by marat
Chapter Two
Wearing civilian
clothes, Officer Bruce Sealing stood in the shadows around the edges of the
ballroom, a short distance behind a small congregation of Fareed Gouyannou’s
men and their ladies. The men, as Gouyannou required, were richly attired,
wearing the latest fashions in the latest style, and, as was also expected,
much in the way of gold (and faux gold) accoutrements. The dress of the ladies,
hired for the occasion, was much more varied. Leather hot pants and micro minis
were common, but many were attired as fashionably as their escorts.
As the heroine
was thrown to the floor, Sealing felt a surge of excitement through his body.
Too often he had been underestimated, even by his friends; but this time, this
time, he would have the upper hand against those who were smarter than he
was, or who thought they were better than he was, and he would earn—no, he had
already earned—the gratitude of very powerful people. Westbrook and Paladine
had wanted to limit the take from the tapes of Crimson Flare’s torture and
defeat. Hell, Westbrook hadn’t even watched the entire event, preferring to
fast-forward through the conquest of Crimson Flare to see if what he had found
was merely a collection of copies.
But Sealing had
watched all of his tape. And there was plenty there. Plenty for the
tabloids, Fox News, even Entertainment Tonight. And there was stuff for
Mitropoulos’ underworld, too. Information he had passed on—at a price—to Fareed
Gouyannou to allow the drug kingpin to overpower and capture America’s Darling,
information that had brought her to her current state.
‘OOOOOOooooohhhhhhh!!’
Crimson Flare lay on her back, her bound wrists and ankles preventing
her from getting to her feet and facing her attackers. Her chest rose and fell
as she tried to catch her breath. The masked crimefighter’s face took on a
determination behind her mask and she turned her shoulders to try to get onto
her stomach. The vision of her flawless thighs and hips captured the gaze of
all who were there, including the Judas who watched more with rage in his eyes
than lust. Many of the men in the crowd smiled as the helpless heroine ever so
slowly twisted her body so that she was now face toward the floor, resting on
her elbows. She pulled her knees up under her, raising her hips. The women’s
eyes shot wide as they saw the Champion of Women struggle to stand, her bound
ankles hindering her, the powerless heroine helpless in the hands of these men.
Many of these hired ladies felt fear grip their insides for this girl who
seemed to offer so much promise, a promise of respect for—well, if not for them,
then certainly for their daughters.
‘Get her! Get
her now!’ Bruce Sealing thought to himself. He would get his opportunity to
manhandle the superslut, just as he had long said he could; his new friends had
already promised him that. And his new friends had already paid him well for
the information that had led to her capture.
One especially
large man, dressed in leather and holding a four-foot length of steel pipe,
reached down and roughly grabbed the back of the heroine’s costume. James ‘Jan’
Leathers had encountered Crimson Flare some weeks earlier, while he had worked
for Ape. At that time, she had infiltrated this same mansion in her successful
raid to destroy Ape Greystook’s drug buy. Leathers had been injured—and his
best friend Hagood had received injuries to which he eventually succumbed—at
the hands of the powerful avenger. He had a score to settle with her.
As Leathers
lifted the fragile-looking young woman from the floor, her bound arms and legs
weakly flailed about. She swung them ineffectually in an effort to free herself
from Leathers’ grip. Lifted from the floor by the huge man, she looked even
smaller than she actually was.
He held her a
few inches above the bare wooden boards, and some of the thugs in the crowd
giggled as the trapped heroine stretched her black leather boots downward
toward the floor as part of an effort to—to what? Escape? Surrounded by her
enemies and stripped of her power, escape was not in the cards.
Gouyannou stood
before his prisoner, impeccably attired in a silk suit and shirt, and smiled.
‘It is time to release you, Crimson Flare…,’ he said.
On hearing this,
the crowd in the room fell into a stunned silence. Did he really mean to free
Crimson Flare? Leathers stared at him fiercely.
