-5-

In fact, he wasn’t only touching her, he was holding her in his arms.

And he sure was a wonderful dancer.

As though in a movie, she pictured them from high above, amongst the dazzling chandeliers: Jonathan Hard and Savage Fury gliding together across the vast inlaid parquet floor of the great ballroom while everyone else, all the Rich and Famous, the glitterati and the glamorous, watched from the sidelines.

She’d missed her high school prom, grounded by her parents as punishment for refusing to have breast reduction surgery. And she’d had the most wonderful gown to wear—not one of those frilly silly prom frocks but a real adult evening gown, that would’ve shown off her boobs, which even at 17 were enormous.

The other dancers moved out onto the floor now as, resplendent in skintight silver, country-western superstar Polly Harden strode out before the orchestra (not a combo either, this was a symphony, with violins and everything). She took the microphone and began crooning one of her slow sultry mega-hits.

Scarlet Dragon drifted past them in the arms of a tux-clad hunk—some football player, Fury thought. JJ of course had sent her regrets but she was here anyway, cradling the mike between elephantine breasts as she sang.

Besides, (something she hated admitting a lot more) she did owe Jonathan for rescuing her earlier in the evening. But the fact he’d had to rescue one of the world’s strongest superheroines at all was as embarrassing as the situation he’d rescued her from.

But though she kept turning the whole stupid predicament over in her mind as she danced, The Cowled Crusader still couldn’t decide how she could’ve handled it differently ….

Fury had walked into the great brightly-lit mansion with Scarlet Dragon, but really she’d been floating on air. The last two days had been incredible! It was a good thing Walt was out of town, she’d barely been home the whole time, let alone out of costume.

Furyday and Savageday had been the kind of nonstop adoration and heroine-worship she’d dreamt about when she got into this game—and utterly despaired of in her darkest moments, soaking wet and beaten to gloved hands and thighbooted knees with one creep taking her up the ass and another forcing his huge dick into her swollen bloodied mouth.

She’d been interviewed for the 6pm and 11pm news, written up in all the papers (with photos above the neck for once!), feted and besieged for autographs wherever she went—even Playboy called!

Dragon and JJ had gotten as much attention as she. JJ took it with her usual good-humored aplomb but the Oriental Amazon loved every minute of it. She dropped her cynical pose for the first time since Fury had known her and beamed like a kid while signing autographs and posing for the hordes of photogs.

And now this—it was like a movie premiere where Fury was the star! All these Beautiful and Important People applauding her and Dragon as they entered the main salon!

Scarlet Dragon’s eyes sparkled. "Now this is more like it!"

Justice had helped Fury get ready for tonight. They sprinkled diamond dust on her gigantic jugs to make them glitter, and affixed larger diamonds (real ones!) to the tips of her thumb-sized teats where they thrust impudently through their straps. But the biggest of all went to the "V" juncture of her costume bottom, where it gleamed on the bulging mound of her cunt.

"Flaunt it while you got it, darlin’," JJ had smiled.

She wore the sweeping cloak, which floated about her like a rainbow as she stilted dreamily in on her 5-inch spikes.

And was immediately swept up in greetings and introductions. She met Jennifer Hard, who was even more beautiful in person than on TV, and gracious at the same time.

But she put that thought aside, it seemed small and ungrateful after everything Jonathan had done since, and especially in this gorgeous room with all these incredible people. Savage Fury felt like the Queen of England as movie stars and politicians and sports heroes, people she’d idolized and imitated all her life, crowded each other to meet her. Most of them couldn’t take their eyes off the heaving chest-mountains that ballooned out around the straps. But heck, the Thighbooted Thunderbolt thought, that’s what the glitter’s for.

So she arched her back a little and just let the men ogle, and the women burn with envy.

Jonathan never gave them a glance. Neither did Jennifer.

And now, as they danced, he seemed oblivious to the billowing titans of tit-blubber that massed against his chest. They made it kind of difficult to breathe, but Fury didn’t pull back.

The avalanche of greetings had finally ended and the assemblage broke off into smaller groups that drifted into other areas of the great mansion. Fury found herself wondering (perversely) how to get Jonathan to stop ignoring her outrageous udders. She told herself it was because only one other man had ever paid more attention to her than the monumental milkbags on her chest, and that was Walt. It was one of the reasons she had been attracted to him, and she didn’t like having Jonathan Hard anywhere near Walt in her mind.

Making small talk while waiting for the music to begin, Fury felt a tap on her bare shoulder and turned to look down at the mayor’s chief aide. He was a small pale man in antiquey Ben Franklin specs and he sweated slightly as he spoke to the enormous quaking endowments that stared him straight in the ears.

"The—ah—mayor would very much like to see you, Ms—Fury? In the—ah—library? Something about showing gratitude."

The boulder-busted bombshell smiled her most gracious smile. "Of course."

My, would it never end?

She hoped not.

Fury excused herself from Scarlet Dragon and the Hards and followed the smaller man, aware that all eyes in the room followed her every swaying jiggling awesomely voluptuous move—and for once enjoying it!

Flaunt it while you got it, superbabe.

-6-

The library was a great three-story cavern lined with books and furnished in dark mahogany, shadows and silence. Fury wondered if there were any normal-sized rooms in this castle. A big balding man, the mayor sat in a settee before a blazing fireplace big enough to stand in. He was smoking a fat cigar and reading a book.

Savage Fury strode over to him, the thick carpet muffling even her 5-inch spikes. "Mr. Mayor? You wanted to see me?"

