DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 OR EASILY OFFENDED BY SEXUAL MATERIAL, BONDAGE, DISCIPLINE, FEMALE SUBMISSION OR OTHER SEXUAL SITUATIONS.

 

Ms Americana and Flag Girl are the creations of Mr. X.  I came up with the other villains.

 

Please direct all comments and feedback to dark_one@live.com.  Put Ms Americana, Gobblers Galore or Story feedback in subject line, otherwise I might think it is spam and delete.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MS AMERICANA:  GOBBLIERS GALORE

By Dark One

 

            “We’ll all have something to be thankful for tomorrow, won’t we, Ms Americana?” Flag Girl said, big blue eyes sparkling with glee.  “It’ll be the best Thanksgiving Day ever.”

            The shapely blonde wore her golden tresses in her familiar bangs and ponytail style, with a blue mask hiding her identity.  Her costume was less revealing than her taller mentor’s costume.  Flag Girl wore a strapless halter that was blue with white stars on one side, while red and white strips adorned the other side.  A skin tight, red and white striped micro mini sheathed her well rounded hips, with red stiletto heeled boots and red opera gloves rounding out her super heroine costume.  And, of course, the most important part -- the golden power belt that encircled her narrow waist and gave her super strength and other protections.

            “Yes we will, my perky protégé,” Ms Americana said, smirking.  The stunningly beautiful super heroine wore a halter similar to her blonde sidekick’s but with gold trim around the edges and cut more provocatively.  Instead of a skirt, she wore a daring bikini bottom that required a drastic bikini waxing twice a week.  Her red stiletto calf boots had gold stars on the outer sides, and a white stripe up the front and around the top.  Ms Americana wore red leather gauntlet styled gloves that laced up her wrists and a blue choker with gold star.  Like Flag Girl, her identity was hidden behind a blue mask, but hers was star spangled.  As the Queen of Justice, her costume was topped off with a golden tiara with a red “A” boxed in by blue stars.  And, of course, she wore her golden power belt, with the same emblem as the tiara, that made her a super heroine.  “Delta City will have a very thankful Thanksgiving tomorrow, too.  And rightly so.”  Her baby blues narrowed as she gazed upon the distant farmhouse.  “I should’ve closed down the Turkey Farm years ago.”

            The Turkey Farm wasn’t really a farm, and it didn’t have any turkeys.  Not anymore.  Fifty years back the then owner discovered a better, more profitable way to make money.  Prostitution.  He turned his ancestral home into a brothel.  It was after fifty years the most famous brothel in the region.  Many a young man lost his virginity there, romping with the Gobbler Girls.

            Now, the grandson of that man owned and ran the Turkey Farm -- Farmer Fred -- along with his second wife, Annabelle.  Of course, she was more commonly referred to as either Mistress Annabelle or Madam Annabelle.

            Ms Americana was prompted to put them out of business tonight, the night before Thanksgiving Day, after Flag Girl learned at a sorority party the night before of the annual visit the local college football team paid to the Turkey Farm after their Thanksgiving Day Game, win or lose.  Like Flag Girl, Ms Americana was outraged that the owners of the Turkey Farm -- and especially the team coaches -- would corrupt young men like that.

            The sun was going down and there were a dozen cars, SUVs and pickups out front of the brothel.  The house itself was a sprawling Victorian with deep porches and balconies and gingerbread trim.  It was painted pale yellow with white trim.  The surrounding lawn was well kept.

            “Let’s go,” Ms Americana said.

            They quickly got back into Ms Americana’s custom Ferrari, painted to match her legendary red, white and blue bikini costume, with large red A on the doors and hood.  Ms Americana floored it and they roared towards the farmhouse/brothel.  She could see whores on the balcony above the front door, relaxing and laughing.  When they did a double-take at her speeding approach she and Flag Girl shared a smile.

            “We’ve been made,” Flag Girl said.  “I wonder how many of those nasty miscreants inside just pissed themselves.”

            “At least Farmer Fred and Mistress Annabelle, I hope,” Ms Americana said.

            They skidded to a stop in front of the Turkey Farm main house, kicking up a ballooning cloud of fine dust.  Leaping out of the car, the vivacious vigilantes raced for the front door.  Not even bothering to check to see if it was locked, Ms Americana just kicked the front door in.  Flag Girl followed her inside.

            “Halt, miscreants!” Ms Americana shouted.

            Ms Americana counted eighteen scantily clad women, mingling with four young men and one old coot.  The old man was obviously a farmer, still in his overalls and John Deer cap.  At least he looked like he bathed before coming over.  The four younger men all wore wedding rings and were dressed like hunters.  She scowled at them, not liking the idea of men cheating on their loving, innocent wives.

            “M-Ms Americana!  We c-can explain,” one of the stinking cheaters started to stammer.  She recognized him as a mid-level executive in her company.  “We…we were just…uh…I mean…”

            “Enough,” she said harshly.  “Get out of here.  Men and women alike.  My fight is with the ownership, not the patrons or the victims.”

            The men didn’t hesitate.  They bolted.  Ms Americana was surprised how fast the old farmer moved.  He was the first one out the door.  Other men came stumbling down the stairs as well, still pulling on clothes.

            “What victims?” a striking blonde asked, looking baffled.  She was decked out in full whore mode:  Black leather halter,  red leather short shorts and stiletto fuck me pumps.  “Prostitution is a victimless crime.”

            “Society at large is the victim,” Flag Girl said.  She looked at the whores with pity.  “But, on a more personal level, you girls are the biggest victims, being exploited by evil, vile brothel owners and depraved johns.”

            To Flag Girl’s surprise, that only enraged the working girls in the room.  While several of the pretty young women slipped out side doors, the bulk of the Gobbler Girls crowded in front of the delicious duo.  The two super heroines struck classic poses and leveled disapproving, but firm, gazes upon them.

            “Oh, we’re victims alright, Flag Twit,” a ravishing redhead said.  She was wearing a black lace teddy and black thigh boots.  “But Farmer Fred and the johns aren’t the ones victimizing us.  It’s a pair of moronic do-gooders that are victimizing us.  Care to take a wild guess who I’m talking about?”

            “Good one, Cindy Lou,” the blonde laughed.

            “Thanks, Bambi,” Cindy Lou said, grinning.

            Ms Americana sighed deeply.  She knew Flag Girl’s outburst wouldn’t convince those poor, misguided women.  They were brainwashed and didn’t consider themselves victims.  Not yet.  Once they were too old to turn tricks and were cast out by their evil oppressors, destitute and used up, then they would be able to look back and see what happened.

            “We neither have the time nor the inclination to argue the point, ladies,” Ms Americana said.  “We’re here to close down this illegal operation.  So, just tell us where to find Farmer Fred and Mistress Annabelle.”

            “Why don’t you ask me, Americana,” a deep male voice said from behind them.

            Ms Americana slanted a look over her bare shoulder and found Farmer Fred and two bouncers.  She’d researched her target well, and knew the only two bouncers where his two sons, Clyde and Hank.  Clyde was twenty-two and Hank twenty.  Their mother wasn’t Annabelle, but Farmer Fred’s first wife, Cherie.  Cherie died five years back when a morbidly obese john passed out atop her.  Suffocation.  Ruled an accident.  Madam Annabelle was a former hooker at the Turkey Farm, and his favorite.  The much younger and ambitious redhead quickly moved into his bed and marriage.

            “At last we meet, Farmer Fred,” Ms Americana said, sneering.  She turned to face him, her hands balling up into fists and resting on well rounded hips.

            “Ooo, look at the lips on the big titted one, Pops,” Clyde said.  “That’s some fine gobbler lips if I ever seen any.”

            “Sure ‘nough, Clyde,” Hank said, grinning evilly.  “They are a pair of Gobbler Girls for sure.”

            “Gobbler girls?  Gobbler lips?” Flag Girl said, confused.

            “Gobbler lips are made for gobbling up big cocks and sucking them,” Cindy Lou said, laughing.  “And you both have full, beautiful lips.  Perfect for kissing or SUCKING.”

            Ms Americana felt her face burning.  No one had ever spoken to her so disrespectfully.  To even think SHE would give a man oral pleasure was beyond comprehension!

