Ms. Americana in ‘Game Day’

By

Friar Tuck

Friartuck1964@yahoo.com

Thanks for sharing your characters with me, while I share my imagination with you.   Standard Disclaimers and legalese applies, ie-no harm, no foul intended or implied. Enjoy!

                “Yes, yes, yes” Brenda Wade hissed with disdain, before her sneer turned to pleasant.  “No, no, no!” 

She dropped the six pieces of paper atop the scale model of Delta City’s proposed new sports complex, in the midst of her conference room at Wade Enterprises. As head of the Delta City Planning and Development Council, she headed the table, so confident in her tightly tailored beige power suit and matching heels.  Opposite the table, equally confident, stood Ronald Shrump, the most powerful realtor in Delta City and owner of the Delta City Desperadoes football team. It was his team, his design, his proposal and his money that would build the new complex—but on city land, with tax breaks, and instead of much-needed public housing.  That’s why Brenda opposed him.

                There was one more vote to read in this final battle for the stadium’s approval, and Brenda knew what it said.  It was her own vote, in her handwriting, that hadn’t come out of the voting box yet, and now she pulled it with glee and announced Shrump’s defeat. “No,” she said firmly, “The vote is four to three.  Development of a new sports complex is officially denied.”

                Shrump, or Coach, as he preferred, glared daggers at Brenda.  His team needed a new complex and it would bring in millions for the city.  Alas, he’d been voted down and tried to take the defeat in stride.  “I have one request, Madame Chairwoman,” he said in a four-letter tone. “Please keep the announcement of the vote from the press until next week.  This weekend is about football, and I think the city should enjoy the big game without any foul stench of business overshadowing it.”

                Brenda agreed with a nod, “Fair enough.”  She’d allow the Coach his little victory-this was the weekend of pro football’s championship game and the Desperadoes were hosting their arch rivals from Metropolis in the title game. 

                When the Coach had gone, Brenda turned to her faithful ward Lydia, who’d been allowed to sit in on the meeting as part of her collegiate business internship program.  “Well done, Miss Wade.” Brenda commended, “Power over power.”

                “Womanly power,” Brenda gloated. “Men and their childish sports may run the country, but they won’t run Delta City while I have anything to say about it. And that reminds me, we need to visit the Coach on another womanly matter.”

                “You want me to get the band back together?” Lydia quipped.  That’s exactly what Brenda wanted.

                The five luscious heroines took their stance on the fifty yard line, opposite the Delta City Desperadoes and their Coach.

                “This is a closed practice, ladies.  No press, no visitors.”

                “We’re here to discuss your Cheer for Charity program.” Miss Americana spat.

                “Well, that’s terrific. The sign-up booth is in the main building and thanks for offering yourselves up for a good cause.”                 The arrogant Coach turned back to his players, who couldn’t take their eyes off the defiant heroines. 

                “We’re here to stop it,” Americana proclaimed, “It’s demeaning to women and we won’t permit it.”

                The Coach turned back, unfazed.  “Ladies, the only thing bruised is your egos.  Deal with it.”

                “You’re condescending and demeaning to women everywhere.  We’re here to show you what superior women are capable of.” Americana was daring him to start the fight.

                “Whatever.  I haven’t committed any crimes and something like this should never come to violence.  Surely there’s a better place you broads could be right now.”

                The five heroines roiled at the word ‘broad’.  Nothing could have insulted them more.  Americana started on the Coach, ready to toss him a beating whether he’d started anything or not.  His team gathered to protect him, giving the brunette beauty pause for a hair’s breadth.

                “Don’t be stupid, guys.” The Coach advised, dismissing Americana with a cursive look.  “I don’t want any of you getting hurt sex-wrestling with these big-titted dimwits.”

                There wouldn’t have been a fight if the dashing All-American quarterback hadn’t stepped up to her, glib snicker on his face.  “Meet me tonight after lights out, baby. I’d rather stick my hands in your ass for a couple of hours.” He cupped his hands as if taking a snap from center, and wedged them into the crack of her blue-spandex covered ass.

Americana snared his wrist, whipping it around and down, flipping him over with incredible ease.  His teammates roared at how easily she took him down.

“Colby! Your throwing hand!” The Coach screamed. Americana sneered, knowing she’d get what she wanted after all.  The fight was on.

It was a simultaneous explosion.  The football team rushed the heroines, who were already moving to back up Americana.  Americana, Got Gal, Got Chic and Azure Angel went wild with their beat down of the superior males.  Flag Girl, the youngest, held her own, flipping and dodging the burly players with ease.  It would’ve been a rout, but the players were well-protected with shoulder pads, shin and hip guards, helmets still on.  Every man went down but not out, rising for a second or third scrum.  The stunned heroines couldn’t believe it.

“Usually when we knock someone down, they stay down.” Got Gal wasn’t really joking. 

The Coach took charge of his team.  As he much as hadn’t wanted a fight, he didn’t want to lose it. “Make ‘em play our game.  Spread the field, spread them out.” Even though they were tossed about like rag dolls, the players attacked and managed split up the heroine sortie.  Each heroine soon stood apart from the other, with four or five players around them.  Colby fired a sizzling spiral through the air, the hard nose of the football smashing Got Chic right between the eyes, clouding her vision and dazing her senses. A pair of defensive linemen plowed into her, taking her down and out to the turf.

Colby lofted another ball into the air, this one a high, easy toss. “Flag Girl, watch out!” Americana called, but Flag Girl saw it coming.

 “I got it, Miss A,” the overconfident teen called.  She’d listened to her coaches in gym class and kept her eyes on the ball. It was exactly what Colby wanted. The rainbow toss touched her palms at the instant a speedy defensive back speared her from behind.  Flag Girl’s petite frame lifted up nearly five feet and flew earthward face first, the blow crushing the air from her ample lungs.  They left her breathless and wheezing.