He closed the book and lay it carefully at his side, peered up at the beautiful mega-statuesque Amazon. Took a meditative draw on the cigar. "Why, yes I did, Fury. I thought this would be a good time for you and I to have a chat. About gratitude."

Smiling, The Cowled Crusader made a deprecating armgloved gesture. "Please, sir, your gratitude is already overwhelming—"

His voice cracked like a whip. "I meant, superslut, your gratitude!"

Startled, certain she couldn’t have heard correctly, Fury blinked. "Ex-excuse me?"

His eyes, small and close-set, gleamed like polished marbles in a round smooth face so devoid of expression it might have been a mask.

"Do you think I did all this out of the goodness of my heart?" The politician’s voice never rose above an icy murmur. "Or because I admire a whore like you, who flaunts her overblown body so brazenly under the guise of—fighting crime?"

He snorted disgust at the very idea.

Thrown into utter confusion, the Masked Mammazon stood there towering over the fat politico in her thighhigh boots, gargantuan glittering tits like pink pumpkins before her, and stuttered, "Why, I—uh, that is—"

His voice rising now, the mayor pressed on remorselessly. "Do you think I’ve enjoyed the past week’s depraved parade of licentious pulchritude by you and your top-heavy harlot friends? Can you actually imagine I deemed such lewdness beneficial to the city—MY CITY??"

O how Fury wanted to get out of there! Turn with a disdainful sneer and high-heel away from this fat scornful bureaucrat! She ached to return to the bright happy world outside where she was a goddess and everyone loved her.

"Can you be so witless as well as shameless and wanton?"

But she just stood there, broad shoulders slumped, wilting before the freezing blast of the mayor’s scorn. Her titanic tits actually sagged below her waist as though the blizzard of abuse clung and weighed them down.

And when she finally found her voice again, she wished she hadn’t. It came out sounding like a chastised young girl.

"B-but, I thought—I mean, Jonathan—"

The fat man sniffed, regarded his cigar. "Hard overrates his influence in this city almost as much as he overrates you."

"Th-then … why? I mean—why did you—"

The mayor’s smile was frigid with contempt and triumph. "I arranged it all just so we could have this little chat in Jonathan Hard’s own house."

Dumbfounded and speechless (and still not certain this wasn’t a dream or joke of some kind), Fury waited. She had the feeling this nightmare was going to get worse. Much worse, the way they usually did.

There was a knock at the door. The pale aide standing there (and watching!) opened it a crack. He murmured to someone outside and closed it again. Fury wanted to shout, to yell, but did neither.

"I can make things very very tough for you and your half-naked trollop friends," the mayor went on, in words that fell like concrete blocks. "I can have you outlawed as vigilantes, arrested every time you show these watermelon-sized udders of yours in public."

Fury glanced down at her monstrous milkbags, wishing they didn’t sparkle so brightly in the firelight. The way their tiny specks drilled shafts of brilliance through the smoke of the mayor’s cigar made them look like miniature (not so miniature, actually) Roaring 20’s glitter-globes.

"If I try, not very hard, I can find out who all of you are under your masks, and hound you out of the city."

She gazed into the politician’s hard piggy eyes, saw again Scarlet Dragon’s happy shining ones as she was feted and adored.

Even Justice is impressed with you now. What would you do to not lose that? Or not do?

She had the feeling she was about to find out.

"Or"—Hizzoner made a disgusted face—"I can have you recognized officially, sanctioned by the police as—God help us—officers of the law. It would make your positions in the city unassailable and certainly make your careers easier."

All of which was so obvious even to Fury that she didn’t bother to nod. Her head weighed too much anyway, she could barely lift it to look at him.

"It’ll also raise hell with the City Council and especially the police. So you have to make it worth my while. I don’t do these things for free."

He blew a casual cloud of blue smoke up into her masked face that made her cough. "It’s all up to you, supercunt. Time for you to show me that gratitude. In advance."

The Cowled Crusader’s throat was dry, her lips felt cracked and caked despite all the gloss she’d slathered on. She smelled her own sweat, but the odor was not fear. It was something else, something she hated so much more.

Her voice was like a little girl’s. "What—what do you want me to do?"

A single word ricocheted about her leaden mind, echoing from that day with the Chain Gang: "Again … again … again … again …."

The mayor might have been a statue. His small eyes bored into hers.

It really was up to her.

The boulder-busted superbombshell hesitated, then took the "V" of her costume bottom in trembling gloved hands and pulled it up between her heavy pussy lips. The big diamond glinted brightly as it nestled among the fleshy folds. Sweating, she squatted and spread her brawny big-cuffed thighs, opening the sumptuous scarlet-bushed treasure at their juncture.

The fat man shrugged.

The Thighbooted Thunderbolt swallowed a whimper of humiliation. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Out there it was bright and gay and she was the super-powerful super-glamorous Toast of the Town. In here she was a 2-bit stripper in leather with tits bigger than bowling balls, putting on a private show for a fat bald sleezebag.

Who held her future, and that of her friends, in his pudgy hands.

A small rational part of her mind tried to temporize: You’ve done worse, and had much worse done to you! Concentrate on what you’re buying with this—this—

Debasement. Degradation. That was the odor she was smelling.

But all that bondage and those rapes were in the line of duty! She couldn’t help them! She was doing this to herself, for a fat slimy politician!