            “How DARE you!” Flag Girl cried, and charged the three men.

            The Turkey Farm men were only five steps away.  It took her less than two seconds to be amidst them, kicking and punching.  Farmer Fred and his sons were caught by surprise.  None of them knew it was possible to move that fast.  The brothel owner went down from a kick in the belly, then Flag Girl took out Hank with a roundhouse to the head.  Clyde recovered quickly and punched the bouncy blonde in the lower back, then pushed her away.  But before he could follow up Ms Americana waylaid him with a right cross.

            “Well, that was easier than I thought it would be,” Ms Americana said.

            “Oh!” an auburn beauty in shiny black leather cried as she entered the room.  Then she raced over to Farmer Fred, who was gasping and clutching his belly.  “Honey cakes, are you all right?”

            “Madam Annabelle, I assume,” Ms Americana said.

            Annabelle looked up at the smug super heroines and snarled.  Bright green eyes flashed and she pointed at the duo.

            “Tammy Jo.”

            Movement to their left caught the super heroines’ attention.  Ms Americana turned to confront this Tammy Jo and whatever she had planned.  Flag Girl was behind her, guarding her back.  She was confident no one would sneak up behind her, so she could concentrate on the threat before her.  Only, there was no threat to be found.

            “Oh,” Flag Girl cried out.  “Stop!  Don’t!”

            Ms Americana whirled around to find a tall brunette with a razor sharp knife held to Flag Girl’s slender throat.  Her sexy sidekick had frozen.  Ms Americana froze as well.  Both knew the power belt would stop bullets, but not a knife.

            “Halt,” Ms Americana called with her most commanding voice.

            “No, you halt, Ameri-asshole,” Annabelle said angrily.  “Otherwise, I’ll have Tammy Jo slice her ear to ear.”

            “That’s murder,” Ms Americana said, eyes wide.

            “Duh!  I never would’ve figured that one out, girls.  Now I see why she’s such a formidable foe,” Annabelle said.  “She possesses a superior intellect.”

            The sexy super heroine felt he face burning as the madam and her whores laughed at her.  But she couldn’t do anything about it, not with Tammy Jo holding that knife to Flag Girl’s throat.

            “A genius indeed,” Cindy Lou said, laughing.

            “Ms A, don’t allow … mmmmhhhhhmm…,” Flag Girl cried, before another girl stuffed a bright red ball gag in her mouth, then buckled it tight behind the sexy sidekick’s head.  “Uuhhhgggghhhhh!”

            Ms Americana was at a loss.  She’d never been in that situation before.  The buxom heroine had always been in firm control of the situations.  Or at least she never lost control after taking control.

            “Put your hands up, Ms Americana,” Farmer Fred said in a pained voice as Annabelle helped him up.  Bambi and Cindy Lou helped Clyde and Hank to their feet.  “One wrong move and Flag Twit dies.”

            Heart hammering, Ms Americana obeyed.  Mostly, she needed time to figure a way out of that mess.  So she stood straight, head high and hands raised.

            “Boys, hold her tight,” Annabelle said, pointing at Ms Americana.

            “This is an outrage,” Ms Americana said as she allowed the two bouncers to twist her arms behind her back and seize her by the upper arms.  She struggled briefly, just enough to see they had her securely held.  Of course, she still wore her power belt and that made her five times stronger than the two brothers combined.  She was confident she could break loose at will.  “You won’t get away with this.”

            “Of course we will,” Annabelle said.  “Okay, boys, remember how we pleasured April last night?  Good, get her ready.”

            Clyde and Hank each reached down with one hand and grabbed her just above the knees.  Then she was lifted up and her knees spread extremely wide, leaving her belly and pubic mound frightenly exposed and vulnerable to exploitation.  It was the first time ever Ms Americana regretted stretching and being so incredibly limber.

            Farmer Fred was grinning fiercely at her.  Annabelle walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a ten inch white vibrator.  It was long and thick, like a cock.  The sight of it made Ms Americana’s cunt begin to tingle and moisten.  Then Annabelle walked over and stopped before Ms Americana, looking down at her vulnerable crotch, still covered by the thin red, white and blue bikini bottoms.

            The stunning super heroine glanced at Flag Girl.  Tammy Jo still had that knife to her throat.  Flag Girl was horrified.  While she watched, Bambi bound the blonde sidekick’s wrists behind her back.  Then she was forced to her knees and Cindy Lou pulled down her top, allowing her globular white 38Ds to pop out.  Tammy Jo knelt behind the helpless heroine, one hand holding the knife to her throat and the other playing with her firm, bouncy tits.

            Annabelle stole her attention at that time, by reaching down and jerking her bikini bottoms aside.  Ms Americana’s bikini waxed snatch was suddenly exposed for all to see.  Then Annabelle’s bright green eyes locked with Ms Americana’s baby blues, and she smiled as she turned on the vibrator.  The statuesque super heroine’s eyes grew wide as the black leather sheathed dominatrix lowered the vibrator to pussy level.

            “What are you going to do with tha….oooohhhhh,” Ms Americana said.  Annabelle pressed the tip of the vibrator to her prisoner’s clit.  The sexy super heroine had never used a vibrator before, had no idea what it could do to and for a woman.  But she found out real fast.  “Uuuugggggggghhhhhhh!”

            “Oh, she LOVES that,” Bambi cooed, clapping her hands happily.  “So do I.”

            “So does every girl,” Cindy Lou said enviously.

            Ms Americana ground her teeth and curled her toes inside her red boots.  So much intense stimulation was more than any woman could withstand.  But she had to withstand it, because her belt provided super strength only as long as she had pent up sexual energy.  If she was ever sexually satisfied, even sated, then she would be effectively de-powered for days, if not weeks.  In Brenda Wade’s sterile man-free lifestyle, there was little stimulation to allow her to build up pent up sexual frustrations.

            As soon as the auburn-maned dominatrix pressed the vibrator to her clit Ms Americana felt her body changing.  Natural lubrication flowed liberally.  She felt a tingling heat flash to life deep in her belly, and that began to spread like wildfire.  Within thirty seconds the Mighty Queen of Justice was panting like a bitch in heat as pussy juice started dripping off her flushed, fleshy folds of her pussy.

            “A-Annabelle!  We n-need to t-talk,” Ms Americana gasped out, having to concentrate with almost everything she had to keep from losing control of her body.

            “Mistress,” Annabelle said.  “Call me ‘Mistress.’”

            Ms Americana groaned.  Her hold on her body’s reactions were tenuous.  Any little slip and she’d lose the battle.  Climax, and she could lose the war.

            “Uuunngghhh,” Ms Americana groaned.  “Mis-Mistress Annabelle, we have to talk.  P-Please, s-stop with…the vib-brator.”

            Annabelle removed the vibrator from Ms Americana’s clit as requested, but she slid it down her hot, wet slit and pushed it deep into the sexy costumed strumpet’s vagina.  Ms Americana’s shapely body convulsed.  She gasped and threw her head back, eyes rolling up and then she shuddered violently.

            “Uuuunnnggghhhmmmmm.”

            Clyde and Hank held on tightly as Ms Americana kicked her booted feet, moaned and groaned, gasped and panted.  She arched her back, and then thrust her hips forward so that Annabelle had easier access to her pussy.  All without thought or realization she was doing such things.  Ms Americana was deep inside, fighting a desperate losing battle to hold off the monster orgasm that was building greater and greater, threatening to put an end to her super heroine days.

            “Great Liberty!” she cried, losing control.  Ms Americana felt her body change, felt that unstoppable rush to climax flow through her body.  “Aaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiieeeeee!”

            Annabelle pushed the vibrator all the way into Ms Americana’s pussy and then reached up and unfastened her bikini top.  Big, juicy melons fell out, bouncing enticingly before her as her strapless top fell to the floor.  She caressed their silky smooth white skin, then squeezed and pinched the already hard nipples.

            “Nnuuugghhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeee!” Ms Americana cried, devastated by another, even more powerful, soul searing climax.  “Great Liberty, I can’t take it.”

            But take it she did.  Annabelle spent the next hour vibrator fucking the Queen of Justice.  After she forced a dozen climaxes out of her pussy, Annabelle pushed the vibrator up Ms Americana’s poop hole and knelt between her legs and started eating out the sexy super heroine.  The double stimulation was too much.  After ten minutes of that Ms Americana experienced machinegun orgasms, one climax right after the other, for twenty minutes.

