Dark Damsel, Part One:

RISE TO FAME:

(Being the classic tale of a cynical lesbian woman who gains superpowers and therefore must spend the rest of her life getting caught in various erotic perils, much to the amusement of the public media…)

Written by Puz the Imp

Hellen had the kind of body that screamed for attention, whether she liked it or not. From her high-heeled red boots, slender thighs, wide hips, red-haired bush barely concealed by an ever-so-slightly too short pleaded skirt, a cute petite little bellybutton, a pair of hardened nipples seated proudly on the tips of two gigantic natural breasts (seriously, we’re talking about a pair so huge they made D-cups look tight), breasts that seemed desperate to push themselves free of the tight knot that tied her red silk shirt together - it’d probably had buttons when it was bought in a store, but too much heavy pressure from the wearer had forcefully ejected those long ago - it’s cleavage revealed so much of her opulent chest that the brown corners of her nipples were clearly visible even in the dim light. Not that her face didn’t deserve a little attention too; full, pouting pink lips, a tiny little nose, wide green eyes, and a full head of thick orange hair. As a summary, it could be mentioned that to the three shadowy figures following her through the narrow alleyway she might as well have the words FUCK ME!!! written in neon lights on her ass.

“What’dya think a babe like that’s doin’ in a place like this?” whispered the first, shortest stooge, a greasy-haired man in dirty overalls with the name Ed written on a pealing nametag.

“Dunno, she could be one of them hookers, I guess,” answered the tallest stooge, whose similar nametag called him Ted, although the other two goons had given him the nick- name Curly for the shape of his hair (hint, hint.).

The medium sized bald stooge (Ted) seemed to be the quiet one. He didn’t say anything, just glared at the winner of the “I Can’t Believe Those Things Are Real!” pageant as she went on her merry, bouncing, way.

Hellen smiled to herself. She didn’t need her super-senses to tell her she was being ogled. The hot sensation of six horny eyes on her buttocks was more than enough to tip her off. Just for the sake of testing their obvious intentions she started to walk faster, and, just as she expected, the three wannabe-rapists accelerated in pursuit. When the three stooges, as she couldn’t help thinking of them in her mind, were almost upon her she suddenly spun around to face them and then continued running away from them in reverse. And what was almost as unbelievable as the fact that she was still outrunning them was the way she front of her shirt down beneath her tantalising titties and started playing with them right in the middle of the chase scene. Her smile widened when the three members that longed to invade her body rose up to offer their stiff salutes to the glory of her middle finger rubbing the tip of her right nipple. The long, manicured, nails kept scratching and teasing the brown skin around her outstretched pearls as if doing so was the only thing that occupied the busty bimbo’s brain.

“The hell’s wrong with this freaky bitch?” wondered Fred, the medium rapist.

“She must be pumped up on some really bad shit, like them performance-enhancin’ drugs them athletes use to cheat in the Olympics and stuff,” Ed suggested, proving himself as assumed thinker of the three.

And then Ted, who was really the smart one, asked, “Hey, was she wearing that cape ‘round her neck a second ago?”

Hellen decided that was enough. She was still new in the superheroine business, and though getting these thugs worked up all for nought was fun, she didn’t for the life of her want to end up with a vile reputation like that hore, Super Slut. She spun around again, and the bad guys were even more disappointed to see her be able to move at least twice as fast going forwards as she could going backwards. Her cape looked like it was melting onto her skin and coating her whole body in a layer of shiny black oil, just as she fled around the corner into a side-alley and out of sight.”

The three chased into the other alley, but found only a dead end. The sex doll that all three of them now lusted for with all their beings (wink, wink!) had disappeared into thin air. The only thing that remotely resembled her was, ironically enough, a punctured sex doll that some pervert had thrown out with his garbage.

“The bitch got away!” Ed complained.

“Fine! Let her,” panted Fred. “I didn’t join an evil rapist gang for the exercise!”