The mayor’s expensively-shod foot suddenly lashed out into her bulging exposed cunt. Fury gasped—not at the stab of pain, she’d been kicked there much harder, not to mention butted and shotgunned and impaled on things you wouldn’t think would even fit. But never so degradingly or chidingly. As though he merely wanted her attention.

"Perhaps," he murmured, "you’re under the mistaken impression we have all night here."

Tearfully staring at the ceiling because she just couldn’t bear to look at the fat monster, Fury pinched her heavy pendent fucklips in leathern fingers and pulled them apart, opening her deepest most intimate self, wide wet and pink, for his inspection.

Hizzoner’s eyes glittered but when she glanced down between her stupendous boobs he wasn’t leaning forward like she expected, hadn’t moved at all.

The Mammazon Manhunter stretched her swollen labia wider. The mayor blew a cloud of smoke up her gaping oft-plumbed snatch.

He didn’t even have an erection between those fat thighs of his.

Both sets of plush lips trembling, Fury closed her masked eyes and inserted two gloved fingers into her pussy as far as they would go. Squatting till her big ass spread over her boots’ spikeheels, she sloshed them around in the hot pink oven. Couldn’t suppress a moan.

A fresh puff of cigar smoke made her cough. When she opened her eyes the mayor was shaking his head slowly. There was just the slightest bulge in his expansive lap.

Willing her long spectacular legs to bend, the Battling Bombshell sank to her thighbooted knees before him. Knelt there a moment staring at that small horrid swelling. She’d seen lots bigger and more threatening but none more loathsome.

She took a deep breath and reached into his lap to knead the hardening organ. It wasn’t much, barely a semihard handful. This shouldn’t be too difficult.

Licking her luscious lips in a way she hoped was sexy but was just apprehensive, Fury began to pull the zipper down. Under the dangling masses of her doughy double dirigibles she felt his thighs tense.

Like lightning, a chubby hand cracked stingingly across her cowled loveliness—once, twice, a third slap—while the other gave a big down-pointing nipple a painful twisting yank that jerked its massive milkbag out a couple of inches, only to snap back again!

"NNNNNHH!!"

Masked eyes wide with shock, the astonished ultra-bombshell jerked up straight on her boot-sheathed knees. One hand flew to her cheek while a gloved forearm covered what little it could of her gargantuan boobs. Having impenetrable skin didn’t lessen the pain of the blows—or the mortification.

The pronouncement was flat. "Not mine, you disgusting sow."

Domino’d face burning, Fury knelt there before this fat slimeball, aching to tear him to pieces. Knowing she could bring this whole house down on top of him without breaking a sweat. Also knowing she didn’t dare so much as blink.

He raised a hand, smiled at the way she flinched. Like a pale slender ghost, the bespectacled aide appeared from the shadows behind the sofa. Fury had completely forgotten about him. He’d been watching her shameful exhibition, that was obvious. Very obvious, from the huge bulge in his pants.

Eyes enormous behind their glasses, he settled next to the mayor. The kneeling Fabulous Fury didn’t even have to pull down this zipper. She just unbuckled his belt and touched the tab—and a cock the size of a police truncheon leaped out and up like an ICBM ready for launch, its warhead the size and color of a plum.

Fury swallowed. Leaned forward, dragging her pendent doughy pumpkins over the aide’s thighs. His great upstanding organ fairly hummed with rampant readiness. She could make out each vein like a relief map; the great sac of balls, hairless as a boy’s, was taut and already half withdrawn.

This guy was ready!

"Suck it, you elephant-uddered pig," the mayor cooed in her ear. "I’ve heard so many stories about your considerable oral talents."

A quick sideways glance showed Hizzoner finally getting erect.

The leatherclad fingers Fury wrapped around the base of the aide’s curving iron-hard flagpole didn’t come close to touching. The trembling in his thighs sent little ripples through the massive milkbags that lay upon and all around them.

The Cowled Crusader couldn’t help grimacing as she stuck her tongue out and gave the enormous manshaft a long slow wet lick, from base to bulbous head. Which was already tipped with precum. The aide groaned when she flicked the milky drop off with her tongue.

The mayor said, "If he ejaculates too soon or if you don’t swallow it all, you’ll have to start over. At another time and place, of course."

Running her gloved fingers along the great rigid fleshpole, Savage Fury kissed the bloated head making its pale owner squirm.

"Sit still, Jensen!" the mayor barked. He was removing his belt.

Fury took a deep breath. This thing was so big even nose-breathing might not work.

The kneeling ponderous-pontooned paladin wrapped her plush lips around the mammoth member’s taut glans, thankful in a weird way for all the practice she’d had at this—earlier in her career she could never have taken a hogleg this size into her mouth, let alone down her throat. But she’d learned a thing or three since.

Slooowly, bit by bit, Fury lowered her widestretched mouth onto the awesome dong, felt the blood pulsing in the big blue vein. An inch … another inch … the taut knob bumped against the back of her throat so she had to lift herself onto her knees to reposition her throat ….

The blunt knob forced its way down her throat—an inch, another inch—and a tear trickled from under Fury’s mask as she tried not to gag on it (His Perverted Honor would just love that). Jensen’s small girlish hands gave the soft blubberbags spreading over his thighs a painful squeeze.

The mayor leaned forward and lashed his doubled-up belt across Fury’s lavish outthrust buttcheeks. Her squeak was muffled by the immense cock that filled her mouth and throat to bursting.

Trying to ignore the mayor’s avid presense behind her, she began to suck, lifting her whole cowled head off the mammoth tusk then lowering it again. Slowly. Like an oil pump of flesh and leather, up and down … up and down …. Plush lips forced In then pulling out ….