            “Uggghh,” Ms Americana grunted as she hit the floor.

            Ms Americana was left sprawled face down on the floor.  The whores all laughed at her.  Annabelle then had Clyde pick up the super heroine and place her atop a nearby table.  Ms Americana’s head lolled about, then fell to one side.  When she opened her eyes and focused, she saw Flag Girl stripped down to boots, gloves and mask, sucking Farmer Fred’s cock and being strap-on fucked from behind by Bambi.

            “Flag…,” Ms Americana said weakly.  “Forgive me.”

            Annabelle removed Ms Americana’s bikini bottoms and crawled up on top of her.  She straddled her waist, then directed Clyde up between the super powered vixen’s mile long legs.  His grin was a big as Annabelle’s when he dropped his pants and his erect cock sprang up.  She watched him rub his cock all over their hapless heroine’s snatch, then finally guide the head between the fleshy lips, and push deep inside.  Clyde mounted the super heroine with a moan of pure pleasure, and Annabelle turned her attention back to Ms Americana, who was arching her back with a matching groan of pleasure.

            “You belong to us now, Ms Ameri-slut,” Annabelle said.  The Queen of Justice’s eyes were closed and her full red lips slightly parted, so the madam lowered her lips and kissed her prisoner deeply.  Then she whispered into Ms Americana’s ear, “Tomorrow you and Flag Slut over there will start working here, as whores.”

            “No,” Ms Americana managed to say.  It wasn’t easy to speak with a dry mouth and Clyde’s cock ramming in and out of her cunt.  And don’t forget that maddening vibrator up her butt.  She could feel herself building toward another climax, and didn’t have the strength of body or will to stop it.   “We are super….heroines.  We can’t….compromise ourselves.  Can’t break the law.  Can’t….Uuuggghhh…allow our…selves to be…turned into common w-whores.”

            “Oh, yes you can.  And you will, too,” Annabelle said smugly.  She reached down and pulled off Ms Americana’s blue star-spangled mask.  Ms Americana’s reaction was immediately and profound -- HORROR.  It took a second before the wicked madam recognized who she had.  “Oh my God!  Brenda Wade?  It can’t be…but, yes, it is!”

            “Brenda Wade?” Farmer Fred said, looking around at his wife with a look of surprised joy on his face.  He was busy fucking Flag Girl’s mouth while Bambi strap-on fucked her up the poop-chute.  “THE Brenda Wade?  Pain in the ass, goodie-two-shoe Brenda Wade?”

            “The same,” Annabelle said.

            Farmer Fred lost his wad at that moment, filling Flag Girl’s busy mouth with creamy white jizm.  She struggled to swallow it all, but a few drops dribbled down her chin.

            He reached down and pulled off Flag Girl’s mask.  She gasped, then swooned.  Bambi reached around and grabbed her 38Ds, keeping her from falling face first to the floor.  The beautiful blonde Gobbler Girl continued to strap-on fuck the gorgeous vanquished vigilante.

            “Get a camera, Hank,” Farmer Fred said, eyes a-twinkle.  “We need insurance and blackmail material.”

            “Uuuggghhhhhnnnnnnnnnnoooooooo,” Ms Americana cried, half from what Farmer Fred said, and half from what Clyde was doing to her pussy.  “I can pay for your silence.  Just let us go.”

            “Oh, you will pay, Ms Ameri-obnoxious,” Mistress Annabelle purred, caressing her beautiful unmasked face.  “You and Perky Girl over there will pay dearly.”

            “Starting with a glorious Gobbler Girl gang bang!” Farmer Fred shouted.  “Okay, girls, go grab your biggest dildos and strap-ons and line up!”

            Ms Americana and Flag Girl were gang banged by the Gobbler Girls, the bouncers and ownership, all evening and well into the wee hours of the darkest night of their lives.  They were fucked long and hard, until they lost all sense of self and became mindless sex machines, endlessly answering the desires, needs and sickest carnal pleasures of one violator after another.

#                    #                    #

            Ms Americana and Flag Girl knelt before Mistress Annabelle in the main parlor midmorning Thanksgiving Day.  They were in full costume again, masks and power belts included.  Of course, after a night being gangbanged stupid their power belts were just decoration.  Both women were tired and sore, but still defiant.

            “Last night was just for fun,” Mistress Annabelle said.  “Starting now, it is business.  From this moment on, you are a pair of Gobbler Girls.”

            “Yes, Mistress,” they said as one.

            Mistress Annabelle looked around the room, at the two lusty bouncers and other Gobbler Girls.  She touched Ms Americana’s bare left shoulder with the end of her black riding crop.  Ms Americana’s baby blues lifted up, looking up with expectation and a hint of apprehension.

            “Kiss my boot.”

            Ms Americana sucked in a sharp breath.  Her eyes flashed, then submission spread across her beautiful masked face.  Her eyes dropped to the shiny black boot before her, with the pointy toe and five inch stiletto heel.  The finest in fetish wear, no doubt.

            The miserable super heroine dropped to all fours, and lowered her face to the floor.  Then after a second of hesitation, she pressed her shimmering ruby reds to the toe of Mistress Annabelle’s boot.  Then she sat back on her legs and waited, leaving a perfect lip print on the patent leather.

            Mistress Annabelle smiled as the others laughed and made cutting remarks.  Then the auburn-maned dominatrix touched Flag Girl’s bare shoulder with the riding crop.  She didn’t have to say anything.  The sexy blonde was prepared, and immediately dropped to all fours and pressed her full red lips to the toe of her mistress’s other boot.

            Annabelle signed contentedly as she gazed down at the lip prints on her shiny boots.  It felt good to win.  It felt even better to dominate the indomitable.  Super heroine submission was the sweetest of all.

            “You know your rooms?”

            “Yes Mistress,” Ms Americana said.  “Room 25, at the north end of the second floor hall.”

            “Yes Mistress,” Flag Girl said.  “Room 2 at the south end of the second floor hall.”

            TINGLE LINGA-LING!        

            “Oh, a customer,” Mistress Annabelle said.  She clapped her latex gloved hands,  “Gobbler Girls, dazzle.”

            Ms Americana looked up to see the old farmer returning cautiously.  He froze when he saw the two kneeling super heroines.

            “Are they…?”

            “Yes, they are, Mr. Burke,” Mistress Annabelle said.  “The one and only vivacious vigilantes, Ms Americana and Flag Girl.  I convinced them to join our friendly little house of carnal delight last night.”

            “How?”

            “Easy.  I dominated them,” she said, smiling suggestively.  “All powerful women like them are secretly begging to be dominated.  The more powerful, the more LIBERATED, the more they secretly yearn, secretly NEED to be cast down and dominated.”  She stepped between the two super heroines and petted their silky soft hair.  “These are two of the most powerful of all the super heroines, so the most desperately in need of a strong hand to guide and dominate them.  And I assure you, they responded exquisitely to my form of sensual discipline and obedience.  As you can see.”

            “How much?”

            “Gobblers Day Special,” Mistress Annabelle said, grinning.  “Twenty-five dollars an hour -- each.  After all, you’ll be their very first john ever, so they aren’t very good in bed.  Yet.  Beside, you’ve been a loyal customer from the first day the Turkey Farm opened.”

            “Ms Americana then,” he said, suddenly fidgeting with excitement.  “I’ve been fantasizing about her for fifteen years or more.”  He looked Flag Girl over, then grinned, “I’ll be back tomorrow to fuck Flag Girl.”

            “Excellent, Mr. Burke, you’ve made an excellent choice,” Mistress Annabelle said.  Then she touched Ms Americana on the shoulder with her riding crop.  “You heard him, Ms Sugar Puss.  Get to work.”

            “Yes, Mistress Annabelle,” Ms Americana said softly.

            The statuesque super heroine rose gracefully to her feet and looked the old farmer over.  He was dressed much as the day before, in bib overalls and John Deere cap.  Much older than she originally thought, nonetheless she spied his cock tenting his overalls already.  She smiled tightly at him, but he didn’t see it.  The old farmer’s eyes were fixed on her 44DDs.