Got Girl fared no better. She was surrounded, and after delivering a kick and punch combination, her spiked heels sank into the soft turf. She slipped to a knee, hands down, and a player instantly over her back, snatching her magical Got Emerald from her chest.

“My Emerald! Give it back!” She tried to spring to her feet but only slipped back to the turf on all fours.  Finally she stood, grabbing for her Emerald. The player tossed it to a teammate, who tossed it to another when Got Girl jumped for it.  The players laughed and teased her, tossing the enchanted stone from one to the other as Got Girl dashed and darted about in futility. She stood, hands on hips like a bratty schoolgirl, tired of the game of keep-away.

A player held the gem out to her.  “Here, honey, you can have it. Really, you can have it.”  She knew what he was going to do, but she reached for it anyway. Sure enough, the player tossed it away-into the middle of a four-stack of rubber tires.  Got Girl haughtily reached in between the tire stack but couldn’t reach the gem.  She leaned deeper, one foot off the ground, fingers grazing the source of her power, then screamed as the giddy players flipped her legs up, dumping her head first into the stack of tires.  Quickly they added more tires to the stack, so when Got Girl regained her feet with the Emerald back in place, she may as well have been in a volcano, as the tires wouldn’t bend or break under her assault to get free. She was trapped.

Azure Angel came running to cover Americana’s back. As she parted a line of defenders, the field-goal kicker stepped into the ball and lined it right into her crotch. She dropped to her knees in pain as the linemen made her disappear in pile of bodies.

The sight of four downed heroines infuriated Ms. Americana. Her eyes locked on The Coach, a safe distance behind his players. She fought with fury, tearing through the team with kicks, punches, eye gouges, anything she had. When two receivers attacked from opposite sides, she neatly sidestepped and let them collide. When the three running backs charged, she merely dipped low and swept the lead blocker’s legs out from under him, letting the two tailbacks topple over him when they couldn’t stop.

                 “Time to sack the quarterback,” she quipped. 

                “When this is over I’ll have you in the sack,” Colby bellowed through a shaky voice, scrambling back and away from her.  He fired his only weapon-the football, straight at her head, but Americana easily batted the pigskin away.  He covered up and meekly fell as Americana toppled him over.

All that stood between her and The Coach was The Waterboy, a meek geek of twenty who wasn’t all there under the helmet. The kid trembled where he stood but squared to take her on, no doubt terrified at the thought of going one on one with the Amazon goddess he so revered.  But there he stood, fearful and ready in full uniform, about to take one for the team that teased him so. The sight would’ve been comical if it weren’t so pathetic.

                Americana knew she couldn’t just slam through the Water Boy.  He’d done nothing to deserve her wrath.  He was misguided, just trying to fit on with those men he so desperately wanted to be like. She’d fake one way, then cut the other.  With her Amazonian speed, she’d be past the Waterboy before he knew it. 

At five years she angled left, then right, but the meaty palm of a shaken player on the ground snared her ankle just enough to break her stride. She stumbled forward with no chance to cut back, her head lowered and leading her body. Marvin the Waterboy circled his arms wide to tackle her, shut his eyes and lunged…

                Helmet hit forehead. Americana stopped in her tracks, her head rolling up as fast her eyes did but her body continued moving, only now it moved down instead of forward.  Americana’s last vision was the richly green grass turning black as she fell into it.

                The Waterboy didn’t know what to do next. The sexiest of heroines lay helpless at his feet.  He’d taken out the mighty Americana almost single-handedly.

                “You got her!” the coached yelped, offering a hearty slap on the back.  “I’ll be damned, boy, you got her.”

                “He got lucky,” Colby spat.  “Campbell tripped her up.” 

                “I don’t care how he got her, he got her. She dropped your ass, didn’t she?” The Coach bellowed, and then added a wisecrack that further embarrassed the star leader.  “You pussy.”

The coach smiled wickedly.  His game plan changed by the second.  “C’mon, boys, let’s finish practice.”

                The sun’s warmth woke Americana.  Pain wouldn’t let her open her eyes but she must’ve moved something.

                “She’s awake,” the Coach yelled from right beside her, then the shrill blast of his whistle ripped through her throbbing head.  The noon sun was blinding, but she could make out the Desperadoes assembled in five equal single-file lines a few feet ahead of her.

                “I’m hurt.” She whispered, her own words causing immeasurable pain in her head. The Coach relished her pain.

                “Honey, you don’t know what hurt is yet.”

She couldn’t move her arms or her legs.  Each limb was pulled behind her and tied very tightly to the steel framework of the tackling sled. Her entire torso was off the ground, held up with yards of rope about her waist and under her breasts. Her power belt was still on, but it didn’t matter in her current condition.  She was groggy and far too weak to break free.

“Miss A,” Flag Girl whispered from beside her, strung up to the tackling dummy in a similar way. “Are you all right?”

                “No, you stupid bitch,” Miss A screamed, “I’ve got a fucking concussion and my body’s as open as your legs on Saturday night.”  Her scream only sounded in her head: All Flag Girl heard was a meager grunt. Got Gal, Got Chic and Azure Angel were tied to the tackling sled as well. 

                The Coach’s whistle sounded, and the first row of players plowed shoulder-first into the bellies of the bound beauties.  Grunts and screams split the air, the tackling sled slipping five yards back.  The Coach, riding the sled, tooted his whistle again and the second row of players slammed forward, then the third.  All the air left the girls’ bodies, and if they hadn’t been tied they surely would’ve been crumpled on the ground.  Now Americana understood why they were allowed to keep their power belts and magic gems: without them, ribs, spleens, and spines would’ve cracked like twigs.  With them, the girls could take an immense beating and only feel the pain.  The Coach was diabolical, using their super powers against them like no one else had. His whistle blew again, right in Americana’s ear. Surely he knew the shrill sound tortured her echoing head more than the physical beating did.