Another stinging crack of the belt across her opulent bare ass, another cock-gorged squeak. Fury moved faster. Up-and-down, upandown, upandown ….

"Come on, Superpig, show us what you can do!"

Hizzoner placed both pudgy hands on the back of the Masked Mammazon’s seesawing cowled head and pushed down hard. Normally it would have taken a falling building to drive her mouth onto that lip-stretching rhino horn. But she let him do it, knowing the alternative would be unbearable.

"Mmmpppfffff!!"

The huge schlong rammed past her gag reflex and into her throat, choking the awesome-bodied Amazon. She had to lift her leathern head to breathe—and then let the mayor drive her gaping mouth onto Jensen’s enormous hard-on again.

And again ….

And again.

None of them heard the door open or the carpet-muffled footsteps. So it came as a complete surprise to everyone—the miserably spanked, tearfully cock-sucking Savage Fury, the swimming-in-ecstasy Jensen, and the sado-intent mayor—when Jonathan Hard suddenly grabbed Hizzoner by the scant hair on the back of his head and threw him to the floor with a yelp.

"You bastard!" he bellowed. Then, mindful of the open library door, went on in a furious hiss, "My guest—in my house??"

"But Jonathan—" the mayor began.

The enraged millionaire slammed a fist down across the seated fat man’s astonished face, sprawling him on his back with a grunt. He kicked him in the side. Then in the head.

To her surprised chagrin Savage Fury found it difficult to stop going down on the aide’s enormous rampant tusk. Which despite the distraction was not softening a bit in her widestretched see-sawing mouth.

But Jensen, suddenly more concerned with his boss being soundly beaten than the cowled head bobbing industriously up and down in his lap slurping and sucking him like mad, had no such difficulties. He lifted his legs into the Cowled Crusader’s titanic sagging milkblimps and pushed her back with a surprised squeak. She thudded down on her big bare ass before the fire. Just sat there, dazed and drooling, and watched him jump up—not to help his battered boss but to flee, mammoth wang bobbing before him like a lipstick-smeared bowsprit.

By now the mayor was curled up on the floor whimpering, chubby hands over his face. Jonathan Hard stood over him, a firelit vision of wrath.

"Get the fuck out of here!" he raged. "And don’t get comfortable in that office of yours, fatso—if they run a hyena against you next election, I’ll make sure he’s elected!"

Hizzoner scrambled to his feet. "But—but you, that is, we …."

The millionaire kicked his butt and the fat bloodied politico stumbled out. Paused at the door to throw an odd glance of supplication over his shoulder, then was gone.

Savage Fury, dazed, astonished beyond words at this grotesque rescue and left ragingly horny by the interrupted fellatio, just sat there with hard nipples big as corks in their straps and wet pussy gaping around the "V" of her costume bottom

and blinked. Twice.

-7-

"You dance very well in those 5-inch heels," Jonathan murmured. His breath tickled her ear.

"Thank you," Fury replied. "You’re a wonderful dancer yourself, Jon."

It was well past midnight, and the party was beginning to wind down. The orchestra still played, soft and dreamy, but after her 3^rd set Polly Harden had left (with a private wink to her). And she hadn’t seen Scarlet Dragon since—well, she couldn’t remember. A couple of hours at least. Or, for that matter, Jennifer Hard. But it was a big party, and filled many rooms of even this enormous mansion. This orchestra was only the biggest of 4 ensembles playing tonight.

Mostly in the arms of the man who’d beaten her up a week ago, and mouth-fucked her into unconsciousness ….

"Speaking of thank-yous …" she began hesitantly.

As though reading her mind (a disturbing habit of his) he waved her unspoken words aside. "Forget it. It never happened."

With a world of rue: "I wish. He really had me mouse-trapped."

"I’m glad." At her masked look of astonishment, he added suavely: "I’d hate to think you do that sort of thing so casually."

The millionaire added, "And don’t worry about the mayor. He doesn’t have the power he thinks he does. Next election he’ll find that out."

She managed a smile. "Funny, he said the same thing about you."

Jonathan Hard just smiled back. A smile of such reassurance and confidence that Fury found herself snuggling a little closer to him. Her gargantuan doughy boobs swelled out to their sides, all but engulfing their arms.

The Cowled Crusader wasn’t sure what to think any more. She felt so relaxed and even a little giddy from all the wonderful champagne (Jon had said it was a good antidote for embarrassment and he was right).

"That aside … have you enjoyed yourself?" he asked her.

It seemed a silly question, but she could see he was genuinely concerned about her answer. Fury tried to put her pleasure into words, but finally just nodded.

"You know why I’ve done all this."

Eyes wide in their mask, she shook her leathern head. After the library episode, she wasn’t sure what she knew any more.

He took a deep breath. "As a partial apology for—last week."

She stiffened in his arms, pulled away. "Thanks so much for reminding me—and I was having such a wonderful time."

Angrily, the Thighbooted Thunderbolt strode out onto one of the many balconies. The night air was suddenly cool on her awesomely voluptuous near-nudity, pebbled her titanic swaying milkbags with goosebumps. She shivered, wrapped shoulder-gloved arms around her bare shoulders. The distant city was a dim glow over the trees. The limo she and Scarlet Dragon had arrived in followed the drive for miles from the gates at the main road before reaching this mansion.

Jonathan’s voice came from behind her:

Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,

Of these supposed crimes to give me leave

By a great effort, she kept herself from turning around or replying.