            Mistress Annabelle snapped the tip of her riding crop on Ms Americana’s left butt cheek.  The sexy super heroine jumped slightly and stepped forward, ending her hesitation.  She had no choice.  Mistress Annabelle and Farmer Fred knew her secret identity, and that of Flag Girl.  If either of them failed to obey, then they both would die by the hands of their enemies.

            “What’s your name?  Mr. Burke?” Ms Americana said as she took him by the hand.  He only managed to nod.  She pulled his hand up to her right tit and laid it palm down upon it.  He immediately squeezed it.  “Mmmm, strong hands.  I like a man with strong hands.  It makes me weak and horny.”

            “Really?”

            She had to fight the immediate impulse to roll her eyes in disbelief.  Surely he wasn’t so dense he thought she was WILLINGLY prostituting herself.  Her face was burning with shame, her stomach was an explosion of butterflies and her hands were trembling.  She was a mess, but he was only seeing his sick sexual fantasy come true.

            <Pig,> she thought bitterly.  <All he cares about it nailing Ms Americana.  He doesn’t care that he’s helping to destroy an Americana Icon, much less care he is destroying me.  He just wants to fuck me.>

            “Are you REALLY Ms Americana?”

            “In the flesh, lover,” she said, starting to guide him toward the stairs.  When they reached the stairs, she released his hand and grabbed his cock through the thick denim of the overalls.  “This for me?”

            “Yup.”

            Ms Americana led the farmer up the stairs and to her room by his cock.  He followed like a puppy.  But when the door closed, he was all business.  He sat on the bed and started to pull off his boots.  She watched him undress with her distaste well hidden behind an insincere smile he didn’t bother to look at.  All he saw were her tits and ass.

            “I’m sorry, lover, but I have to ask for the money first,” she said, disgusted for three reasons.  Reason one: this was the first time she’d ever asked for money for sex.  It made her a prostitute in the purest definition of the word.  Reason two: Mistress Annabelle was forcing her to call this disgusting pig of a man “lover” or some other endearing term.  Reason three: and the absolute worse was her body’s reaction, starting to tingle deep in her loins.  She could feel moisture building in and on her pussy.  “Then I’ll make you feel like a man.”

            His eyes went wide, he swallowed hard, and scrambled to get the required twenty-five dollars.  Seconds later he handed her two tens and a five.  She took the money with a heavy heart, and covered in gooseflesh.  The tingle stretched between her pussy and her throat, making it hard to breathe or speak, much less swallow.

            “How d-do you want m-me?” she asked, shamed by the tremble in her usually strong voice.  She reached up and unfastened her red, white and blue bikini top.  Her heavy globular tits fell out, jouncing enticingly before his enraptured eyes.  Her pink nipples were hard and very erect.  “You can have me in any position you want?”

            “Oh, missionary, baby,” he said, scooting quickly to the middle of the bed and patting a spot next to him.  “Take it off and bring it to daddy, baby.”

            Ms Americana tossed him her top.  He caught it and sniffed deeply, looking as if he was in dreamland.  Then she removed her bottoms and tossed those to him as well.  He groaned in pleasure when he sniffed the crotch.  He then tossed the bikini on the floor as she crawled onto the bed.

            “Mmmmmm,” she purred as she fed him a massive tit.  He licked her hypersensitive nipple, then sucked it in.  He lightly bit the nipple, then sucked hard.  “Uuugghhh, baby.”

            He spent the next five minutes totally absorbed fondling, sucking, licking and otherwise molesting her 44DDs.  After five minutes, he dropped one hand down to her twat and laughed with pleasure.

            “Lordie, you’re SOPPING wet!  This is the first time I ever fucked a whore that was actually excited about fucking me,” he said, eyes bright with lust.

            Once again Mr. Burke didn’t notice the burning shame on her too expressive face.  Ms Americana knew her throat was too tight to speak normally, so just slipped beneath his eager body and guided it cock to her burning cunt.  She watched his face as he pushed in.  She’d never seen pure unadulterated pleasure on a man’s face like that.  He was savoring every second as he slowly pushed into her body.

            The old farmer didn’t last long in the saddle.  In less time than he spent on her tits he shot his load deep inside her vagina.  She groaned and sighed, strangely disappointed he didn’t last longer.  Another minute and she would’ve had an orgasm too.  But she smiled at him and praised his manhood profusely.  He swore he would visit her every third Thursday of every month, at least.  His social security check came in on the third Wednesday of the month.

            He was so pleased, he forgot he paid for an entire hour.  She didn’t remind him.

            Returning downstairs, Ms Americana kissed Mr. Burke on the corner of the mouth and saw him to the door.  Then she returned to the parlor, handing Farmer Fred the first twenty-five she earned.  She discovered Flag Girl missing, and learned she was upstairs.  The two super heroines didn’t see each other until lunch at 1 PM.  Of course the Gobbler Girls ate meals in shifts, so there were always a gaggle of Gobblers at hand for johns to choose from.

            “That was the most humiliating four hours of my life,” Flag Girl said as they sat down at the kitchen table with four other Gobbler Girls.  “Especially sucking them off.  Ack!  The thought runs my appetite.”

            “It sours my stomach too,” Ms Americana said.  “But eat.  I know we’ll need the strength it will give us.”

            The other Gobblers laughed at them.

            “How many have you taken upstairs?” Bambi asked, eyes full of mischief.

            “Twenty-two,” Ms Americana said.  She was still amazed she was fucking more than five an hour.  She always thought prostitutes got no more than one or two an hour on a good day.

            “Nineteen,” Flag Girl said.  “And every last one of them wanted a blow job first, then end with a fuck.  Oh, wait, three of them just shot in my mouth, and of them two paid for more time to fuck my pussy.”

            “And you?” Bambi asked Ms Americana.

            “About the same.  Except four came in my mouth, and only one paid for more time,” she said.  “And two other men paid for more time so they could fuck me again in a different position, both chose doggie style.”

            “Then you didn’t have it that bad,” Tammy Jo said scornfully.  “I admit, most of the men visiting us today are waiting for one of you.  You might notice the rest of us are a bit miffed about that.  But Thanksgiving Day is a little slow until the Team gets here.”

            “Team?” Ms Americana and Flag Girl said at once.

            “Delta City University Devil Dogs,” Bambi said matter-of-factly.  “They visit us after every Thanksgiving Day game.  It’s a tradition that goes back to the second year after the Turkey Farm went into business.”

            Ms Americana and Flag Girl shared a miserable look.  That annual visit was the thing that spurred them into action yesterday.  They wanted to stop it at all costs, but now they would be forced to PARTICPATE in it.  As whoring Gobbler Girls.  Ms Americana’s sphincter and pussy tightened up and her lunch threatened to come up.  She swallowed hard and forced a smile.

            “Great.  A whore house FULL of horny colleges jocks,” Ms Americana said.  “It can’t get worse than that.”

            “My God, I KNOW most of them,” Flag Girl whined.  “They won’t recognize me, but I’ll know them as they fuck me.  I’ll die of humiliation.”

            “W-when will they be here,” Ms Americana said, pushing her plate away.

            “Hmmm,” Tammy Jo said, staring intently as the clock.  “It’s a noon game.  End around three.  Another hour to clean up and get over here.  Somewhere between four and five, I say.”

            “Closer to four,” Bambi said.  “They are REAL eager to get their big jock hands on us!”

            “I hope I don’t get stuck with the head coach again,” Cindy Lou said, face screwed up in distaste.  “He has a pencil dick and reeks of Bengay.”

            The other Gobbler Girls laughed uproariously.  Ms Americana and Flag Girl just grimaced and swallowed hard.  Each just KNEW she’d be the one forced to fuck the head coach, the legendary Coach “Hard Charging” Charlie Cain.

            It proved a LONG three and a half hours waiting for the team.  The game ended at two-fifty, with a Devil Dog victory.  A stunning upset, in fact.  They beat a nationally ranked team 45 to 10.  The Gobbler Girls were all excited.  Many were coeds, like Lydia.  Besides, when they won they spent more money, and did a lot more fucking.  The coaches also bought the team a lot of alcohol, so they would be a bunch of drunken college jocks, horny with lust and victory.

