Supervillain Academy 02 - Placement Exams

The men from SHURE secured Ubergirl using the same chains she'd been brought to Lowlifes in. Eddie handed over the keys and her costume, and watched a little wistfully as they drove off with the best fuck he'd had in years.

The black SHURE Hummer vanished into the wooded hills, following a little-used private road to a high stone wall with a single steel gate. The gate slid back smoothly and armed guards let them into the compound. Elegant mansions and state-of-the-art facilities dotted the impeccable green hillsides; the Hummer rolled up behind the biggest building, where the men from SHURE unloaded their docile cargo and carried her into the basement.

Ubergirl soon found herself strapped into a harness that kept her wrists behind her neck and forced her shoulders back. Two hooks behind her shoulders were attached to heavy chains that her captors used to haul her off the ground. A simple steel rod with manacles at either end kept her ankles apart, leaving her helplessly exposed and vulnerable as she hung there in the pitch dark.

"Where am I?" she asked groggily.

"Heathcliff Steerpike's School for the Superior," a low cool voice told her.

She felt a leather-clad fingertip pressing into her inner thigh as it rose up to her pussy. She shuddered a little as the finger explored her briefly, then slid up her belly to her breast to trace lazy circles around her reddish-brown nipple. It slipped past her parted lips as she moaned, and before she knew it her tongue greeted its leather length warmly. She tasted beer, sawdust, sweat and semen - all the filth caked in thick patches on her body from her long hard night at Lowlifes. The finger withdrew, tracing the lines and curves of her body with considerable relish.

"Heath- what? Is this a party?" Ubergirl asked, trying to clear her head.

"Call it the Supervillain Academy," he said. "Or Warthogs, if you must. But I can assure you that it is not a party - at least not for someone like you, Ubergirl."

"Where are my clothes?"

"You don't need them," he said. "You're a succulent little morsel, aren't you?"

"She's coming out of it, sir," came the SHURE commander's voice.

"No matter, Colonel," said the same cool voice. "Doctor, is it ready?"

"Yes, Herr Headmaster," said a reedy, thickly accented voice.

"Lights," ordered the Headmaster. Ubergirl gasped as cool white light flooded the room, revealing smooth stone and cold steel on every surface. The SHURE soldiers had fanned out in a semicircle in front of her, stunclubs ready. The Colonel stood behind them, eyeing her warily and admiring her voluptuous body despite himself. Next to him was a nearly skeletal man, bald and bent in a white leather lab coat and opaque goggles. And standing next to her, showing not the least concern about coming between a humiliated and increasingly conscious superheroine and the soldiers there to protect him, was a tall, striking man with thin cruel lips and hard grey eyes in an impeccable black double-breasted suit.

"As you may have surmised, I am Headmaster Heathcliff Steerpike," the cruel man said, idly cupping her breast in his leather-gloved hand with an appraising air. "I am this establishment's sole proprietor - and now yours as well. "

"No," she said weakly. "You can't own me. I'm Ubergirl."

The Headmaster dug his fingers into her breast until she cried out. "On the contrary," he said. "I think you'll find I can, and do, own you. "

"You'll pay for this, Steerpike," Ubergirl hissed.

"Headmaster, I recommend - " the Colonel began, but Steerpike cut him off with a gesture.

"Doctor, I believe a placement exam is in order," Steerpike said.

The scientist gave her a hypospray injection. "This is, how you say, a little something? To keep her calm?"

"What's in it?" the SHURE Colonel asked.

"Synthetic argonite," the scientist told him. "So thoughtful for you to call ahead, Herr Colonel, and give me the time for preparing. A small dose, very diluted. She weakens but she does not die."

Ubergirl moaned, feeling the alien substance irradiating her bloodstream. A hot feeling of pins and needles started at the site of the injection, and she struggled weakly as it spread slowly throughout her body.

The scientist studied her helpless body with obvious relish. "She will need to be cleaned, Herr Headmaster. I must have clean skin to make good contacts."

"Proceed, Dr. von Reinhardt," the Headmaster said, crossing his arms.

Von Reinhardt nodded. He took a controller from his pocket and pressed a few buttons. Thick plexiglass walls descended from the ceiling as a panel in the floor under Ubergirl's feet slid back, exposing a drainage grid. Thin metal arms came out of the ceiling, each ending in a high-pressure nozzle. Powerful jets of water sprayed the helpless heroine, who thrashed wildly in her bonds in the shocking cold.

"The water is cold, only a degree more than freezing," the scientist explained. "This is for making her the weak."

When every inch of Ubergirl's body had been exposed to the ice-cold spray, the nozzles withdrew. Thick suds poured from the ceiling above her head. The SHURE soldiers shifted uncomfortably to hide their growing excitement as the rich white lather coated every luscious curve of Ubergirl's magnificent body. The suds were as cold as the water, and had a sharp antiseptic smell; Ubergirl shuddered, but could not find the strength to struggle as what felt like gallons of soapy water poured over her.

The nozzles came back. Hot steam hit her from every angle. The scalding heat set her screaming as the jets moved to blast the suds from every inch of her. Somewhere she found the strength to struggle. But it was no use; the bar between her ankles didn't bend, and she couldn't tear her arms free from behind her head. And even though she didn't dare open her eyes for fear the steam-jets would blind her, she knew every man in the room was enjoying the sight of her glistening naked body thrashing helplessly.

Finally it stopped. Ubergirl hung there, panting. Dr. von Reinhardt seemed hypnotized by the rise and fall of her spectacular dripping breasts. The Headmaster cleared his throat, and the embarrassed scientist keyed his controller once more. A powerful fan switched on overhead, filling her plexiglass prison with hot dry air. Ubergirl felt like she was trapped in the nozzle of a hairdryer. But in moments she was dry again.

