britchick’s left breasts and used both his hands to massage it, stretching the nipple and tracing the curves where it connected to her body.
“You’ll notice from Sid’s detailed exam that there is no scarring or other signs of artificial surgery. Sid, how do they feel?”
“All natural guv, all natural.” Responded Sid to the soundtrack of Britchick’s exhausted pleas.
“Splendid.” Said the Auctioneer. “Now, of course, this feature of the merchandise doesn’t have to be just for pleasure – although I wouldn’t blame you if you just used it for that. But these full and plump boobs can be so stimulated to lactate. Super heroine breast milk is one of the highest items on my users’ most wanted list. Hell, if you decide do go down that path, let me know and I’ll make the first bid myself!”
There was laughter from everyone on screen besides the masked man bidding for the mystery party.
“Now, the next perfect feature, that pert ass. Harry.” Another one of the cronies pulled down her briefs to her knees. Harry took great delight in filming down the small of her back town to her behind.
“As you can see, its smoother than silk.” Said the Auctioneer as Harry ran a finger down one of her sweat-coated buttocks. “Again, no cosmetic surgery, this is all natural. Harry, lets explore a little deeper.
“Heh heh, right you are skip.” Said Harry, and thrust his enormous member straight into Britchick’s anus.
“MMMMFFFFFFF MFFFFFFFFFF MMMMMMFFFFFFFFFFF” moaned Britchick as Harry took her forcefully from behind. Harry pointed his head down, so the camera recorded every second of his cock penetrating the Britannic Babe’s arse.
“Harry… what’s it like?”
“Cor, lummie boss, she’s a tight fit… just the way I like em.” Harry chuckled.
“Good.” Said the Auctioneer above the grunts and the pleading moans coming from the two of them. “Now, Sid, if you’d do the honours.”
Without waiting to be asked twice, Sid finished fondling the English Angel’s massive Mammaries, and pointed the camera down the body.
“Yes indeed.” Said The Auctioneer. “If you fancy yourself as something of an amateur eugenics enthusiast, you couldn’t do much wrong if these hips were the ones that bore the first generations of your army. Full, strong, yet still aesthetically pleasing, speaking of which… the camera moved to Britchick’s hairless mound.
“So you see.” Commented the Auctioneer “Not a hair on her body besides her head.” Sid, try her out.
“MMMMMFFFFF” pleaded Britchick who had only been half listening as she sunk further into the misery of being raped with an audience. Of course, Sid wasted no time, and plunged his throbbing manhood straight into Britchick’s sex.
Humiliated, she hung there as she was banged by the two sweaty cronies, clad in her boots, glove and mask, with her British coloured thong pulled down to her knees.
“The bidding starts at three million.” Said the Auctioneer.
“Do we bid a) 3.2 million, b) 4 million or c) 5 million?” said the Quiz Master.
“8 million” said The Devilish Diva
“15 million.” Said The Cloner
Britchick squirmed, as Harry continued the assault on her anus, licking and sucking at her neck. Sid went back to groping and pulling at Britchick’s voluptuous breasts as he pounded in and out of her pussy.
“Mffffff” was all she could manage.
“Do I bid a)-“ began the Quizmaster
“Can the quiz… 23 million.” moaned the Devilish Diva, who was now having her ‘escorts’ pleasure her each licking one breast, and each inserting a finger into the porn baroness’ Sex.
“50 mmmmfff Million.” A head of blond hair could be seen bobbing up and down at the bottom of the screen displaying the Cloner.
“Er… Er… Er…” stuttered the Quizmaster.
The thought of a cut of the money that this auction was making made Harry shout out loud as he filled her anus with his white hot seed, the final thrust was so forceful Britchick was launched upwards, and she was suspended inches of the ground by the two thrusting cocks inside her. Although her sweat soaked mask was still on her face, there was no mistaking the fear in Britchick eyes.