            “Keeps getting better and better,” Ms Americana grumbled, dreading the coming ordeal.

            But Ms Americana and Flag Girl proved much too busy to worry too much about the coming sexual escapades.  Their five men an hour when up to seven for Ms Americana and six for Flag Girl.  They barely had a moment to themselves they were so busy.  And to both of their shame, and deeply secret pleasures, they climaxed with almost every customer.  Indeed, Ms Americana’s last four johns each fucked her into multiples orgasms.  She was beside herself.

            “That erotic heat, that sexy tingle never stops anymore,” she confided in Flag Girl around three forty-five.

            “I know, I’m having the same problem,” Flag Girl said.  “And the team will be here any minute.  I’m scared.  I’m afraid they will break me, Ms A.”

            Ms Americana nodded, throat tight.  “Me, too, my friend.  I’m already so close, I’m afraid I’ll be tamed by them as well.”

            Around three-thirty the Turkey Farm started turning away men.  Once the men realized the victorious football team was about to arrive they nodded knowingly and said they’d come back another time.  It wasn’t long after that the last, very satisfied, johns left after fucking Ms Americana and Flag Girl.  The vivacious vigilantes returned to the main parlor to find it packed with every Gobbler Girl working at the Turkey Farm.

            “Big payday for us,” Bambi said, trembling she was so excited.

            Ms Americana and Flag Girl just shared a grim look.

            “I hope I get hired to go downstairs for one of the Special Rooms.”

            “Special Rooms?” Ms Americana asked, despite knowing she did not really want to know.

            All the Gobblers close enough to overhear looked at her like she was crazy.  But Bambi smiled indulgently.

            “The basement is divided into rooms.  Each has its own theme, but basically they are bondage rooms where we get to charge more.”

            “A lot more,” Tammy Jo piped in, with a mercenary grin.

            “And the more men there are in there with you, the more you earn,” Cindy Lou said, grinning maliciously at the heroic newcomers.  “Of course, you will earn more like that, but you don’t get to keep any or your money.”

            The Gobbler Girls laughed.

            “We get to keep ALL of our money and tips,” Bambi said.  “Well, the Turkey Farm gets a percentage, but we keep most of it.”

            “Money is not our concern,” Flag Girl sneered.

            “Fail to earn enough tonight, and see how differently you feel after the team leaves,” Cindy Lou said with an ugly snarl.  “Mistress Annabelle will take it out of your lovely hides with that riding crop.  I promise it.”

            Ms Americana felt butterflies erupt in her belly.  Her eyes started to burn.  She had to blink and turn away, afraid tears of humiliation, shame and helplessness would start flowing.  It wasn’t right.  She was a superior woman, too good to be a stinking whore, a Gobbler Girl.  She was rich beyond any of these whores’ dreams, and more powerful than any of them would dare to dream to achieve.

            “What are we going to do, Ms A?” Flag Girl asked.

            “We’re going to get fucked, Flag Girl.  Royally fucked and debauched,” she said with supreme distaste.  “And there’s nothing we can do about it but smile and say thank you kindly, mister.  Next.”

            Mistress Annabelle and the Gobbler Girls spent all their time between the last customer leaving and the team’s arrival primping.  Even Ms Americana and Flag Girl ensured their makeup, hair and costumes were perfect.

            “They’re here,” Farmer Fred announced from the front door.  “Remember my beautiful Gobbler Girls -- Dazzle and delight their every sense!”

            “Hey, BRENDA WADE,” Tammy Jo whispered loudly.  “Betcha never expected to SUPPORT the team like this!”

            That made all the girls laugh, including Mistress Annabelle. Then they heard the sound of bus breaks hissing, followed by the bus doors hissing open and the sound of excited young men.

            <Great Liberty!  This will be worse than that frat party I went to as a Freshman, where I got drugged and passed around for two hours,” Ms Americana thought, heart racing.  Realizing her body was all a-tingle, overheated and ready for action, she laid both red gloved hands upon her rock hard belly, fingers splayed, thinking of all the orgasms she has already had that day and was about to have, <I don’t think my power belt will ever work again.>

            <Holy Crap!> Flag Girl thought, breathlessly.  <This will be worse than that end of season football team party I went to last year, wear I got gang-banged by the first team offensive line, then the second team defensive backfield.>

            The coaches led the way inside.  Hard Charging Charlie Cain stopped front and center, his coaches spread out to either side of him and separating the team from the girls.  They looked the Gobbler Girls over with eager, lecherous faces.  Then Mistress Annabelle snapped her fingers and commanded Ms Americana and Flag Girl to join her, front and center.

            When the two statuesque super heroines strode up to assume classic super heroine stances to either side of their black leather bound mistress, the coaches and team members gasped collectively and gawked open-mouthed.  Never had they dreamed that such a pair of delectable feminine delights would be handed over to them on a silver platter.

            “Ms Americana and Flag Girl are BIG fans of the Devil Dogs, so volunteered to join in our little celebration today,” Mistress Annabelle said with a wicked smile.  She shrugged, “Unfortunately, their power belts are useless to them right now.  After all, they spent all of last night and today LEARNING to be prostitutes so they can bestow the most erotic delights upon their victorious heroes!”

            The coaches’ eyes light up, and the team members cheered.  Only Hard Charging Charlie wasn’t fooled.  His smile was as sinister as any Ms Americana had ever seen.

            <He knows what has happened, and doesn’t care,> Ms Americana thought with shock.  <Great Liberty, he’s HAPPY about it!>

            She knew the legendary coach, both as Ms Americana and alumni Brenda Wade.  She had attended countless pep rallies and other university events, mostly events to get the alumni to contribute more and more, that the coach attended.  Indeed, he was usually the main attraction, since most alumni cared more about the football team than academics.

            “Coach Cain, who would you like to give Ms Americana to first?” Mistress Annabelle said.  “Who deserves this most delicious prize first?  The most valuable player?”

            “No,” he said, his hard eyes burning into her.  He was an average height but burly man, with brown balding hair and hard, intense brown eyes.  “The defensive line really decided this game, keeping the number one scoring offense in the nation to just ten points.  They get Ms Americana first, downstairs.”

            “And Flag Girl?” Mistress Annabelle asked, almost fidgeting in delight.

            “The offensive line,” Coach Cain said, grinning fiercely at the stunned blonde vigilante.  “If not for them, our hero quarterback would’ve never completed forty-two of forty-five passes for four hundred and fifty-eight yards.”

            “Downstairs, too?”

            “Of course!” he yelled generously.  “Ok, offensive and defense, you’ve been assigned your task.  Fuck the holy shit out of those two oversexed, underdressed super heroines!  School’s paying for it, so go to town on them.”

            “NO MERCY!” the team cried in a thunderous battle cry.

            The defensive players rushed forward first, picking up Ms Americana and tossing her helplessly from man to man.  After the third toss, her tits came tumbling out of her top.  Everyone cheered at that.  Then the offensive line gave Flag Girl the same enthusiastic tossing about, but the center pulled her top down before the first toss to the weak side tackle.

            After the quarterback, the days Most Valuable Player pick, was given the right to pick any Gobbler Girl, at school expense, Mistress Annabelle led the defensive and offensive lines downstairs.  A topless Ms Americana and equally exposed Flag Girl were carried downstairs, all the while being felt up and fondled.

            Ms Americana found herself in the “Honeymoon suite” with twelve men.  Twelve of the largest, most fierce looking men she’d ever seen.

            “Wait!” she cried before Mistress Annabelle closed the door.  “There are too many!  I count twelve players, but there are only four defensive linemen on the first team.”

            “We such a great team because of our depth of talent,” a monstrously large black man said.  His voice was deep and called to something deep in her belly.  “There is no first, second, third team on the Devil Dogs, just the DEFENSE from HELL.”

            “Good enough for me,” Mistress Annabelle said.  “Oh, and boys, if she fails to please in ANY way, shape or manner, just let me know.  I’ll let you watch while I punish her by whipping her into a blubbering school girl with my riding crop.”

            With that, Mistress Annabelle slapped the riding crop on her leather booted leg, making a loud CRACK! that made both super heroines yelp.  She winked at Ms Americana and closed the door.  Leaving Ms Americana surrounded by twelve big, horny men.