“What?” said Ted. “Isn’t fucking drugged cheerleaders in your janitor’s closet enough for ya? How ‘bout some sympathy for us poor schmoes who can’t get no barely-eighteen vintage tits to suck on!”

H’Okay, Hellen thought. She’d definitely heard more than enough to qualify these bastards for a damn good runners-up spot in the “Good God That’s Gotta Hurt!” category of gratuitous violence. These villains were clearly in need of some serious punishing, and she was going to be just the right superheroine to give it to them. But before jumping down from her vantage point on the lower steps of the fire escape above them, she made sure to double-check that her morphing cape was completely sealed around her body, and that the stooges weren’t carrying any kind of rubber on them. And then she paused again to make a mental note to think of a better word to describe her one weakness, since just “rubber” invited way too many condom jokes.

The Dark Damsel leapt down before the vile trio, striking a pose that she hoped looked suitably frightening while also being awe-inspiring at the same time.

The three stooges; Ed, Ted and Fred, stared at her in silence. They were probably wondering whether or not the superheroine had joined the scene for an erotic misadventure. Ed was the first to comment with; “What the hell are you supposed to be?”

“I am the amazing Dark Damsel,” the Dark Damsel proclaimed, proudly expanding her chest and, incidentally, also raising the other two amazements hanging of her ribcage high for the horny crowd to see.

The truth was that although her super-powered cape was indeed covering her figure like an ultra-tight body suit, it wasn’t concealing much. She’d forgotten to tie her blouse over tits before changing into her other self, meaning that her rigid nipples were still clearly visible, but now through a layer of paper-thin shiny black material. At least there was no risk of her suffocating since oxygen seemed to be the only thing able to penetrate the costume. And just to prove that the description “form-fitting” was in no way an understatement, you only had to take a closer look to see it covered every single individual hair on her head. The only openings once the cape had been sealed were the two tiny slits over her eyes, but even there she was invincible because of the glowing red force-fields over the eye holes.

Dark Damsel wished she’d turned off her super-hearing when she had to overhear the medium villain whisper, “Is that Super Slut?” to the tallest one.

“Nah,” he answered. “She’d never cover up her tits like that. Besides, hers are way bigger’n that!”

Dark Damsel sighed. The presence of too many misadventurous, silicone-brained superheroines was spoiling the criminal elements of Metroburg City. She’d already decided that it was going to be her job to give these bad guys a new reason to fear busty vigilantes.

Ed, blinded by his own penis (figuratively speaking) and eager to get the first chance to defile the new heroine, ran forward and tried to grab her (tits). Before he knew it, she was coming up behind him, grabbing hold of his right arm and twisting it up behind his back into a new and excitedly painful shape.

“Shit! She’s for real!” Ted shouted.

The two of them ran for their lives. Dark Damsel let them think they could escape, taking her sweet time in beating up the first one until she was sure he’d stay down. Then she went into super-speed and focused her sixth sense at the same time so she could perceive everything around her like it was in slow motion (doing so also helped her to avoid running into any more brick walls, so the optional extra sense was generally a good thing to have). Because the poor helpless stooges had only a normal human reaction time it seemed to them like they were in the middle of a shiny black whirlwind of fists and high-heeled boots, slamming into them from every direction at once.

Time passed, during which the three stooges quickly went from healthy to beaten, bruised, concussed, broken and bleeding.

Hellen was ecstatic by the time she emerged from the alley. Just the sheer thrill of her heroic endeavour made her tingle with excitement and do things she’d normally be embarrassed to death of even considering; like humming the theme from those old Superman movies out loud and shouting “Woo-hoo!” in public.