The drill continued. The players laughed on every hit, copping generous feels of super heroine legs, breasts, thighs and everything in between.  They switched lines, switched back, all of them taking a turn or two at every girl. “I’ve always said you just have to play this game for the fun of it.”  The Coach teased, making his players roar.

When practice was over and the players hit the locker room, Marvin went along the tackling sled, removing each girl’s magic crystal or power belt.  “Coach doesn’t want you using your powers to escape,” he explained.  “I’ll put these back on you before the afternoon practice.”

“What?” American screamed in horror. “You can’t do that!”

The Coach came alongside. “I have to.  We’re getting ready for a big game.  Two-a-days are must.”

“You’ll kill us!”  

“All you had to do was join my charity program.  A little flash of tits and ass for a good cause, but you didn’t want to lower yourselves, even though you let it all hang out every day. I’ll take you down a notch my way.” 

“Wait, we’ll do it.  We’ll do your charity drive, any way you want.”

All the girls nodded agreement.  Anything was better than this. The coach shook his head, glowing with ideas.  “Not good enough, ladies, but I do think you girls might be able to help motivate my team if the moment calls for it. Do the Cheer for Charity and let my players fuck you if they win. We sign a contract so there’s no backing out, and I’ll let you bitches down from there.”

Americana didn’t have to look at the other girls to know they’d never agree to being raped and ravaged.   “No.”

“See you this afternoon.”

Marvin whispered in his Coach’s ear while lusting over Miss Americana.  The Coach’s eyes went wide with the devil deep within them.

“Marvin, my boy, I really should start paying you.” Again the coach slapped his lackey’s shoulder, “Do the honors.”

“I always wanted to know what a real super heroine looked like without the mask.” Marvin stammered.  The girls gasped helplessly. Americana tried to turn her head away but couldn’t.  Her mask was off in a heartbeat.

The Coach gleamed at the only woman in town with more money and influence than he had, Brenda Wade, trussed up before him. His arch-rival in business lowered her head, at his mercy.  He handled the surprise as matter of factly as he could, but his quick glance at Flag Girl told them all he knew who she was, too, without unmasking her.

“Same offer, new terms, Miss Americana. Do the Cheer for Charity, let my players fuck you if they win, and your little secret identity stays secret.  Otherwise, I unmask all your friends at half time on worldwide television.”

He’d made her an offer she couldn’t refuse.

                “Please,”   Americana continued begging, now inside the Coach’s office.  She had no idea where the other girls had been taken.  “Don’t do this. I’ll make you a counter- offer. “His eyes never narrowed. She had no choice, take it or leave it.  “You can have me, just let the other girls go.  They’re only here because of me.”

“That’s right, they are here because of you.  If you weren’t so goddamned insolent, none of you would be in this position.  So part of your punishment is to watch your friends get fucked and know you’re the reason why.  You’ll have to live with that and maybe next time you’ll remember what ignorance can bring you.”

Miss Americana’s shoulders sagged.  The Coach smiled at the deal.

“I’ll give you back your power belt as a sign of good faith,” he offered.  “You should be out there fighting crime this weekend.  The other girls stay with me until Sunday, as my insurance policy.”  Americana nodded. 

“Here’s the Cheer for Charity contract.  Read it, sign it.”  Americana grabbed a pen and scrawled her name across the last page.  “You might want to read that over.”

“A deal’s a deal,” she muttered, jabbing the unread document back to him. He locked it in his safe and turned to her.

“Now, let’s finalize our agreement with a blow job.” 

“What? You said you weren’t going to fuck me.”

“No, I said the players weren’t going to touch you until they won.  Me, I’d be crazy not to take advantage of this little situation. “Americana stood defiant.

Sounds of people talking came down the hall.  “Marvin,” called the coach, and the little waterboy appeared in the doorway instantly.  “Would you tell that camera crew I’m ready for their interview?”

Miss Americana paled. “I don’t have my mask on.  They’ll recognize me.” The Coach shrugged cockily, the camera crew coming closer in the hall.  Americana slammed the door shut in submission an instant before they arrived. 

“Take off your costume.” The Coach instructed, his hand ready to open the door at the slightest hint of her disobedience. Americana undid the red-spangled bustier holding her bountiful breasts in place, dropping it to the floor as the Coach licked his lips, savoring the beauty of her flesh as a soft knock hit the door.

“Sorry guys, I’ve got a call I have to take,” he announced to the camera crew through the door.  “Give me half an hour.”

                                The camera crew’s footsteps fell away as softly as Americana’s royal blue hot pants fell to the floor.  She locked her eyes on the Coach’s as she unzipped her boots and stepped from them, then removed the golden gauntlets from her wrists.  She found her sass again, determined to live through this nightmare with her ego intact. “Every schoolboy dreams of having me.”

                “I don’t want you, Miss Americana.  I want the Queen of Delta City, so leave the tiara on, “he instructed. “I want Brenda Wade. “ He moved behind her, his hands running over her soft shoulders, caressing and stroking her, kissing the nape of her neck with a sensual gentleness no one had ever shown her.  He ran his palms down her arms and up again, taking his time, making her tingle. Though she fought the urge to enjoy, she couldn’t help but let out a slight moan of pleasure when his hands brushed the inside of her breasts just below her arms, sweeping inward to graze her nipples. Both nubs turned hard at the touch, goose bumps speckling her flesh as his hands ran over her well-rounded hips only to come together at the tender spot just below her belly button. He squeezed into her there, his bulge pressing between the puffing cheeks of her ass while his lips teased the warmth just below her earlobes.  She moaned, unwillingly pressing backward to meet his hardness, his fingers splintering sideways to caress her thighs, his thumbs together at the crest of her legs, threatening to penetrate her.  She rocked from one heel to the other, unable to deny how turned on she was. One of his hands snared her left wrist and guided it behind her back, letting her fingers feel the thickness of his cock.  She gasped when something warm and sticky wrapped about her wrist.