‘…from your
pain,’ he concluded, a smile washing across his face.
He turned toward
his follower who was toting the small black leather case. ‘If you please,
Doctor,’ he said quietly.
Her bound wrists
had stolen her strength, and Crimson Flare sought desperately to saw through
those ropes that weakened her with her claw. But there wasn’t enough time.
Already, Leathers had wrapped one massive arm around her, pinning her left arm
to her torso. With his hand, he reached between the heroine’s right arm and her
chest, pushing that extremity away from her body. With his free arm, he took
hold of the crimson glove that covered her right arm to the elbow and pulled it
toward her wrist, bunching the satin against the enervating loops of rope.
The track marks
were still visible, just barely.
The audience
nearest the sight audibly gasped at the evidence of the masked avenger’s
earlier trial at the hands of the Normans.
‘Oh, dear god.
Oh, no!’ a beautiful woman, dressed in a very brief, very red miniskirt, said,
clearly distraught.
‘Doctor
Callahan, if you please,’ Gouyannou said.
The redheaded
man with close-cropped hair withdrew a hypodermic needle from the case. Holding
it vertically, he removed the plastic cover which protected the stubby needle.
Then he flicked the side of the syringe with his index finger and noticed as
tiny air bubbles rose to the top of the solution encased therein. Pressing the
plunger, he expelled them easily. The faintest whiff of alcohol seemed to taint
the air.
The doctor then
turned toward his charge. Even through her dizziness and pain, Crimson Flare
understood the danger of her current situation. She pressed against Leathers’
body in a desperate—and vain—attempt to get herself out of the doctor’s reach.
When another of Gouyannou’s henchmen grabbed her arm to hold it still, Crimson
Flare’s resolve shattered.
‘Please,’ she
stammered. ‘P-pl-please, please, don’t do this to me.’
‘The mistake the
Normans made was in making you dependent on drugs only in a weakened state,’
the drug kingpin told her, speaking calmly and evenly. ‘What Doctor Callahan
has developed will lead to an addiction even when your wrists are freed. And
when that happens, you will become my most secure supplier.
‘You’ll be able
to get drugs for me from any source, even the police headquarters drug locker.’
Although Crimson
Flare continued to resist, squirming in the grip now of two men, weakened by
the rope around her wrists, the doctor had no difficulty tightening the wrap
around her upper arm and finding the vein.
‘No… please,’
Crimson Flare pleaded. ‘Please, no. Don’t.’
Warmth washed
over her body. Warmth and relaxation. Within a matter of only a few minutes,
her eyes glazed and stared straight ahead, unfocused. Her protests were reduced
to incoherent mumbles.
‘No. N-n-nnnoo,
d-don….’
*****
Bruce Sealing
watched as Crimson Flare slowly fell limp into the arms of Gouyannou’s men.
Knowing that he had risen suddenly in the estimation of the drug lord, thanks
to the information his had passed on to Gouyannou—information gleaned from
simply watching the single tape he had been given by his partners—he wondered
what information might be contained on the other videos. If he could secure
those other tapes from Westbrook and Paladine, who knows what he might be able
to provide his new patron? He needed to get that information. Could he wrangle
the means from Gouyannou without giving his new boss access to the source, a
source which in itself might be lucrative to him?
Sealing’s
attention was suddenly drawn to the beautiful captive, whose torment he had
anticipated so ecstatically.
Crimson Flare
was struggling to hold her head up, her eyes behind her shiny black mask
becoming unfocused, the lids drooping. The heroine’s words, at first only
slurred, became increasingly unintelligible. Her bound wrists dropped into her
lap; her legs, bound at the ankles, no longer supported her weight and her
glittering form fell back against the huge men who had restrained her.