            “Please, be gentle,” she said, shamed by how pathetic she sounded.

            “NO MERCY!” they shouted, then laughed when she jumped.

            Both arms were seized and pulled back.  The big black doing all the talking was their team captain, Kareem Ali.  He stepped up and removed her top.  Then he pulled her bottoms down and away.  Her costume was passed around to be sniffed, making her wonder at the male fascination of sniffing her bottoms.  After all, the most likely smell was urine most of the time.  But today, her bottoms were sopping wet, and they laughed and joked about that a long time.

            “Ms Ameri-skank-whore is ready, boys!” Kareem Ali shouted, pulling off his shirt.  “To her knees!”

            Ms Americana was forced to her knees before Kareem Ali.  He grinned at her as he unzipped and unbuckled.  Then he let his pants fall to his ankles, revealing he was going commando.  His huge cock flopped out and slapped her across her left cheek.  She stared at it wide eyes a long movement, watching it as it slowly got harder and harder, rising up to be even with her full red lips.  She’d never seen a cock that big.

            It scared her.

            “I can’t possibly…I mean,…it’s….HUGE!”

            “Yes, it is, and yes, you can,” Kareem Ali said smugly.  “Now, remember what the nice lady in black leather said.  If you do ANYTHING to displease, you will be publicly WHIPPED.  And you’re getting dangerously close to displeasing me.  So start sucking, and start NOW.”

            She looked up into his demanding eyes with open mouthed dismay.  But she saw he was serious.  And she knew Mistress Annabelle would LOVE a reason to tie her up and beat the snot out of her.  So Ms Americana reached up and took his cock in hand with both hands, and guided his big black cock to her full red lips.

            “Mmmmm,” she groaned as she pressed her lips to the head of his cock, in a deep kiss.  He grunted.  She felt his cock stiffen even more.  So she slowly parted her lips, and sucked him in.  Her belly erupted with hyperactive butterflies at that moment, as she truly tasted him for the first time.  “Mmmmmm-uuuummmmmmm.”

            She knew it was wrong, but he tasted great.  She realized with shock she really loved the taste of cock.  As she started bobbing her head, mouth stretched open to the max, she tried to think back over the previous night’s endless gang-bang and today’s too numerous to count men, when did she start liking the tastes of cock?

            Ms Americana sucked his cock long and hard, alternating between given head and licking it up and down and all around, with lots of ball licking too.  His balls were just too big for her mouth to completely suck in.  She knew she could’ve sucked him off in two or three minutes.  She’d done it to several men that day, when she was ready for their tryst to end.  But the Queen of Justice wanted this to be great, for both of them, so stretched it out as long as possible.  A full fifteen minutes, then he soaked her face with a monster load of cum, surprising her.  She’d wanted to suck it all down.

            “Ooghhfff!  Ack!” she cried.  “Oh, baby.  I’ve never seen such a BIG load of cum before.”

            “I’m a big man, in many ways, Ms Ameri-Skank,” Kareem Ali said, grinning.  “Who’s next?”

            “My turn,” a bullish looking white man said.  He was easily the tallest, widest player there.  He wasn’t the brightest looking man.  Or the best looking, with his broken nose still bandaged and missing front teeth and bright red flat top.  But he had MUSCLES galore.  “I want her like I had that cheerleader last night.  At the party after the pep rally.”

            “Ah yes, Mandy of the Mammaries,” Kareem Ali said, smacking his lips.  “I love that sleazy ho.”

            “Loves fucking her stupid,” another brute laughed.

            “Yeah, she really knows how to CHEER a team on,” another joined in.

            They all laughed.  But not Ms Americana.  There was only one Mandy on the cheerleading squad.  Mandy Mitchels, of the Delta City Mitchels.  A filthy rich banking and insurance family of many generations.  They were the bluest of the blue bloods in Delta City.  Mandy was one of Lydia’s closest friends.

            It was worse than she could ever believe.  These men, these BOYS were out of control sexually.  And it was obviously the coaches’ fault.  But what could she do now?  She was being blackmailed into vile prostitution by Farmer Fred and Mistress Annabelle, who would surely come to Coach Cain’s rescue if Brenda Wade tried to expose him and have him removed as head coach and Athletic Director.

            Bull, as the giant white player was called, stripped and laid on his back atop the bed.  Two defensive players lifted her up like the two bouncers had the previous night, with her legs pulled up and out of the way, then moved her over Bull’s erect cock.  To her shock his cock was even bigger than Kareem Ali’s.  She felt on the verge of swooning.

            “Great Liberty!” she cried as she was SHOVED down that too thick, too long shaft.  “Uuuuuuuuuuugggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh!”  Then they quickly pulled her up and almost off, and slammed her back down it again.  “Aaaaaiiiiiiiieeeeeeeee!  Mercy!”

            “NO MERCY!” they all cried joyously.

            Her libido was out of control.  Ms Americana could barely breathe.  Her heart was hammering, and she felt that erotic heat infusing her body ramp up.  She was seconds from going over the top.  She cried out when they jerked her up the shaft again, feeling every inch of his withdrawal.  Then she was slammed back down it, ripping her defenses to shreds.  That tingling heat changed, and she threw back her head.

            “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” she screamed.  They pulled her up again.  “Uuuuuuuuuuggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiieeeeeee!  Great Liberty!  Yyyyyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeeooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwww!”

            Every time they pulled her up his cock, she climaxed, and climaxed again going down.  Every single time.  She never knew how long it lasted.  But Ms Americana, the legendary and most beloved super heroine of them all, knew she was broken after the fifth climax.  After the tenth, she cried out, “Great Liberty, I’ve been TAMED!  I’ve been completely fucked into submission.”

            They cheered and high-fived each other.  And continued to run her up and down that twelve inch cock without mercy, ripping climax after climax out of her overheated, oversexed body, until they all merged into a single climax, leaving her devastated and utterly spent and helpless.  Ms Americana was left truly and thoroughly fucked and tamed.

            Meanwhile, across the hall, Flag Girl was dealing with the offensive line she knew so well.  Sexually speaking.  She’d dated them all, mostly getting away with giving blow jobs.  Blow jobs were the best in her opinion.  The man was sexually satisfied, and she incurred a great deal of pent up sexual frustration to full her power belt.  During the dozen of so episodes since the Party that she’d found the BJ insufficient to please her jock date, and got herself fucked, Lydia had managed to rouse their libido so well that they came before her.  Hell, men in general and jocks in particular didn’t care one wit about if a woman achieved orgasm or not.  If they asked, she simply smiled and lied, YES.  Of course, three times she did climax and had to lie to Brenda and say she had her period to avoid going out as Flag Girl, de-powered.

            Ms Americana’s sexy sidekick found herself in a much more sinister looking bondage room.  It was dark, done in black and blood red.  Ropes and chains and handcuffs and manacles and shackles hung on the walls, on display for ready for use.

            “Hi boys,” she said nervously.  Like Ms Americana, she counted twelve big brutes in the room with her.

            “Dance for us,” Tank commanded.  He was captain of the offensive line.  She knew him well, a big cruel brute with little or no respect for women.  He was one of the men that always got exactly what he wanted from Lydia -- a suck, then a fuck, and finished with another suck in the car before dropping her off at her front door.  “And make it hot.”

            “Anything you want,” she said, biting her lip nervously.  She was a damn good dancer.  But when she danced like they wanted her to dance, it drove the guys crazy with desire.  It was fun to cock tease them with, but she had a power to drive men into sexual frenzy and she didn’t want to do that to men with free access to every orifice of her shapely body.  But she had no choice, thanks to Mistress Annabelle.  “Step back and give me some room, boys.”

            “And take it all off while you’re at it,” Farmer said, as he turned on the built in stereo, tuning it to a station with thumping dance music.  Jason Farmer was the strong side tackle, blonde and blue eyes.  But like so many offensive linemen, he was three hundred twenty pounds of muscle and blubber.  “I like strippers.  They make me horny.”

            “Oh, okay,” she said quietly, shuddering.