                Cloth tape. The Coach pulled her right wrist back, joining the two with several coils of the soft yet firm tape. “You don’t have to tie me,” she muttered, but it was way too late. Her hands were secured behind her back, a gently inescapable bondage. 

                “I want you to feel your helplessness.”  The Coach muttered, kneeling to wrap her right ankle with several rolls of tape, then lifting it high up behind her, pressing it against the back of her right thigh, securing it there with much more tape. Miss Americana stood on one leg like a pelican, teetering side to side as the Coach removed a hanging plant from its ceiling hook.  Slipping a long length of twine through her taped wrists, up through the ceiling hook and down to her doubled ankle, he bent her body forward in a diabolical strappado tie. Her head was at hip level, ass totally exposed and hands held high out of the way. 

                “Now, your lesson begins.” Americana groaned at her precarious bondage, balancing on one foot while enduring the incredible pressure on her bound and raised arms.  “You need self discipline, Miss Wade.”   The Coach dropped his pants, his huge hard-on inches from her pouty lips. “You and your super heroine friends are too easily distracted in both crime-fighting and business.  That’s how we defeated you today. I’m going to teach you to work as a team and keep your focus on the task at hand, no matter what distractions you have to deal with it.” She groaned and twisted to no avail.

                 “Do you really think you should be here today?  We’ve got a million tourists in Delta City for the big game this weekend, and instead of protecting them from the evils of Sugar Town, you’re battling with me over some petty personal gripe you can’t get over.  Really, woman, you need to re-assess your priorities.”

                “I’m here to help you, Miss Americana. “ He pressed his cock to her lips.  She turned her head away awkwardly, but he twisted it back.  “Focus as you suck it.” He pulled her head forward just a little, but the intense strain it put on her arms made her yelp in pain, and of course he slid the tip of his cock into her open mouth when she did.  With his hand gently behind her head, she swept her tongue over the rounded head, swabbing it gently as it grew in her mouth.  He edged it deeper, his fingers pinching her nipples hard, making her stop.

                “Owww,” she gagged. He pinched her nipples again, twisting them.

                “Focus….continue… through the pain.”  Americana resumed her cock-swabbing as his hands massaged her back, pulled her hair tight, and rocked her to and fro.  It was a gentle but torturous rape of her mouth.  Tears filled her eyes when his bare hand smacked across her ass cheek. Again she stopped, and his hand smacked her ass harder, three and four times.

                “Block out the distractions.”  He ordered breathily, obviously enjoying her talented tongue.  “Up one side, around the head, down the other, tenderly.”  He was indeed coaching her, and coaching her well. She obeyed, tonguing his balls, taking him deep, relaxing as she went.  “That’a girl! “ He encouraged with gentler swats on her luscious tush, a single finger probing into her hole.  She bobbed best she could, sucking like a sophomore pledging a sorority on hell night. The thin wooden dowel of his chalkboard pointer cracked across her bare bottom, making her jump on her single foot.  He’d caught her, kept her steady, angling the pointer under her body to tease her vaginal opening and her clit, making her wet and wanting.

                She closed her lips around him with the pointer inside her, ignoring the pain of her bondage and the smacks of his hands on her ass.  She took him deep, hell-bent on finishing him off.  Now she understood his little ‘lesson’, or so she thought.  With a mighty grunt he spewed into her mouth and throat, hand clamped behind her head to make her take it all without spitting it out. His semen mixed with her drool as he clamped a strip of tape over her lips and cracked a palm against her rump in a condescending, manly swat of congratulations. “Atta Girl,” he repeated, as if she were one of his players.  “Good job, I knew you had it in you.”

                The force of his hand made her gasp and sent the load in her mouth gushing down her throat.  More humiliation.  She didn’t know how just yet, or when, but before this weekend was over she would exact an incredible vengeance on this son of a bitch.  It was only Friday.

Tanya O’Donnell always found The Coach charming, but today he was even more vibrant and personable.  This last interview before the game was crisp, crackling with energy. He played to the camera, played to her and even apologized for keeping her and her crew waiting. Tanya figured his team had been having good practices or something like that to keep the Coach so effervescent. She liked him that way, and rewarded him by teasingly sitting on the edge of his desk, allowing her short skirt to flash the lacy tops of her black thigh-highs. She winked, her back to the camera and crew, the sly crush they shared charging the room the way it had on the two secret dates they’d managed.  Truth be told, Tanya wanted the Coach to fuck her right there on his desk more than even he wanted to. If it weren’t for the camera crew, she would’ve let him, and for an instant she wanted him to do it with the crew taping it. His fingers grazed her stocking knee as he rose to conclude the interview, and that’s when she saw it.

A red stiletto boot heel peeked out from beneath a Desperadoes jersey carelessly tossed atop a small pile on the floor, a thin strand of gold braid rope alongside it.  Tanya’s sense of alarm over rode her libido. Someone she knew very well had to be in trouble.

She left her purse on the Coach’s desk and tailed her crew to the parking lot, where she ‘remembered’ her car keys were in the purse.  She let the crew leave and trotted back through the stadium passageways to the Coach’s office.  She could hear the boisterous team’s raucous bellows from the dining hall above, and knew she wouldn’t be disturbed.  She lifted the Dynamos jersey off the floor and uncovered Miss Americana’s costume and boots stashed beneath.  There was only a small closet inside the Coach’s office, and inside it Tanya found the bound and unmasked Miss Americana in the nude.