“AH GOD 100 MILLION!” screamed the Devilish Diva as she reached her climax, drenching the fingers of her brainwashed bimbos in her own juices. Harry pulled out of Britchick’s slipping anus and slid to the ground, giving the viewers a stereo view of Britchick’s dampening sex being pounded by Sid’s manhood. His hands wandered down to her sides, and began to fondle and knead Britchick’s buttocks together.
“176 million pounds and twenty three pence.” Although it didn’t occur to Britchick, who was now in the midst of attempting to deny Sid’s precum coated cockhead from her orgasm, it sounded as if the Cloner had reached his limit.
The Devlish Diva walked away from the screen too – she had lost her bid. The Quiz Master was also gone.
“Going Once” said The Auctioneer.
Sid grabbed her buttocks and pushed her with all his might on his massive manhood.”
“Mahhhhhhhhmmffffffffffffffff!” was all Britchick could say as she slid back.
“Going Twice”
Sid repeated the process, and she could no longer resist – she moaned again, as the juices of her pussy mixed with Sid’s precum, and their own sweat. There was a split second before Sid let out a rumbling growl, and filled Britchick’s womb with spurt after spurt of his cum.
“Going three times”
The masked man made his 1st, and the very last, bid.
“2 Billion Pounds and a 1 billion pound one of a kind space shuttle.”
“Fuck…” said the Cloner. He slapped the female clone deep throating him, and switched the feed off.
“Well…” said the Auctioneer. “It would appear as if we have a winner.” He grabbed his cane and brought it down hard against Britchick’s arse. “Sold, for 2 billion and a space shuttle. “What will be the payment arrangements?”
“You will clean her up, then bring her to an address taped at the bottom of the phone in the telephone box on Baker Street. There, we will be waiting with the shuttle and the account containing the money.”
The new Billionaire grinned. “Splendid. I shall see you then.”
“Boys” said The Auctioneer to his cronies. “Go shower and then bring the hose to clean her up before delivery.”
The men nodded and disappeared. The Auctioneer then removed the gag from around Britchick’s mouth.
“Three billion dollars worth of profit. Not bad, not bad.” He said. “Best of all, I’m keeping the belt.”
“Typica…. Typical thief…” said Britchick as she caught her breath without my belt, I’m no heroine, just an exceptionally buxom woman. You’re conning your buyer.”
“Like I care?” said the Auctioneer. “Lets give it a test run.” He stripped naked and had a huge smirk on his face.
“This thing should give me the stamina to fuck you all night long.” He said as he clipped the belt into place.
Got you! She thought.
A playful grin appeared on her face. She hoped that he was less intelligent than she was without the belt. She looked at his eyes… the seemed a little more empty than usual.
Those things that you said about my boobs, bum and pussy. They were the nicest thing anyone ever said about me… did you mean them?”
The Auctioneer, still naked but handcuffed was led past them. “Britchick, I don’t know what I knew, but I swear I’ll know it again! And you’ll know what it is to know fea…”
His rant was stopped as he was shoved into a separate van.
“What’s he saying?” Asked the Inspector.
“I er, must have hit him too hard!” said Britchick.
“Well, I’d be careful, if I were you.” Said the Inspector. “A lot of bad apples relied on this site, and they might try to get to you before we get to them…”
+++
The masked man was on top of the world. He had made a small fortune for himself by spending someone else’s money. Even if that someone was half man half horse. He knocked on the door of his master’s shed.
“Sir, we’ve attached the Horse trailer. We’re ready to go to the airstrip.”
Mysoginex – Centaur the proxy bidder corrected – came out to meet him. His face was scarred from a lab accident long ago. He no longer bothered with clothes, being half horse must mean that modesty is removed from your genetic make up.
“Look at this!” said The Centaur as he held a paper up. The headline read “Britchick foils ultra secret evil website.”
“Ooops.”
“Yes.” Said the Centaur “Oooops. No matter… You may have failed but I promise, one day, I’ll break Britchick in half for what she did to me!”
The end ??