Right behind her now, so close she could smell his intoxicating cologne:

"That’s Shakespeare, isn’t it?" Fury turned to see his nod.

No one had ever quoted Shakespeare to her. Not even Walt; his idea of poetry was—well, he didn’t have one.

She’d never felt that quite so intensely as now.

Jonathan Hard went on:

Your beauty that did haunt me in my sleep

To undertake the death of all the world

Trying to resist being swept up by his fervent verse, Fury wasn’t sure she’d caught most of that. But the last part definitely hit home, and rekindled her anger. "Before I let that happen—again!—I’d tear this all ‘beauty’ off and throw it in your face."

For some reason, her hot reply seemed to please him.

You should not blemish it if I stood by.

As all the world is cheered by the sun,

His intent gaze never left her masked eyes—even when he mentioned her "sweet bosom" he didn’t lower it to the massively jiggling pink pumpkins just below.

"Wait a minute," she managed, licking her dry lips, feeling the heat of him. "You’re saying it was my fault you beat and mouthraped me? Because I’m so beautiful and, and desirable?"

For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.

If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,

Lo here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword;

Which if thou please to hide in this true breast

Whereupon he pulled out a knife and offered it to her! When she just goggled at the blade, he took her armgloved hand and closed its fingers around the haft. Fury held it numbly. It was real, and sharp, and gleamed wickedly in the light through the doors.

He dropped to one knee, and opened his shirt front to bare a smooth well-muscled chest.

His head was below Fury’s gigantic swaying chest-boulders—but his eyes stayed steady on hers. And there wasn’t a merry twinkle within a million miles of them. He was serious—deadly serious.

Fury backed up a step, almost stumbled when one of her 5-inch heels turned. All she could do was shake her cowled head. The knife lay on the terrace; she didn’t remember dropping it.

Jonathan Hard stayed on one knee, watching her intently. Light-headed and feeling as though she floated, the Masked Mammazon moved to him, took him by the shoulders—so broad, so strong—and lifted him to his feet. Surprised somehow that he weighed almost nothing in her super-powerful but gentle grip.

And afterwards she wasn’t sure whose fault it was. But as he stood, her gloved hands slid up his arms and whether he moved or she pulled—well, what mattered was she didn’t stop them when his big hands splayed over her gigantic heaving breasts (a shiver ran the length of her towering ultra-voluptuous body) and she didn’t resist when he pulled her to him by those soft humongous handles and when his lips touched hers it was like the closing of some circuit, and her tongue lunged out to meet his halfway

and that,

irregardless of Jennifer Hard or Walt or anything but the two of them and the lust that overwhelmed them both,

was that.

-8-

Hers was the only limo left when Fury stumbled out to the parking circle before the great mansion. The sun was just peering lewdly over the trees, its eye as red as hers felt. She stopped to make sure she had everything: gloves, thighboots, cowl, head.

She rapped on the driver-side door to wake the chauffeur and climbed into the back, where she found Scarlet Dragon also sound asleep. The compartment reeked of champagne and cum. Dragon looked like she’d had a good time. Her disarranged costume bared an enormous dark breast (which was smeared with lipstick) and her pussy was still swollen enough to totally engulf the scant bottom in dripping pink folds.

Fury let her sleep. Sat across from the Oriental Amazon wrapped in her own tired brown study. The limo glided down the long drive. Dully, she watched miles of shadowy trees slip past.

Dragon stirred as they bumped out through the gate and onto the highway, heading toward the city. Reached an armgloved hand down and fingered her black-thatched pussy with a moan. Writhed a little murmuring "Oh, yeahhh, right there …." Normally, Fury would have found this arousing despite herself, but now she just watched.

The spectacular supergirl opened her masked eyes and realized where she was. Being Scarlet Dragon she didn’t remove her gloved hand from her snatch, but (sometimes giving a damn about how it affected her super-partner) she did stop playing with herself.

"You don’t have to stop," the Cowled Crusader said. "I’m too tired to get uptight."

Dragon stretched luxuriously and arched her back, almost shoving her gigantic quivering jugs into her partner’s masked face. Leathern fists drummed a quick light tattoo of satisfaction on the limo ceiling. "What time is it?"

"Sunrise."

The awesomely voluptuous super-bombshell blinked. Seemed to do some quick figuring and wasn’t satisfied with the results. Then shrugged and looked at Fury, noticing her leaden demeanor for the first time.

"So, I take it we had a good time with the gorgeous zillionaire."

Gazing out the window, Fury shrugged.

Dragon studied her. "You look beat."

"I am."

That got a surprised and quizzical look in return.

Fury looked back with a sharp "What?"

"That doesn’t make sense. You should be able to take on a hundred guys like him, and break them in two like twigs, without even breaking a sweat."

Fury thought of the times she had taken on—well, not a hundred guys, but it had sure felt like it. And she hadn’t been nearly this tired afterwards. She knew why, of course.

"Well, he insisted I wear the whole costume—gloves, boots, cowl, everything."

Dragon smiled slyly. "Ah ha, so we did make it with the handsome stud."

The Thighbooted Thunderbolt frowned, annoyed at being tricked into revealing something she’d already sworn never to. Dragon sat next to her. "C’mon Red, the cat’s out of the bag. Fess up."

Suddenly she knew she had to tell someone—better Justice, but Dragon was here now. "You know how my powers work—I’ve got ‘em as long as I wear the gloves and boots. Unless I get wet."