“Brenda, what happened?” Tanya ripped the tape off her friend’s mouth so hard and fast Brenda screamed in pain. 

“Your friend, the Coach, that’s what happened.” Brenda spat. Through the thin sliver of light near the door jamb, Brenda had seen and heard her good friend flirting shamelessly with her captor. Brenda recapped the fight and the Coach’s devious plan as Tanya untied her and she redressed.  “We can’t be seen together,” Brenda said cautiously, leaving the office first with the plan to meet Tanya back at Wade Manor in an hour.  

Tanya spent five minutes listening for any sound in the outer hallway before starting out of the Coach’s office. As soon as she opened the door, Marvin seized her cheeks in both his hands and rammed his helmeted head into her forehead. The second head butt knocked Tanya cold.

Tanya stood tall in her heels before the Coach, hands cuffed behind her back.  He said nothing, just wryly ogled her luscious body as she twisted and pulled in vain effort to free herself.  “Do you always keep handcuffs in your office?” she finally hissed.

“Only since I met you,” the Coach flirted. “There’s a pair in my desk, a pair in my briefcase, one in my jacket and one in my car, all waiting for the chance to be used on you.”

Tanya tried to sound angry. “I don’t know if I should be flattered of frightened,”

“You could be either,” Coach said evenly, then turned intense, “So long as you’re aroused.” His palmed cupped her cheek softly, strong fingers tenderly stroking the sensitive flesh behind her ear and beneath her pinned-up auburn hair. God, how she loved that!  And he did it so warmly, spreading the fire in his eyes into her lips as he kissed her soft and tender. She gasped in his pleasure, his free hand cupping her other cheek for another lingering kiss before drifting into her emerald-green satin blouse, grazing a perky nipple beneath her darker sea-green bra. Tanya’s fear melted in favor of anticipation. “You are aroused.”  It was a statement of the obvious. 

A new tug on the cuffs was a token gesture.  She didn’t want to escape if capture felt this good.  Coach unbuttoned her blouse with one hand and caressed her with the other, keeping her stoked with teasing kisses all the while.  He backed her to the edge of his desk and caressed her stockinged leg from a silken ankle to her creamy thighs. “You like green,” he said, noting her bra and panties matched her four-inch stiletto pumps. “There’s a certain super-heroine who likes green as well.”

“I am not Green Spectre,” Tanya muttered between kisses. 

“But you know who is. It’s okay, I don’t want you to tell me. I already know Brenda Wade is Miss Americana and Lydia Willis is Flag Girl.  I’ll find out the rest in due time.” 

“You won’t turn me against my friends,” Tanya insisted, tensing. “You’re testing me.”

“No.  I always planned on letting Brenda go.” Coach’s kisses calmed her. “It’s okay to enjoy this.” His mouth moved to her neck and back to her lips, his hands parting her legs enough for him to step between them. “You thrive on danger and the unknown.  The dangerous turn you on.” Her thighs heated up under his massage. Her breath became shorter.  “Flirting with danger is one thing…” A lone fingertip swept over the moist spot in her panties and made her squirm. “Recklessness is another.”

Tanya fought the urge to close her legs around his probing fingers. The endless kisses and sweep of his hands, and somehow even his words were making her hotter by the second.

“How many times have you been captured, abused, threatened…” Coach dropped the cups of her bra and gently pinched her nipples like so many other villains had done, but he did it with an erotic tenderness, “…all because Miss Americana flies by the seat of her pants?  She’s reckless and that makes her dangerous to all the other heroines, to the public…and to you.”

He unbuttoned his pants and let them drop.

“You wouldn’t be in these situations if it weren’t for her.”

His fingers slid her green panties down to her knees and let them dangle lewdly.  She was wet and on fire and wanted him inside her but his hands stayed on her legs and cheeks and breasts.  He was avoiding her sex, teasing her. “You know I’m right because you’re not resisting me.”

Her mouth leaned hungrily for his. He pulled away. Coach knew how to get the most out of people.

“What do you want…?” her lust barely let her finish the sentence.

He used his words with pause, “I want you to edge forward.”  With her cuffed hands supporting her ass and weight on the desk behind her, Tanya edged her hips up, her wetness finally meeting the edge of Coach’s bulging cock.  He kept it against her moist folds but inserted himself no further. His sly grin marked her maddening frustration.  She instinctively wrapped her stilettos around the small of his back to keep him from escaping, and this pleased him greatly.  It was almost all she could do to have him…

“I need your help training Brenda,” the Coach inched into her.  She bit her lip when he stopped.  “Are we on the same team?”

Tanya bowed her body up, kissing him hard and snapping her legs back to pull him all the way inside in her with a mighty grunt of agreement and orgasm.  Coach knew it would be the first of many such agreements.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Think, Brenda, think! The more she thought, the less she knew.  Tanya never showed and her cell phone went straight to a cheery voice mail, ‘I’m on assignment, call you when I’m done.’  The TV station manager told Brenda the same thing. Tanya wasn’t home, and her car wasn’t at the Desperadoes training site. Brenda had showered off the Coach’s manly stench and gone out scouting once darkness fell. There was no sign of the hostage heroines, either. She knew they’d been moved somewhere but she couldn’t call in the police or any of the other Delta City superheroines until she knew where they were being held.  Crime patrol proved useless, too. She was too distracted by her missing sisters-in-crime fighting to focus on purse-snatchings, car-jackings and prostitution.  This had been exactly what the Coach had meant, hadn’t he? Finding a way to do the job at hand without letting the distractions get to her.