The police
officer smiled, as did most of the men in the ballroom, as the Champion of
Women slowly crumpled to the floor. Crimson Flare lay on her side, knees bent
with her gloved hands lying under her hips. Her body only made small, writhing movements
as the comforting warmth of the aphrodisiac flowed through her and across her
sensibility. Her shiny black leather boots, bound tightly at the ankles by what
seemed to be luminous white ropes, made a soft shuffling sound as they moved
slowly in tandem, up and down along the wooden planks of the ballroom floor;
the prisoner drew her legs toward her chest and then pressed them downward and
away. She did this time and time again.The heroine’s colourless tights gave off
a brilliant sheen in the ballroom’s illumination, a lustre that, as her legs
moved and curled, itself also moved, accentuating the round musculature of her
thighs. The sequins on her crimson costume reflected that light also, the
familiar uniform’s dramatic tautness across her hips serving to underscore the
sensual nature of her movements. Though the movement was only small, the
curvature of that flawless erotic posterior was heightened by the lustre of the
glistening reflectors that clung to America’s Darling like a second skin.
Indeed, both the
males and the females in the audience were attracted by the close-fitting
costume that encased the near-unconscious girl. The men seemed to be pulled
toward her, unconsciously seeking to remove this final protection from this
delicate, apparently fragile, apparently helpless, girl. The women, on the
other hand, were repelled, fearful that once this final line of protection for
the Champion of Women had been breached, her vulnerability would be evident to
all.
Weakly, Crimson
Flare gave voice to the demons that now filled her mind, demons born of Dr.
Callahan’s special mixture. ‘OOOoooooooooohhhhhhhh, Sta—Sta—! —cy!! ’
The final utterance was barely audible.
Fareed Gouyannou
walked the ballroom floor between where his prisoner now lay and his audience.
‘The man who has made tonight’s entertainment possible—the newest member of my
inner circle—whose information led to the capture of Crimson Flare, has
informed me that a special combination of stimulation is all that is needful to
bring this vigilante under our complete control. This combination of elements
will bring her under our complete control.’
Officer Bruce
Sealing stepped back into the shadows as he smiled. There was no need to create
unnecessary enemies at the moment of his triumph. He would allow Mr. Gouyannou
to be the center of attention.
‘Jan,’ Gouyannou
ordered, ‘if you would, please, uh… stimulate… her.’
As if responding
to the unspoken wish of all of the men in the hall, Leathers reached behind the
inert figure resting at his feet, feeling for the costume’s clasp at the back
of her neck. Releasing the hook, he then gripped the metal tongue of the zipper
and slowly opened the glittering costume. As he did so, the brilliant uniform
ballooned slightly across the torso of the defeated champion. When he had
opened the back of the familiar garb completely, Leathers tugged at the
costume’s front, just below the chin of the unresisting figure below him.
Finally, the
small perfectly round mounds of Crimson Flare’s breasts peeked over the glittering
top. There was a collective withering of spirit among the women packed into the
room, as if this exposure of Crimson Flare was symbolic of a more general
victory over them. Tears formed in the eyes of more than a few who gazed on the
defeated figure. A few others tried to escape by slowly backing toward the
exit, no longer able to endure the humiliation of the Maiden of Mitropoulos.
However, most of the women stood by and watched stoically. The defeat of
Crimson Flare had established their place in this room.
For the men who watched, the sight of Crimson Flare’s tits was enough to allow
them to give voice to their triumph. A low growl swelled across the room, a
sound that magnified as the costume was pulled down farther. As the hapless
avenger lay, barely conscious, they watched as her chest rose and fell
rhythmically; the two perfectly formed mounds topped by the pale pink nodules
transfixed the collective gaze of her enemies who were gathered to watch her
destruction. And they vented their appreciation.
‘Fuck her, Jan!’
one voice said loudly.
‘Yeah, fuck
her!’ other voices followed. ‘Fuck her!’ Fuck her!!’ ‘Fuck her!!!’
Each time the cry was louder until the intermingling of voices became just one
undifferentiated roar, urging Leathers to do his worst with the prisoner.