Dragon nodded eagerly, eyes alight behind their mask. Fury gave a leery sidelong glance and she subsided, but couldn’t extinguish the gleam in her eye. "But he wouldn’t let me take them off when we fucked! And I couldn’t tell him why I wanted to, so …."

Dragon sat up. "So what? His wife caught you? You hurt him?"

Fury sighed. "Don’t remind me about his wife. And I didn’t hurt him, thank God. That’s why I’m so tired."

Dragon cocked her head. That same look.

"From trying not to break him in two like a twig! From being extra-extra-careful—holding back, you know!"

"Trying not to bruise his male ego or him, huh?" Dragon gave her a sympathetic smile.

"Right. I was so—so horny that once we started I couldn’t stop! But it was like—I don’t know what it was like, but it was awful! Like he was made of tissue paper, or soda crackers! Being extra-delicate when I touched him, too afraid to wrap my legs around him—even when I stuck my tongue in his mouth! I could’ve broken his jaw!"

"Was your pussy satisfied?"

Fury sank back with a sigh. "Oh yes yes yes! But the rest of me feels like it’s about to, I don’t know, shatter into a zillion pieces! If I hadn’t finally suggested making it in the swimming pool I think I’d have exploded! I still might!"

"So you managed to get wet. I guess after that everything was fine."

"Well, at least all this darned strength was gone so I didn’t have to worry about killing him if I so much as twitched the wrong way. But by then we’d done it, oh, five or six times, and he was pretty well gone too!"

"Wow. Five or six times." Smiling, Scarlet Dragon stroked Fury’s shoulder. "Poor baby."

The big leatherclad superwoman shivered under Dragon’s gloved touch. "I haven’t been so frustrated since—since I don’t know when!"

"I can tell," Dragon purred.

"If I wasn’t so dead tired I’d go find Jack Hammer or one of those super-creeps and pick a fight, just to work this off."

"Frustration’s a terrible thing." Dragon’s breath tickled her ear.

"I mean, all I wanted to take off was the gloves and boots, not the cowlllll—wh-what’re you doing?"

"De-frustrating you," the beautiful Oriental murmured, running her lips along the Thighbooted Thunderbolt’s smooth muscular upper arm from the cuff of her long glove to her throat.

"I’m not sure this’s the—" But she was too depressed to object, and despite her anger too listless to resist, or even move away.

"You won’t have to worry about breaking me." The lips moved to a gigantic soft chest-pumpkin. Somehow found their way under its barely restraining strap to the big brown nipple the leather thong did so little to conceal.

"That’s truuoooooo …." With mild surprise Fury watched a shoulder-gloved arm reach for one of Scarlet Dragon’s gigantic boobs. Then its twin do the same thing. And they were both hers.

So for the second time that night, Savage Fury’s ever-admonishing Jiminy Cricket was silent. Or maybe, as Dragon knelt between her widespread thighbooted legs and ate her out like she hadn’t been eaten in weeks and she moaned and writhed on the limo seat, maybe its voice was the small one that kept whispering:

-9-

"I’ll have to tell Walt." Savage Fury’s voice trembled.

Even with the air conditioning on high the compartment was hot and humid and smelled of sex and leather. The two super-Amazons lay on the floor of the limo in each other’s shoulder-gloved arms. They were far from finished, but at least the edge was off. The Cowled Crusader’s broad muscular back and shoulders were still tense with her need.

It was okay, Scarlet Dragon thought, they had all morning. And it might take that long.

She’d been gazing at the ceiling tasting Fury’s salty cum on her lips and trying in the warm afterglow to reconstruct the last part of her evening. Not having much luck, either. Too much champagne again.

At Fury’s words, her glance shifted sideways.

"Hey, why now? It isn’t like this’s the first time we’ve—"

"Silly, not about this."

"Oh." Dragon propped herself up on a leather-sheathed elbow. Fury had yet to entrust her secret identity to the Asian Amazon, but Dragon did know she was married and her husband’s name was Walt. Sounded like a real stiff (not the good kind), but hey, who was she to judge anyone else’s taste in men?

It also sounded, from what little she could glean, like a pretty stable marriage. So she decided to break—well, bend—one of her basic tenets. And said, carefully, "So I repeat: why?"

"He has a right to know." The Cowled Crusader’s voice trembled a little but she’d obviously made up her mind.

"Know what? You haven’t told him about all the times you’ve been tied up and raped and all that?"

"Jesus no!"

"He doesn’t even know you’re Savage Fury, does he?"

"Of course not!"

"So why start confessing all now? I mean, why blow your secret and your marriage in one breath?"

Fury just looked troubled. "Fucking Jonathan is different. I wanted to do it. He didn’t force me."

Dragon snorted. "Not this time, anyway."

Fury was about to make one of those retorts that she would later turn over in her mind and think of a thousand better and wittier things to have replied

When Dragon said, "Hey, what’s with the partition?" Fury looked up to see it cracked an inch. Not enough to see what they’d been doing but more than enough to get an earful—and noseful. And from the midst of her sexual haze and uncertainty she was trying to decide whether a Peeping Tom chauffeur was worth getting all the way up and cleaning his clock—

when the black handballs dropped into the compartment from over the partition, which promptly zipped up again. Dragon yelled "Whoa!" and the handballs turned out to be gas bombs when instead of bouncing they exploded at the still-entwined supergirls’ spikeheeled feet, filling the compartment with choking stinking blinding gas!