Saturday dawned.  Brenda arrived at the Cheer for Charity rehearsals and was put in a line with three regular Desperado cheerleaders who never left her side.  There were ten groups of four altogether: three regular cheerleaders paired with a celebrity in each group.  She caught a glimpse of Lydia rehearsing with another group in a separate dance hall and there, finally, was Tanya, dancing with another group.  Tanya caught her with that classic, ‘help me,’ pout, but Brenda never got close to either of them. If not dancing, the girls were being fitted and refitted for the uniforms they’d wear on Sunday. As ten hours of rehearsal wound down, security officers escorted Brenda to her waiting limo and off the premises.  She would have to go through with it.

Rage consumed her Saturday night. Tanya still didn’t show up or call her back.   As Miss Americana, she made her patrol eventful, smacking around purse-snatchers and shoplifters, a few pimps and even a pair of gun-toting muggers, but she stayed away from the big battles that usual awaited her in the heart of Sugar Town.  She let herself be seen enough to send a message to the big pimps and pushers, the constant wail of sirens and circling of police cars confining the thugs to back-alleys and shadows.  She needed her strength for Sunday.

“I can’t let you go,” the Coach whispered in Tanya’s ear, rubbing her naked shoulders gingerly after another round of lovemaking. Their constant trysts were surely easing his tension and clearing his mind to focus on tomorrow’s game plan. 

“Not even for a little while?” she purred playfully, “I’ve been in these cuffs for hours.’ She rolled and kissed him, still playing in the moment, “If I were you, Mister, I’d never let me go either.” Coach smiled at her sense of playfulness.

“I mean, I can’t release you. Not yet. Miss Americana has to think you’re still a captive, at least until the game’s over.”

“I have to be on the air,” Tanya protested. “I have pre-game reports and segments I have to do.”

Coach bit her nipple softly and thumbed the crack of her ass to ‘punish’ her.  “Don’t get grumpy, my dear. I won’t deny the world your beautiful face on such a wonderful day.” His thumb worked into her ass as his other thumb and forefinger rolled her clit around.  She closed her eyes in delight and decided to let him handle it.

Delta City was abuzz from the first light of day, with the TV stations and sports-radio zombies covering the big game from every angle.  Brenda chafed; she had to be the only person in Delta City rooting against the Desperadoes.  That was the crux of her whole plan-hoping the Desperadoes lost to save her friends. The ‘uniform’ she would wear only made her madder- aqua blue hot pants so tight they neatly outlined the camel toe of her vaginal valley, and a  full-sleeved, sheer white halter that snapped together with a magnetic clasp just beneath her breasts. Sheer pantyhose made her legs shine atop four-inch white go-go boots.  Next to her, Delta City’s most famous R&B singer, an Award winning actress, a scrawny blonde hotel heiress, and the slutty pop star whose career only lived on in the tabloids stuffed themselves into the skimpy outfits without reservation.

Waiting to be introduced in the tunnel leading to the field, Brenda finally got a word in with Lydia. “Can you believe these outfits?” Brenda began.

“Sexy, right?” Lydia cooed, forgetting what could be happening to her in a few short hours.  Brenda’s scowl brought her back to earth.  “They held us in your office at Wade Towers.  They forced me to give them the code, and kept us there.  I thought for sure you’d check it out.”

Brenda smacked her forehead. How obvious!  She’d never thought to check her own backyard! “Have you seen Tanya?”               

Lydia shook her head.  The on-field introductions began, and Brenda was out of time.  The crowd cheered as each celebrity cheerleader was announced, but no one received a bigger ovation than Brenda Wade.  There were more lewd catcalls than actual cheers.  She’d never felt so belittled, parading herself before eighty thousand horny barbarians who’d take her faster than they’d take a home-team touchdown.  Brenda danced and twirled throughout the first half, darting in and out of the stands with her squad to collect money for charity.  A few assholes brushed against her leg or hip, another rubbed his crotch against her ass as they passed in the aisle, but she reminded herself to not start trouble with the drunken bums.  At half time the Desperadoes trailed by twenty four points, and Brenda began to sense a little relief.  Things were looking up until the half time show began.

Each celebrity cheerleader took a turn in the spotlight, dancing and begging for the fans to be generous as the nation’s top rock act performed his hits. Each girl tried to outdo the other in a playfully catty way and there were fortunes in donations rolling in. Brenda rolled her hips, shucked her ass and wiggled her boobs as best she could with The Coach watching it all from the side of the stage.  As the music ended and Brenda held her final pose, the Coach aimed a hand towards her, his finger pressing downward gently.  Brenda felt a cool rush, and glared down to see the magnetic clasp of her halter undone and her luscious breasts jiggling before the full house.

“Wardrobe malfunction!” boomed the public address announcer. The crowd went wild and camera flashes strobed the arena. She was mortified as Ronald Shrump joined her onstage, microphone in hand.  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he calmed the crowd, “our thanks to Brenda Wade for being such a good sport today.  Brenda’s just been super, a real heroine for our cause today.” His words were filled with double-entendre that only she understood, and it scared her.  What could he be up to?

“Brenda’s a heroine to Delta City in many other ways, too.  Ways she doesn’t want anyone else to know about.”  She panicked, her deepest secret about to be exposed. All she could do was shake her head and beg with her eyes for him not to tell.  “Just like Miss Americana…”  It was an introduction—Brenda stood in shock as ‘Miss Americana’-complete in the real star-spangled outfit, came out on a stage at the far end of the field with Got Girl, Got Chic and Azure Angel beside her.  Neither Brenda nor Lydia could imagine what the smug Coach was up to. “But today, on this Super Sunday, Brenda Wade wants to expose her latest act of heroism to everyone and to help her out, her friends, including Miss Americana, will expose their real identities for all the world to see.” 