Settling next to
the captive, Leathers listened to the voices urging him to act; at the same
time, he stared at the heroine’s movement, her hips sliding slowly, up and
down, as if encouraging someone who had just entered her to enjoy the fantasy
that had begun to grip her.
‘Fuck her,
Leathers!’ the voices continued to urge him. But he knew what Gouyannou wanted.
And Gouyannou was his boss.
Gently, but
without any apprehension, he allowed his right hand to float above her right
breast. And ever so gradually, his
middle finger extended downward until the nail, worn long by any male standard,
gingerly poked the pink aureole now standing rigidly upright in the middle of
that delicious mound.
‘Ah—Aagghh—aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!’ she whispered,
breathily.
‘Already she is
receptive,’ Fareed Gouyannou said softly, mostly to himself. The shouting was
replaced by a murmur which gradually filled the room.
Another of the
female ‘guests’ departed, unable to stand the sight of what she was sure to
follow.
As his nail,
barely touching the pink, perfectly round aureole, brushed against the
sensitive receptor, Crimson Flare’s legs straightened, quivering visibly in an
exultation that had now taken over her mind and body. Crimson Flare’s breathing
quickened audibly, great gulps of air drunk greedily as Leathers and Gouyannou
watched with anticipation.
Leathers reached
his left hand toward the other breast. Both mounds were now streaked with
sweat. Cupping it gently, with his little, ring, and middle fingers, he lightly
lifted the firm mammary, allowing it to slide easily toward his palm as he
twisted his wrist in order to receive the firm prize. As it rolled into place,
with his thumb and index fingers, he pinched the hardening nipple.
‘NNnnn—nnnnnnggghhhlll!
NNnnn—nnnnnnggghhhlll!’ The
helpless girl felt desire rise in her and she pressed her hips down hard onto
an imaginary lover, seeking fulfillment.
‘Watch as she
seeks to satisfy her lust,’ Gouyannou said slowly. ‘Watch as the super-slut
gives vent to her desire.’
Rubbing the
hardening nipple between his thumb and forefinger, Leathers was surprised with
the speed with which it stiffened. The pink tissue jutting heavenward felt as
hard as a marble in his grasp. When he looked down at the masked heroine’s
face, he saw sweat streaming from her forehead, rolling across her gleaming
black mask, and down onto her neck and shoulders.
All in a matter
of moments.
What had
Gouyannou learned about this fearsome opponent that had brought her down so
quickly?
*****
Bruce Sealing
watched as the information he had gathered from his video was put to use in
defeating and then humiliating Crimson Flare. The criminals who had earlier
captured Mitropoulos’ Champion had placed on the tape, which had been taken by
Tim Westbrook from the Conservatory, the close association of capture, drugs,
and sex in the heroine’s mind.
He didn’t
understand all of it, but evidently the red-headed girl who tortured the Maid
of Mitropoulos did. There was some gangbanger named Chan who had started the
ball rolling, months ago. He had determined that Crimson Flare was a virgin,
and somehow this status was tied to her strength. If she could be forced to
cum, Chan and the redhead had concluded, it would have an effect on her
strength; maybe it would destroy it. It was a possible way to eliminate this
troublesome meddler and restore the gangland balance to Mitropoulos.
They had used a
drug cocktail to bring Crimson Flare to her knees and under their control; they
had given her a habit, made her dependent. And while she was in that state, she
had had innumerable sexual escapades with the Normans, as part of her need and
desire to get more drugs. That accounted for the track marks on her arms.
But something—
GGGoooooooooooddddd!! Oh, god, please!!’
Her shout was
both a consummation and, at the same time, filled with fear. Its raw emotion
frightened many who heard it, but to Sealing it was only more evidence of how
correct his information was. He watched as the heroine pressed her body toward
Leathers, struggling to nuzzle her jaw against the inside of his thigh, trying
to press her mouth between his legs.
The erstwhile
policeman returned to his effort to organise his thinking and his future in
Mitropoulos’ gang world.