Scarlet Dragon, less preoccupied and much faster, was already moving the instant the gas billowed forth. But the noxious fumes were so potent that with her power limited to concentrating all of her chi into one portion of herself at a time, it was all she could do to fight their effects—there wasn’t enough power left to smash the compartment door open.

Stronger but slower, the blinded Fury pushed her giant-titted partner away and struggled to her boot-sheathed knees, banging her cowled head against the low roof so hard that she punched a hole in it. When the limo suddenly slammed into reverse the Savage Sensation was thrown over Scarlet Dragon again, the gloved hand she threw out to prop herself up thudding down squarely on Dragon’s barely covered cunt. The overblown Oriental bombshell squealed and inhaled a lungful of the noxious gas that set her into meaty jiggling spasms of coughing.

"Door …." She managed to gasp.

"Where?" Frantic, Fury flailed her shoulder-sheathed arms about and accidentally knocked one of Dragon’s gigantic jugs up into her masked face.

"Unh!" Stunned by her own titanic tit, able to see but not much more, Dragon reached up and hooked two gloved fingers into Fury’s nostrils. Ignoring her ponderous-pontooned partner’s startled squawk, she concentrated the last of her chi to smash that cowled noggin through the window. Gas started to billow out around the Cowled Crusader’s head and broad shoulders.

"There."

Fury thrust out her lithe-muscled arms blindly and exploded the door from its hinges, allowing the rest of the debilitating fumes to escape along with the two coughing mammoth-mammaried Amazons.

Or almost escape. Fury had just taken Dragon around the waist to carry them both out of the limo when the reason it had stopped and backed up came crashing down on the struggling superwomen like a big old tree—which was exactly what it was.

Smashing through the compartment roof an instant before she lunged, the huge tree took Fury across her broad sinewy bare back. Its massive weight slammed her down onto Scarlet Dragon again with a grunt, the Cowled Crusader’s elephantine milkbag mashing over her super-partner’s masked face and burying it under what felt to the dazed Asian Amazon like a ton of soft sweaty smothering blubber—just as she was getting her breath back.

Numb from the neck down by now by the gas’s effects and not tracking too well, Dragon instinctively bit down on the hard rubbery dowel, was rewarded with a shrill scream from somewhere beyond this suffocating avalanche of jello.

The stab of pain from her sensitive thumb-sized teat brought Fury part way out of the blackness into which she’d been gassed and smashed—far enough to blindly get her shoulder-sheathed arms beneath her and do the most agonizing push-up in her life. With a wracking groan punctuated by spasms of coughing that hurt every cubic inch of her insides, she brought what little remained of her super-strength to bear and ssslllloooowwwlllyyyy lifted the crushing tons of mass on her back.

Inch

By inch

By agonizing inch.

Struggling for breath, the blinded Fury concentrated mightily on this Herculean task, which still would’ve been no big deal but on top of everything else her head still rang like a bell and of course she’d spent the last 8 hours or so drinking and fucking and was well into the mother of all hangovers. It was only when her muscular arms were at full trembling extension that the Cowled Crusader realized her gloved hands were anchored wrist-deep in Scarlet Dragon’s immense soft tits, flattening them over her ribcage like vast souffles. The only reason she hadn’t heard any sound from the Oriental bombshell (whose ability to complain was legendary) was it was dammed back behind teeth clenched so tightly they might have been welded shut.

Rage at her own drunken incompetence brought a surge of strength to the Masked Mammazon and she heaved up on the massive tree trunk, with such force that she actually managed to hurl it off her back into the air as though the film of its toppling was being run backwards.

Then took Scarlet Dragon around the waist and this time completed the dive from the gas-filled limo into the open air with a (rather hoarse) cry of triumph

Abruptly cut off in mid-yell when the tree, which had only been thrown up a few feet, came crashing back down again onto Savage Fury, slamming her to the wet grass. About all she managed to do was throw Scarlet Dragon to one side before the massive bole smashed the last breath from her aching lungs and pinned her lengthwise, giving her cowled head another solid blow that it definitely didn’t need.

The damned thing felt like a skyscraper on her back.

After the crushing pressure on her immense boobs was released and she could take a breath (not as much gas this time but still enough to send her mind spinning back into the abyss from whence it had finally begun to climb) the dazed phased and definitely hazy Dragon felt herself picked up like dirty laundry and hurled through the air. There was a splintering crash and a muffled cry of pain from behind as she skipped over the ground a couple of times and slammed bodily into a tree.

Oddly enough, she discovered as she picked herself up groaning that the impact had actually cleared away a lot of the fog in her clanging aching head. Now she could see the huge tree that had fallen across the limousine and all but cut the car in two. They were still somewhere in the woods surrounding Jonathan Hard’s home!

That motherfucker of a driver must’ve been driving in circles the whole time Fury and I—

Fury.

Where the hell was she?

Leaning for support against the tree she had just hit (and gouged a goodly chunk of wood out of, she was proud to note), Dragon hauled herself painfully to her spikeheeled feet. And spotted a leather-sheathed arm and thighbooted leg sticking out from under the mammoth tree trunk.

Unmoving. Not even a twitch. Totally limp.

Because it was obviously a trap, and a damned good one. She remembered the way the limo had stopped then backed up a few feet to get them in position for the tree, in case the gas wasn’t enough. There was more, like what had happened to that motherfuckerlimodriver, but her mind was still spinning like a CD and all she could think about was getting Fury out from under that tree.

She was gathering what little chi she had left to push the enormous bole off Fury when she could have sworn she heard ….

Singing?

The voices faded in from all around her in the misty morning woods:

A deep bass: "Don’t you know ….