Brenda boiled. “You promised!” she hissed.  On the far stage the imposter Miss Americana struck a classic super heroine pose, reached up and snapped off her mask as the crowd went wild.

Tanya O’Donnell. It was a complete show now, and everyone in the building was riveted, including Brenda and Lydia. Tanya took the microphone. “I am not the real Miss Americana,” she announced twice before the crowd quieted, “I wish I were.  But these are the real Got Girl, Got Chic and Azure Angel…”

“Why aren’t they fighting?” Lydia asked.

“Sedatives,” Brenda answered knowingly. The coach nodded agreement. 

Tanya’s hand cupped the masks of Got Girl and Got Chic, ready to snap them off.

 Brenda couldn’t believe it. “Stop!” she cried, her words picked up on the microphone in the Coach’s hand. “I’ll do anything to save them!” She was desperate, playing into the Coach’s hands.

“Tell us, Brenda Wade…” the coach teased the crowd like a wrestling promoter, “How would a businesswoman save Delta City’s greatest heroines?  What power do you possess that guarantees Delta City will build and grow anew for the years to come?”   Brenda realized what he wanted, and he gloated.  Give in or give up the heroines.

“I can…I can announce…” Oh, this defeat hurt her, but she had to save her friends. “I can announce that Wade Enterprises and Ronald Shrump will partner up and build…” the Crowd went wild before she finished, knowing what was coming, “…and build the greatest sports complex any city has ever seen and we will do it all without spending a single dime of taxpayer money!”

The crowd went nuts.  Shrump gleamed.  Brenda wanted to cry, but money was a small price to pay to save her friends and preserve the greater mission.  Coach wasn’t satisfied.

Three minutes later, Miss Americana—the real Miss Americana-stood in the midst of the Desperadoes locker room as the Coach addressed his weary team.

“Are you having fun, boys?  I want you boys to have fun here.  We’ve never been here before and we may never get here again, so just relax and have fun with this.  Let’s make believe we’re just a bunch of guys playing ball in the street and anything is possible.” There were a few laughs, a few agreements.  The Coach was upbeat but carefree, taking the pressure of the big game off his troops.

“It’s a kid’s game, boys, with man-sized rewards. You could win this game for the glory, for the money, for whatever you want. Other winners have all that.”  The giant flat-panel screen at the back of the room came to life, showing Got Girl, Got Chic, Flag Girl and Azure Angel bound once more in the equipment room.  “But no one who has ever won this game has been rewarded with the chance to fuck a super heroine. That is your reward, boys.”  The team roared approval, gaining motivation.  “Who wants it?”

The team erupted, smacking each other on the pads and helmets, revving it up. The Coach grasped Americana’s arm. “Since Miss Americana is a one of a kind super heroine, she will be a one of a kind reward.” The Coach paused for effect, his team all ears. “Whoever wins MVP honors will be the only one to fuck Miss Americana…” he paused again, “and he can fuck her in the ass.”

Bedlam.  Americana took a swing at the Coach, missing wildly.  “You can’t do that!” she screamed. 

“Yes, I can.  I just made a promise and I never break a promise to my players.”  His hand slapped her ass, “This is the moment I needed you for.  Your inspiration knows no bounds.”

The Desperadoes ran the second-half kickoff back for a touchdown, and intercepted a pass for another.  The home squad cut their deficit to six points, but Metropolis had the league’s best defense and hadn’t given up a single point in the fourth quarter of any game.  The clock was ticking-

But Brenda couldn’t take the chance they’d hold on.  She had to free her friends, who were well-guarded by a dozen or more security guards in and around the equipment room. The fight began-

 A nightstick cracked against the back of her knee, dropping her to the other.  From behind the nightstick pulled against her throat, choking her while the guard holding it leaned across her back, using his body weight as leverage to keep her down.  American grabbed his wrist and dropped to both knees, flipping the guard ass over heels to the floor.  She wrested the nightstick from him as he fell and cracked it across his belly, taking all the wind from his sails.

Americana kicked and punched with unbridled fury.  She could not and would not fail. Flat-panel screens throughout the weight room showed the game in its final minutes, the four captive super heroines bound and gagged to various pieces of equipment while watching their leader kick ass. Tanya shied to a corner, keeping out of the battle zone.

Marvin the water boy and the team’s trainer stood to the side near the drug cabinet as the last two guards rushed Americana, pushing her back against a weight bench while trying to handcuff her. Marvin tackled her legs, splaying her flat on her back on the weight bench. The nerdy kid was stronger than she realized.

“Flip her over!” the trainer ordered, a loaded syringe in his hand.  Americana let them roll her face down. Grabbing the weight bar for leverage, she kicked out with both legs and sent Marvin sprawling into the trainer, both men crashing into a far wall. With great athleticism, she jumped into a squat on the bench and then vaulted into a split, kicking away the last two security guards.  Victory near-

Marvin charged her but she was more than ready. She caught him by the chin with one hand and lifted him high, about to deliver her final blow.  Tanya had to help-

Tanya opened the door to the weight room, allowing a gaggle of press and photographers a partial view of inside. All they could see was The Queen of Justice pummeling a scrawny brat.

                “Americana!”  A horrified reporter yelled.

                “She’s beating up the waterboy!” yelled another.

                Americana held her blow, surprised, shaking her head.  “No,” she stammered, “it’s not what you think.”  She couldn’t possibly explain this all to them.

                “She’s right. It’s not what you think.” Tanya said, standing beside her “It’s a promo shot, boys.  If the Desperadoes win we’re going to Photoshop a Metropolis uniform on the little geek and show the heroes of Delta City beating back the Metropolis invaders.”