            Since her strapless top was down around her narrow waist, she went ahead and removed it, tossing it over by the door for easy retrieval.  Then she started a sensual number she liked to use to drive the men crazy in dance clubs.  Her red gloved hands were run all over her shapely body, sometimes giving her now naked 38Ds a pleasant squeeze, sometimes grabbing her crotch, sometimes fondling her shapely rump.  The players were mesmerized by her erotic dance, following her hands everywhere as they caressed her body lovingly, very explicitly.

            “Do you like it?” Flag Girl asked Tank.  He nodded enthusiastically.  “Let’s see how much.”

            Flag Girl danced over to the team captain, pushed him into an armless, straight back chair.  Then she straddled his legs and started an erotic lap dance.  She’d never danced like this for any of the offensive line, just the Quarterback, dreamy Jimmy Lyons, and the all star running back, Jerome Jackson.  They were both Heisman candidates, so deserved her best.  Or at least that’s what all her friends, especially the ones that were cheerleaders, said.

            Tonight, they were all going to get her best.

            Tank’s huge hands immediately reached for her 38Ds.  He mashed them together, squeezed them and bounced them up and down, enjoying the sight immensely.  Then he pinched her nipples until she squealed, and laughed at her pain.  Then he tugged on what little was left of her bikini waxed and close crossed pubic patch above her bubblegum pink labia.  The fleshy folds were glistening with moisture.

            As she danced, he thrust his middle finger up into her pussy, penetrating the vagina.  He was good at that, and she was prepared for the move, but jumped and gasped anyway.  She always did.

            <I was always so afraid Brenda would find out what a little slut I was a college,> she thought, feeling her body starting to change with first REAL sexual contact.  She began to pant, feeling so terribly hot.  The butterflies had transformed into that most delicious tingle.  That hot tingle infused her sexy body.  <Now she, as Ms Americana , is getting the crap fucked out of her across the hall, and I’m once again spreading my legs for the football team, my greatest weakness.”

            Lydia didn’t know what it was about football players, but she found she couldn’t deny them anything if they really pushed her.  At least not after that after season party.  Or any party football players attended.  Indeed, she hadn’t attended a party with players that she didn’t find herself in a bedroom or closest, mostly giving killer head.  She was known for her head.  They called her Head Girl.

            Tank fingered her a long moment, in which she never stopped dancing, then pulled out, sniffed the finger and finally stuck it into his mouth.

            “MMmm, good.  Tastes like skanky ho,” he said, to lots of laughter.

            Flag Girl graced him with a hungry smile.  And she was hungry.  Of all the players, she liked Tank best.  He was the rudest, crudest of them all, but he called to something deep and base within her.  She couldn’t stay away from him, and was extremely ashamed of the fact, too.  But just then, she was only feeling burning, all consuming lust.

            She lowered herself to his lap, and rubbed his rising cock through his jeans with her cunt, leaving a big wet spot that the guys all pointed out and cheered about.  Then she rubbed her tits in his face, enjoying how he licked and nibbled at them.  Even when he sucked in a rock hard nipple, and bit it painfully, she liked it.

            “Oh, baby, you’re so bad to me I can’t keep my hands off you,” she said, more truth in those words than she was comfortable with.  Then without further ado, she unzipped him and pulled out his cock.  Seconds later, she lowered her pussy to the cock, and guided him inside her.  “Ooooohhhhhhhhh, yes.  That’s what I need.”

            “What a slut!” the weak side guard, Crankshaft, said.  “I’m next!”

            Crankshaft was the only one she never dated as Lydia.  The huge, rotund black lineman scared her.  His cock was the longest, thickest she’d ever seen or fucked.  And he could keep it up for hours!  That’s how he got the name Crankshaft, because of his tireless cock cranking through one cheerleader after another, until he fucked every single girl on the squad, at least once, and in one session.  Crankshaft LOVED cheerleaders.  Officially Mandy Mitchels was his girlfriend, but she was really just a means to get to all the other cheerleaders.  Everyone but Mandy was afraid of his immortal monster cock.

            <I wish Brenda had to fuck him instead of me,> she thought, terribly ashamed of herself, but not repentant at all.

            “Ooo, baby, you so good to me,” she groaned, gyrating her hips just so, maximizing both of their pleasure.  Looking around with hooded, sexed up eyes, she idly wished they were wearing condoms.  These all were BIG men, with enormous balls full of cum.  She’d be a slimy, sticky mess before the session was over.  “Uuugghhhh, so good, baby.”

            Flag Girl felt Tank growing harder and bigger inside her.  Her vagina muscles, so excited and aroused, began to clench and quiver, at the breaking point for another climax, but she kept it at bay, wanting so badly to climax at the same time as Tank.  He was easy to read, so she usually did manage it.  The stunning super heroine had no doubt she’d succeed this time, either as she felt him tensing up.

            “Oh, baby, baby, baby,” she cooed.  “Sex me up good.  So good.”

            She felt him go over the top, and relaxed her hold on her own body.  That tingle made that final turn into the straightaway toward a wonderfully powerful climax.  She gasped, grabbed his shoulders and arched her back.

            Tank grunted as he started spurting cum deep into her vagina.

            “Aaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeee!  Oh, baby!” Flag Girl screamed, exultant in her debauchery.  “Oh…Ooooooooooggghhhh!”

            “Wahoo!” Tank cried, still holding onto her hips, making her continue to bounce up and down until he was completely milked and limp.  Then, “Now slide off, ho, and lick me clean.”

            A frown darkened her visage for a brief second.  He wasn’t that rude to Lydia after sex, though he is usually ready for her to leave once he’d had enough.  But she obeyed without hesitation, as usual, and spread his knees wide.  Then kneeling, she took his limp cock into her mouth and started to lick and suck in clean.  It only took a few minutes, but she continued far longer than necessary and managed to get Tank back up and ready again.

            “Oooo, you’re hard again.  Want to do it again?” she offered, trying to avoid Crankshaft.  If any man was big, and ruthless enough to break her, to tame her, it would be Crankshaft.  After all, he broke Lydia last December.  After he fucked her, she was oblivious to all else, becoming a wild sex machine for all comers.  If he accomplished the same thing while she was being blackmailed into prostitution, then she would have no hope of ever escaping.  She knew she’d be just as excited about fucking for money as the other Gobbler Girls.  “I’m game if you are, baby.”

            “Oh, I’m game, slut, but its brother Crankshaft’s turn,” he said as he pushed her away.  “And I for one can’t wait to see what the Crankshaft does to your sweet pussy.”

            “Oh!” Flag Girl cried when Crankshaft grabbed her by the ponytail and pulled her to he feet.

            “Time we CRANK it up!” Crankshaft yelled.  “NO MERCY!”

            “NO MERCY!” the others shouted.

            “Oh God,” she groaned low.

            “I got something from that redhead, the madam, last year I ain’t never had before or since,” Crankshaft said.  “In this very room.  Cost me five hundred, but it was worth it.”

            He pointed a massively thick finger up at the ceiling above the black leather covered round bed in the center of the room.  There was a largish silver ring protruding from what looked like a heavy duty ceiling fan motor.  There were four long silver chains hanging from it, with wide leather cuffs at their ends.  Two smaller, perfect to encircle smaller feminine wrists, and two larger, that would fit around delicate female ankles perfectly.

            Flag Girl swallowed a big lump in her throat at the sight scary BDSM gadget.

            “Wouldn’t you like for me to give you head instead?” she asked with a little girl’s voice.  “I give great head, everyone says so.”

            “Later,” Crankshaft said, and pushed her up onto the bed.

            Flag Girl stood in stunned silence as she was joined atop the bed by Crankshaft, Tank and the weak side tackle, Big Joe.  First, they buckled her wrists in the manacles.  Then her right leg was pulled up and shackled, leaving her balanced precariously on one stiletto-heeled foot atop a bed.  Then Crankshaft grabbed her ass with two huge hands and lifted her up while Tank picked her of leg and held it while Big Joe buckled it around her ankle.

            When they let go, the debauched and de-powered super heroine found herself dangling in a perfect split above the bed.  Her dripping cunt was centered on the bed below.

            “This doesn’t look good,” she mumbled, looking all around with big blue eyes.  She saw no mercy or sympathy in any of the men around her.  Indeed, their eyes were overfull with lust.  “He’s going to break me.”