But something
had gone wrong with their plan. Instead of destroying Crimson Flare’s strength,
the orgasm had made her stronger. And this had somehow allowed her to defeat
the Normans and escape.
That was when
Chan had betrayed the redhead. He had abandoned his relationship with her and
taken up with Crimson Flare. And Chan had been killed. Sealing suspected the
redhead was behind it, but there was no way to prove that.
What followed is
unclear. In part, it was because the tape ended before everything could be
spelled out. That was why the policeman wanted to get the other tapes, the
tapes that his late partners had had. The rest of the story could get him even
bigger rewards. He had to find where Westbrook and Paladine had hid them.
What he did know
was that Crimson Flare’s dependence on drugs was overcome when she was restored
to full strength. When her wrists were bound, she was susceptible to their
domination. And the drugs were associated, in the mind of this Champion of
Women, with sexual pleasure and gratification.
The evidence for
that was there for anyone to see. Even from his distant vantage point, he saw
the now-half-naked body of Crimson Flare twisting on the floor, trying to turn
her body into Leathers, desperately trying to find some kind of release for the
tension that had gripped her. Her legs were stretched along the floor, her
bound ankles pushing, weakly it seemed, her torso, angled upward into the lap
of the muscular Leathers. Her hips also rested on the polished wooden planks;
but her body twisted toward the big man so that her exposed chest was only
partly visible to the audience watching in stunned silence. Only her bare back
could be seen clearly.
She had finally
pressed her face now all the way to his crotch, and Sealing could tell from the
expressions crossing Leathers’ face that she was alternately biting and
attempting to kiss his covered sex organs. There were even moments when the
bliss that became evident reflected the hummer she applied to his enlarged
prick.
Everyone else
knew it, too.
*****
‘Jan’ Leathers
was living a dream. With his left hand, he played with Crimson Flare’s breast,
his thumb flicking a nipple that had hardened even as he amused himself with
it. His right had by now moved from her right breast to beneath her lowered
costume, beneath even the colourless tights that shimmered across her exposed
legs, his fingers searching through the short curly pubic hair for her sex.
Even before he found it, the amount of moisture covering the heroine’s muff was
indisputable.
Already she was
lubricating. Already she was ready to be entered. Gouyannou had promised that
he would be given the opportunity to have this girl. His tingling organ told
him that that opportunity would have to come soon.
When his hand
finally made it to her already-receptive vagina, he could tell that her clit
had flowered, welcoming his searching fingers. He gently tapped it with two
fingers, eliciting a soft moan from the now-helpless avenger. Her body slumped
weakly against his, her strength now completely gone, her face now staring
vacantly up at him from behind the shiny black mask, sweet-smelling sweat
pouring down the sides of her face from beneath the close-fitting black cowl.
Her dry ruby red lips were pursed, quivering, lying slightly open as she
breathed deeply. Behind the mask, her deep green eyes were unfocused, tears
welling up in them as she responded to the urges that filled her slowly
twisting form. She looked as though she were about to burst out sobbing.
Her neck and the
back of her head rested against his abdomen, her bare shoulders filling the
space between his spread legs as he squatted to support the Champion. She lay,
utterly helpless, totally in his power. With her wrists bound, she moved her
arms only minimally, but what movement there was brought the satin gloves
across his own right hand, buried by her costume and tights. Deep beneath the
costume, Jan’s fingers were still gently tapping, almost absently, at the
rosebud that only he knew was present. When her unconscious mind realised that
this small motion on her part served to press his fingers against and more
deeply into her sex, and that this touch seemed to encourage him to probe
deeper into her, Crimson Flare, symbol of womanly virtue, pressed her bound
wrists against that hand with greater force.
Her exposed body
was soaked with her sweat. It created a sheen that covered her small breasts.
The rising and falling of her chest allowed those perfect mounds to almost
glisten in the light from the chandeliers suspended from the ballroom ceiling.