                The press laughed, snapping pictures.  Americana posed with Marvin in her grasp, not knowing what to say. Tanya curled her fingers in a slight ‘give it to me’ motion, and the trainer slyly slipped the loaded syringe into her palm.

 “Miss Americana can be one of the boys”, Tanya said with good nature, giving her heroine friend a manly swat on the rump that drove the needle tip into Americana’s skin. Warmth flooded her body as Tanya pressed the plunger down, emptying the tube into Americana.  The girls’ bodies side by side blocked any view the press may have had of this betrayal, and once the syringe was empty, Tanya closed the door. “We’ll give you more shots after the game, boys.”

 Americana tossed Marvin to the floor.  It didn’t matter.  She could already feel her muscles soften and her vision clouding. 

“Why?” she asked her closest friend.

“You’re going to take one for the team. Your new team,” Tanya answered, stripping off Americana’s power belt and pushing her over a massage table.  Marvin pulled off her star-spangled shorts and the security guards were quick to handcuff her hands and legs wide.

Americana lost. Would the Desperadoes win? Through fading vision Americana watched the game’s final minute on the flat panel before her.  One more play. Colby the quarterback launched a high arching pass toward the back corner of the end zone.  Both defender and receiver leapt, the ball clipping off the receiver’s right palm, tipped aside by the defender’s wave. Both men fell to the ground, the ball coming down toward them like a falling baby,  one man poised to make the grab, the other stretching wide to knock it away. Sixty thousand fans and five naked super heroines caught a hushed breath, a moment suspended in time…

Americana passed out.

Thunder woke her. Not thunder, nor an earthquake. 

Cheers.

On screen the Coach hoisted the championship trophy as the players hoisted him on their shoulders.  It was Delta City’s proudest moment in sports.

Tears streamed down Americana’s cheeks.

The nightmare she couldn’t imagine worsened two minutes later, when the television announcer awarded Co-MVP trophies to the All-American quarterback and his brash receiver. 

“These men deserve any rewards they’re about to get.” The Coach quipped to the camera, the team’s raucous hollers doubling at the inside joke they shared.

The party came into the locker room.  Americana wanted them to get it over with, but they were going to take their time and savor their victory.  The quarter back and the receiver ogled Americana. The Coach was doing another interview on the TV.

“The last play was supposed to go to the tight end but he wasn’t open,” said the Coach.

 The quarterback smacked Americana’s ass.  “This is the only tight end I need to get open!” His teammates roared.  “We’re going to need some lube back here!”  The four-hundred-dollar-a-bottle champagne Brenda Wade had for brunches and banquets now splashed across her ass. The sting of champagne in the eyes is nothing compared to the searing pain of champagne in the anal and vaginal cavity.  Americana screamed and bucked. The receiver dropped his pants in front of her. 

“You’ll be screaming more when I stick this big ol’ cock in your sweet ass, baby!”

And she did.  The quarterback went first, spewing himself all over her ass within two minutes.  Then the receiver plunged into her ass as the quarterback made her suck him off.  The two men had such a good rhythm; they’d obviously done this kind of thing many times before.  Her ass ached, her sphincter swelled and her clit throbbed with urgent need.  Champagne burned her ass, eyes, nose, pussy…everything.  Her hair was drenched with bubbly and sweat.  All around her players came, screams of orgasm mixed with wails of victory and cries for mercy.  Champagne and sex mixed with sweat and savagery.  Finally the receiver came hard and long, leaving Americana more frustrated.

Americana squirmed.  She wanted and needed more, almost praying for it. Finally her prayer was answered. The longest, thickest cock she’d ever seen waved before her glassy eyes.

“Holy shit, Marvin!” 

“It’s a python!”

“It’s a tree trunk!”

“My hometown isn’t that big!”

Americana came as soon as the Water Boy entered her.  Then she came again, and again until her clit and lips were raw from the friction and she began to cry. Then Marvin did the same to Flag Girl.  He fucked them all without cumming himself, winning every bet his astonished teammates made.  He didn’t cum until his second turn with the insatiable Queen of Justice.

Brenda Wade stood in the Coach’s office, humbled and meek.  She couldn’t look at the smug son of a bitch, not even the thought of vengeance could lift her eyes from the floor. No one had ever beaten and devastated her so completely.  Even after a week her body remained numb and sore.  Her ego would never recover.

“So, we’re partners,” she began. “I’ll vote for a new stadium and sports complex. What’s happened is in the past.  All I ask is you keep my secret as you’ve promised.”

“I will, Miss Wade. I’ll live up to my promises as soon as you live up to yours.”

“I’ve done everything you’ve asked.” A touch of her old fire flared.

“Almost.” The Coach slid the charity contract she’d signed across the desk. “You haven’t learned, though.  Ignorance is still your undoing.”

Brenda Wade choked.

“I told you to read that contract.  You never did. It says you cheer for charity for a year, every weekend, without exception.”

“I can’t…”

“You will. You’ll shake your tits and ass for a good cause every Friday, Saturday and Sunday without fail. There’s a million dollar penalty for every day of cheering you miss.” The Coach was smug, unyielding.  “I’m going to make you learn, Miss Wade.”     

He walked around his desk, whispering in the submissive socialite’s tender ear. “I believe in what you and your alter ego does.  It’s the way you go about it that I don’t like.  You may not like me, but I will be your greatest ally.  I will teach you and all the superheroines in Delta City to be better, stronger, faster than you’ve ever imagined.  You will truly be a Champion of Justice.”

Brenda Wade, Miss Americana, cringed at the thought as The Coach waved the contract in front of her. 

“And I’ve got a year to do it.”