A warm, sweetly scented oil poured down on her in three thin streams. At first she tried to avoid it, not wanting to give her tormentors a better show than she had to. But from the moment the oil touched her, a soothing warmth began to radiate inward. She bit her lip, fighting back a low moan of pleasure as the oil coated her 38DD breasts. It ran down her back like a lover's touch, caressing her ass with liquid grace and running between her legs to tickle her sensitive pussy. She tried to bring her legs together, to feel her glistening thighs slide over each other, but the metal rod between her ankles held.

"What's the point of that, Doc?" the SHURE Colonel demanded.

"Everything is having a point, Herr Colonel Kurtz," the scientist assured him. "The oil contains a suspension of nanites, which even now are her skin impregnating. These are using her metabolism for the synthesizing of argonite. This maintains a constant level of her weakness. This dosage can be adjusted, of course, by the Master Controllers."

"Brilliant!" the Headmaster exclaimed. "Really, Doctor, you have outdone yourself."

Von Reinhardt smiled modestly. "Thank you, Herr Headmaster. It was, how you say, not a thing."

Turning to the powerless Ubergirl, von Reinhardt grinned crookedly. "Now to meet your new friend, Ubergirl. I am of thinking that you will to enjoy this."

His bony finger stabbed a single button on the controller. Something whirred to electric life below her. Strange clicks and a high whine came from a spot below and between her feet. She felt something grab the pole between her ankles - a small claw, and then a second. Whatever it was pulled itself up to perch on the pole.

Ubergirl looked down. It was a smooth glass cylinder, like a bullet full of electronics with a mare's nest of tentacles at the blunt end. Ubergirl steeled herself for the inevitable assault on her already much-abused virtue.

A flexible metal tube no thicker than a finger coiled around her leg, rising tentatively. A second tentacle wrapped itself around her other leg. The oil coating her allowed them to move over her skin almost without friction. Ubergirl suppressed a shudder as they found sensitive spots on her spread thighs and slid cautiously toward her exposed pussy.

They found it. They touched her with exquisite delicacy, almost teasing as they probed her most sensitive places. Drawing back with the speed of striking snakes, they wrapped tight around her waist. And the thing's body shot up like a pussy-seeking missile.

It forced its way past her lips as she cried out. Driving deep, it started vibrating. Ubergirl mustered the last of her strength to try and throw it out. But it had too tight a grip. And a host of tentacles to subdue her. Hanging there panting with hands tied and legs spread, powerless from the argonite seeping into every cell, she could only wait for the next horror as the glass bullet thrummed deep inside her.

It didn't keep her waiting. A pair of tentacles rose up menacingly before her. Their tips opened into strong metal claws, three prongs snapping like hungry jaws. The claws shot forward and grabbed her breasts, centering themselves over her erect nipples as they squeezed her massive mammaries. Before she could cry out, the tentacles sucked her nipples in and grabbed them with needle-sharp claws.

Another tentacle reached down to the oil puddled on the floor and came up dripping - before prodding it's way into her ass with the cruel insistence of an emotionless machine. Once inside, it started moving in and out, randomly varying the speed and depth of its plunges as it assessed her responses.

"It is an artificial intelligence," Dr. von Reinhardt told the Headmaster. "It will evaluate her response to everything it does. And adjust accordingly. It is looking for the best ways to drive her to the climax."

"Metal tentacles," the Headmaster said dismissively. "Crude and clumsy. There is no match for the subtle touch of a master's hand."

"Forgiveness, Herr Headmaster, but there is more yet coming," the scientist said. "The oil is also of acting as a, how you say, neuroconductor. Electrical impulses from the Probe's arms will calibrate themselves according to her neural responses, so that the touch of cold metal will to her be feeling as her lover's."

"Intriguing," the Headmaster conceded.

The Probe's cold metal arms slid over her slick skin, quickly finding and exploiting her most sensitive spots. Ubergirl moaned despite herself as it started moving inside her; throbbing harder, driving deeper, slipping back, testing different angles and rhythms to maximize her complete debasement. She tried to fight it by distracting herself with powerful memories, but the Probe's increasingly expert attentions soon drove every thought from her head and left her a moaning, panting, bucking slave to her own body.

The Probe carefully brought her the edge of climax and pulled back just enough to keep her hot but not boiling. It pulled her hair to move her head from side to side, covering her defenseless neck with machine-made hickeys. The claws on her breasts flexed and shifted, hefting and squeezing the heavy globes as they teased her stiff nipples with simulated sucking and nibbling. A tentacle found its way to her clitoris and stayed there to tease it as she thrashed wildly in her bonds.

The Headmaster watched with cool detachment as Dr. von Reinhardt and the men from SHURE stared with gaping mouths. The Probe kept at Ubergirl for over an hour until it had found and explored every secret place from head to toe. Finally it gave her the mercy of an orgasm, and she climaxed with wild abandon for ten minutes before sagging in utter exhaustion - with a satisfied smile on her sleeping face.

"Results, Doctor?" the Headmaster said.

Von Reinhardt shook his head, studying the readouts. "Negative, Herr Headmaster. Completely unsuitable."

Steerpike shrugged. "She seems very responsive, and easily conditioned. And her connection to Uberman gives her a certain cachet. Make her a Trophy Girl. Send her things to the seamstress for alteration, and put her with the others.

"A fine evening's work, gentlemen," the Headmaster said as he left.