In her dazed, confused mind, she saw herself finding him, bringing her lips
against his penis, and then stimulating him so that he would rape her. She
wanted to do all these things; she even saw herself accomplishing them. But in
this room, she was just too weak to do more than merely pressed her bound,
gloved wrists against his enshrouded hand.
As Leathers
pressed his finger into the beaten girl’s vagina, he could feel her honey
fairly gush forth, pouring over his hand with the sweet-smelling nectar. At
that moment, her body convulsed, gripped by an earthquake of emotion that tore
at her mind and shook her body. She voiced a cry of such pure sexual desire
that not a single man who heard her was unaffected. Officer Bruce Sealing
watched, transfixed like all the others present, as the Maid of Mitropoulos,
the city’s protector and avenger, embraced the basest elements of her nature.
He watched and reveled in the moment.
‘Uh! Uuhh!
UUUuuuuuugggggghhhhhhhhh!!’
The masked beauty stiffened, stretching her body to her full five feet four
inches from Leathers’ lap across the floor of the ballroom. After a brief
pause, her desire again filled the room. Barely conscious, she lay almost
completely still, but her tone was filled with an evident sexual exaltation. ‘OOOhhhhhh!
OOOOoooooooogggggghhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmm!!
MMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmnnnnnnngggggllllhhhhhhh!!’
As his finger
probed the heroine’s insides, Leathers recognised the smoothness that was a
product of her lubrication. He could tell she was ready to be entered, and he
knew that Gouyannou had promised him that he would be given that opportunity in
front of this audience. How many more would follow? Only time would tell.
Although she
could do so only weakly, Crimson Flare pressed her thighs together, trapping his
hand at her entrance and his finger within her. The jolt of pressure, and the
attendant pleasure, that the man had brought inside of her led her to swallow
with difficulty, almost painfully, and she breathed shallowly, with the same
difficulty. And then the hapless heroine pressed her hips downward onto his
hand, pushing him deeper, deeper inside. America’s Darling inhaled deeply, and
Leathers watched as those perfect mounds, topped by the rock-hard nibs, lifted
with her chest.
Bruce Sealing
watched, too, smiling at the destruction of Crimson Flare.
A brief moan,
this time small and weak, elicited from between her slightly open lips, a moan
which only Leathers heard, but which was so filled with pent-up sexuality, and
so helpless, that he felt his prick tingle and erupt to full size in a moment.
He almost came in those mere seconds. Fareed Gouyannou would have to give him
the prisoner soon, or the opportunity would be lost.
Gouyannou walked
toward Leathers and his charge. The squat, stout man’s bearded face was very
serious. ‘Dr. Callahan’s first injection was an aphrodisiac whose strength
would overcome and dominate our… heroine’s…’ here he smiled a little,
‘…sensibilities,’ he concluded. ‘It would serve to allow us to contain her
great strength while we brought her under our control. The second part of this
process is, shall we say, a little more, uh, pleasurable, for all who
will be involved.’ He turned to face his hireling. ‘Mr. Leathers, would you
remove Crimson Flare’s bonds?’
The powerful
thug was surprised by the order, but he had no alternative than to obey.
‘Now, Doctor,
would you prepare your second dosage?’ Fareed announced to the assembly. ‘This
little gift is heroin-based—heroin for the heroine,’ he chuckled, and a small
laugh rolled through the crowd. ‘It will be strong enough to overcome even her
immense strength, particularly as she will be, uh,’ he paused for a
moment, ‘otherwise occupied while the immediately subsequent doses are
introduced. The drug will take over her body and create the craving for more.
More of everything. More of the drug. And more of the sex.’ He was
smiling broadly now as he gazed down at the helpless prisoner.
‘Yes. Crimson
Flare will be hooked on this drug habit. And she will be insatiable in her
demand for sex to pay for it.’
End of Chapter
Two
Comments, questions, suggestions welcome:
contact the author at marat1793@comcast.net