Joined by a soft chorus: "That’s the sound of the men, working on the chain ga-ang.

"That’s the sound of the men working on the chain gang.

"All day long they’re goin’ OOH! AH!"

"How the hell did you losers get loose?" she demanded.

"You’ll never guess," the leader of the Chain Gang grinned as the nine villains came towards her from the trees. "We made bail!"

"You assholes couldn’t make change from a nickel," Dragon snarled, hoping she sounded braver than she felt. At full power she could take all these clowns, no problem. The way she was now, two would be a problem. And nine ….

"Always hated oldies," she muttered, and turned to face them. At least with the tree trunk at her back they couldn’t surround her.

That was when the chain wrapped around her neck from behind and jerked the Asian Amazon back against the fallen tree, eyes bulging from their mask and tongue protruding. Two of the Gangers in front charged in but she got her thighbooted legs up and pistoned them back into two more—only to have the choking chain pull tighter around her slender throat and haul her onto her back over the tree!

"Gaakkkhhhh!"

"Is her face red!" someone laughed.

Two more chains lashed out and took her by her booted ankles and before she could react all three pulled tight, racking Dragon’s awesomely overblown body between them and strangling her!

"Gggggghhhh!!"

Teeth clenched, masked eyes blurring, the Oriental super-bombshell grabbed the taut chain above her head to try to haul some slack in—and somehow managed to pull it out of the Ganger’s hand! She instantly realized her mistake as the two chains at her feet yanked her off the tree and dragged her screaming on her back over the wet grass. Spreading her powerful boot-sheathed legs wide apart as they did so (she got a quick glimpse of the Gangers running off in different directions as they pulled her along)

And slamming her crotch full-tilt into the trunk of a tree!

Scarlet Dragon howled in pain and jerked up, eyes and mouth agape, gloved hands groping for her smashed snatch. Then the Gangers went running past the mammoth-titted supergirl going the other way and next thing she knew her legs were pulled up and over and she was being dragged wailing backwards on her stomach, chin bounding about on her gigantic milkbags bouncing like two soft basketballs over the rough ground.

"Uh-uh-uh-uh-OWW!!" She bit her tongue as her colossal cushions bumped over a thick protruding root, but the stab of pain didn’t keep her from grabbing onto that root with desperate if not super strength.

And using that desperation to hold tight—though when the ankle-chains pulled taut her gloved fingers felt like they were going to be torn off her hands.

Reassembling the tatters of her tranquillity, Dragon used the techniques she’d learned from her great-great-God-only-knows-how-many-greats-grandfather (which had been effective enough to keep the old hornball on live for over 200 years so far, so who was she to argue with success?). She retreated from the pain and strain of the outer world toward that always-still golden place her grandfather had shown her long before.

Stress sometimes made it difficult to find, like a frightened bird. But she was getting near—it was like entering the eye of a hurricane.

Just then at least four of the Gang gathered around her prone still body and began flogging the Asian Amazon’s big bare ass with electrified chains, the links scorching her lavish toned cheeks. The pain seared like lightning across the darkness of her tranquillity but she held onto it

Till the crooks kicked Dragon over onto her back and brought their steel whips to bear on her mammoth heaving tits. The lashing links knocked the enormous joggling blubberbags about like overfilled water balloons, shredding her top, striking sparks on the big hard nipples.

"C’mon you guys!" one yelled to the others who were just standing around drooling and playing with their hard-ons. "There’s plenty of room for all!"

"Shit, we coulda brought the whole gang for this!" another chuckled, snapping his chain on a stiff finger-sized teat with a sizzling flash.

"And done recruitment!"

"Okay guys, it’s time for Braveheart!"

Two more Gangers lashed their chains out around Dragon’s wrists and yanked her hands off the thick root while a third picked up the chain still wrapped about the stupendous beauty’s neck. Then at a signal from CG1 all 5—wrists, neck and ankles—hauled on their chains together, stretching the Oriental bombshell’s muscular leather-sheathed limbs straight out to her sides and lifting her off the ground.

With a gasp the racked and strangled superheroine exploded from her trance. "NNNGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!"

Suspended tautly between the chains, her entire awesomely overblown body quivered like a bowstring in mid-air. The steel noose around her neck felt like it was going to tear her head off its shoulders! If her arms didn’t come off first, that is.

All eyes were on Scarlet Dragon’s immense quaking milkbags and the heavy pouting pussylips that bulged out around her micro-bottom as her muscular thighs were spread straight out to her sides.

"I wanna tickle ‘er!" a Ganger insisted, moving toward a rigidly sinewed armpit streaming sweat into a shoulder-length glove.

"No way!" another said. "Hey, we aren’t being paid to be sadists!"

"Sure we are!"

"Aren’t we?"

"Well I sure as hell thought so!"

"You … fucking …" Dragon managed to gasp through teeth clenched by the chain noose snugged up under her bloodied chin. She was trying like hell to struggle but couldn’t even manage that. The strain on her shoulders was purest agony.

"Shit, it’ll be a freebie!" CG1 said. "Tickle the crap out of her!"

A pause. "So to speak."

That was when a mocking voice said, "Gee, all of a sudden no one wants to dance with little ol’ me."

Something huge hit the ground behind them, shaking it. They all turned and looked and yelled

at the mammoth tree trunk rumbling across the clearing towards them like a steamroller with Savage Fury standing behind it, gloved hands on swelling bare hips.

"No one wants to dance with me?" she asked.