            “That’s what I do second best,” Crankshaft said.  “I play football best, then fuck uppity white chicks second best.  And I break them all on my cock.”

            Crankshaft lay down below her, being careful to center his cock on her twat.  Then Big Joe, who had also partaking of Mistress Annabelle’s erotic pleasures the previous year, went over and turned on the motor.  Flag Girl groaned in misery as she started to move round and round, spinning faster and faster.

            “This will make me sick!”

            “If it does, we will be VERY displeased with you,” Tank said, chuckling.  “But I’m sure we’ll enjoy watching you get spanked stupid with a riding crop.”

            “Ooohhhh,” she cried, helplessly.

            Once she got to speed, which wasn’t as fast as she feared, she felt herself being lowered slowly.  Lower and lower she went, feeling her pussy becoming sloppy wet and her belly begin to gear up for another climax.  It was going to be HUGE climax, she was sure of it.  This wicked devise of ultimate pleasure couldn’t possible fail to send all involved over the top, over and over.  And she was sure they would ALL want to sample her cunt in this most erotically insidious way.

            Moments later, Flag Girl felt the head of Crankshaft enormous cock touch her fleshy, sensitive labia.  The overheated folds unfolded and parted immediately for Crankshaft’s cock head, and she felt him penetrating her.

            “Uuugggggghhhhhh!” she cried.  “Too big! OH!  Help!”

            “No, lower her more, Big Joe-ooohh,” Crankshaft said, groaning with pleasure.  “God dammit!  You guys GOT to try this!  It’s fucking incredible!  Ohhhh!”

            “Oooooohhhhh,” Flag Girl echoed his sentiments.  It was like that spinning dildo Mandy let her borrow over the Spring Break, since she couldn’t go to Cancun with the rest of her friends.  They were working, as Ms Americana and Flag Girl, on a big bust of nasty white slavers.  “Oh Gaawwdd.  Sooo….oh…so so incredible!  I c-can’t take….it!  OOOHHH!”

            Flag Girl was about to pop.  She just knew it.  Everything she had left was thrown into keeping from climaxing.  Once she started, she wouldn’t have the strength of will to fight them any more.  She knew it.  That was the effect Crankshaft had on women.  He beat them down with his incredible cock, beat them into submission, leaving them panting sex toys, begging for more.

            <Please don’t let him tame me.  Please don’t let him tame me,> she prayed frantically, but feeling her grip on her emotions and libido slipping.  “I can….not…be….broken!  Oh!  Oh, God, please, don’t…let them….tame…ME!”

            It proved too much stimulation, with her willpower already seriously undermined after almost twenty-four hours of nearly nonstop sex and abuse.  Even so, after she knew she’d passed the point of no return, Flag Girl still fought to stop the climax.  Fought very unsuccessfully, which just made her surrender all the more dramatic and devastating.

            “Nnnnoooooooooooo! Oh, aaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeee!  Oh, my Gaaaaaweeeddddd!” she cried, her fragile soul consumed in the orgasm.  Then, just a minute later, again.  “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

            At that time she was a low as she would go down Crankshaft’s cock, with cock still left.  But he’d filled her up completely.  It felt like he was about to pop out her mouth he felt so deep and full inside her.  Flag Girl climaxed again.

            “Yyyyyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeooooooooowwwwwwwwww, God,” she cried.  “Soooo….fuuucckkkiiiinnnnggg, GGRREEAATTT!”

            Big Joe flipped a switch and she began the slow rise up his too long shaft.  She glanced down, seeing nothing but thick black cock spinning out of her yielding pussy.

            Flag Girl climaxed again.  “Oooooooogggggggggghhhhhhhhhhh-yyyyeeeessss! Yes!  YES!  HELL YYYYYEEEEESSSSS!”

            “Wow,” Tank said, mesmerized by the sight of the beautiful blonde heroine totally consumed with cock and sex.

            Up and down Flag Girl went for thirty minutes.  He was a marathon fucker from way back.  She knew she was in for a long, long time on his cock, and knew it was the end of her.  And she was right.

            “Oh, YEESSS!” she cried, suddenly realizing she was overloaded.  “Uugghh!  Pleasssee…..oh, pleaassee….I cann…cannot take it…I give up…You winnnn.  I…am…TAMED!”

            That pronouncement sent a chill through Crankshaft.  It was enough to finally push him over the top.  Cum gushed into her vagina.  So much, it started pushing out around his thick black shaft.  After all, he didn’t leave much room in there.

            Then Big Joe took Crankshaft’s place on the bed, and Flag Girl felt herself being lowered again.  All twelve men would take her like then, and Crankshaft would do it twice.  After that, she was pulled down so they could all enjoy her mouth and ass hole.  It was a looonnnggg time for the hapless heroine, and one that left her a completely different woman.

            Mistress Annabelle came and got her late that night, when the coach decided it was time to go home.  The football players tossed Flag Girl atop the bed, leaving her in a sweat-soaked, panting, sticky heap.  Mistress Annabelle coaxed her back into her costume, cum still dripping all over her shapely body, then ushered her out of the room.

            Flag Girl found the stairs difficult with her wobbly knees.  But her mistress helped her up the stair and back into the main parlor.  Ms Americana was already up there, being butt fucked by Hard Charging Charlie and by one of the assistant coaches in her pussy.

            Flag Girl watched with carnal lust consuming her.  The way Ms Americana’s 44DDs bounced with each stroke.  The way she gasped and groaned, whipping her sweat-soaked, black hair all around, while clutching alternately between the assistant coach’s shoulders and her own magnificent tits.  Her red booted feet kicked and they continued to fuck her merrily.

            “YES!  Fuck me!  Fuck….me!” Ms Americana cried, consume with need and desire.  She could feel that climax coming, but she could also feel both coaches nearing that most wonderful of moments, climax.  She wanted to get hers first, cause she knew they didn’t care enough to finish her off after they got theirs.  “Please, don’t stop!  Fuck harder!  Oooohhhh!  Yeeesssss!  I’m….cum….MMMMIIIINNNNNGGGG!  Oo-Hhhhooooooo!”

            Her sphincter and vagina muscles convulsed and quivered, making it even better for the two men fucking the bejesus out of her.  Her sweaty face glowed with sexual contentment, then when she felt first Coach Cain, the Coach Hermann start cumming inside her, she climaxed yet again and her full red lips spread into a huge satisfied smile.

            “Oh, that was GREAT!” she cried.  “Do it again.  Please.”

            “No, we have to go,” Coach Cain said, pulling out.  He released her after his assistant pulled out.  “That was the best of the night, Ms Americana.  Next year, I’m keeping you for myself!”

            “Done,” she said, smiling as she dropped to her knees.  She took hold of both cocks, and started alternating between them as she enjoyed cleaning them off, meticulously.  “Mmmmmmm, delicious.  I could lick cock and eat cum morning, noon and night.  Can’t get enough.”

            “Okay, maybe I won’t wait until next year,” Coach Cain said, face a mask of pure bliss as she cleaned his cock and balls with erotic care.

            But all good things must end.

            The players and coaches stumbled out, spent and very satisfied.  The Gobbler Girls followed them out the door, waving and calling for them to come back any time.  Nothing said they HAD to wait until next Thanksgiving.  Then after the bus vanished down the road, then all returned to the parlor.

            “This has been the best Thanksgiving Day EVER,” Farmer Fred said, jubilant.  “All thanks to two arrogant super heroines, who bit off more than they could chew, and spent the holiday on their back and knees, eating and sucking cock instead of eating turkey.”

            “It’s going to get better,” Ms Americana said sultrily.  She walked up to him and dropped to her knees.  “Give mama some Farmer Fred cock, so you can enjoy your Thanksgiving even more.”

            As Ms Americana started sucking Farmer Fred, Flag Girl knelt before Mistress Annabelle, and begged so pretty her mistress allowed her to lick boot, then eat her pussy.

            Farmer Fred looked over at his wife, her face full of victory and satisfaction as Flag Girl slurped away even louder than Ms Americana on his cock.  They shared a long, very pleased look.

            “Happy Thanksgiving, babe,” he said.

            “Yes, it is, isn’t it?” she said, and laughed.  “Happy Thanksgiving, Gobbler Girls!”

 

THE END