(\ /)

W

Three weeks and one or two days later, possibly a Tuesday, around noon-ish:

The First Bank of Metroburg had a very friendly atmosphere compared to most other banks in other cities. As strange as it might sound, it was as if the interior designer had actually sat down and thought long and hard about how the place could be arranged to make things as relaxing as possible for the visitors. Instead of making the people wait in god-awfully long lines to reach the tellers, they had a much more convenient and sophisticated queue-number system that included almost psychic predictions for when the number in question would most likely come up. The wide spaces where a number of variously-impatient clientele would normally be waiting for a chance to strangle the immobile little, old lady in front were instead taken up by more than enough comfortable seats to keep them off their feet.

Not to mention the fact that the chairs and couches made it so comfortable for the spectators when the inevitable band of brutish bank robbers burst in, followed closely by a scantily-clad, overly-incompetent, and unbelievable large-breasted superheroine like Super Slut or Babegirl (both highly rated in the “helpless human sex-doll” Halls of Fame). Rumours said that a regular security surveillance tape from the First Bank was worth millions on the Internet, especially if it showed a harebrained heroine (Super Slut, again) getting beaten-up, groped and gang-banged. Really, it was no wonder why the aforementioned interior designer had tried to make the place look like a miniature Roman amphitheatre.

It was also the place where Hellen Hussley had been working for the past four months. Originally, she’d been hoping for a career as an investigative reporter or a private investigator, or something like that; basically, a job that allowed her to sneak away and change into her other identity without raising suspicion. Too bad the lousy job marked, and the fact that several dozen other women with similar secret identities had already ganged up on the same idea, made that admittedly-unoriginal plan impossible.

It was five minutes to twelve, and Hellen was walking down the hallway to the employees lounge. She really didn’t want to become another sex-icon superheroine (no, Super Slut didn’t have enough class to be a sex-icon; this time she was thinking of Babegirl, the Dark Nightingale), which also reflected on her choice of clothes. Nothing especially arousing in itself: flat heels, grey pants, white shirt with breast pocket on the right side, and a narrow black tie. Not that it made much difference; the size of her boobs was all she needed to conjure up too much unwanted attention from men not matter how hard she tried to cover them up.

Suddenly ten long-nailed fingers grabbed her ass from behind. Hellen jumped and turned around to yell at whoever it was, when a pair of moist red lips flew forwards and pressed against hers. Hellen threw her head back, but relaxed upon recognising the playful half-smile on her girlfriend’s face.

Lucile Rikardo got around Hellen’s rule of never dating her co-workers by actually never doing any real work. It wasn’t like she could ever be in any danger of getting fired, as long as she showed up for work in the morning and stayed there ‘till the afternoon, mostly because her breasts were, unbelievably so, literally even more outstanding than Hellen’s. Lucy’s attitude was more “straight to the point” in most situations; it was almost entirely her doing that had led to them dating each other, and eventually developing a sort-of relationship.

Another of the things Hellen really hated (and believe me, there were millions of them) was stereotypes. That whole lesbian superheroine thing had been done to death, in her opinion. There were no gay male heroes, except for Spandex-Man, because that idea didn’t pander to the audience! What the hell did were they supposed to be? Crime-fighting heroines or live adult-porn!? But of course; just because Dark Damsel had to ward off the fanboys by playing “straight”, it didn’t mean her secret identity couldn’t have a loving relationship set to her specific sexual preference.

Hanging on to that thought, she wrapped her arms around her lesbian lover and returned the kiss. At exactly 0.34 seconds after the lips had initiated contact, the two tongues broke the thresholds and started wrestling around in the insides of their mouths. Hellen could feel Lucy’s nipples hardening against her own, and that didn’t even require the Dark Damsels super-enhanced senses, since they were both strained D-Cups, and Lucy was wearing the same thin, undersized blouse Hellen had borrowed the night she captured the three stooges.

Her left hand was sliding halfway down the inside of Lucy’s mini-skirt when Hellen realised to her horror that their “love-connection” had earned itself an extra cast member. As the middle-aged and fully-bald bank-manager watched the two female employees, he somehow managed to present the exact same expression as was on Hellen’s father the day he discovered why Daddy’s Little Girl didn’t like boys. She couldn’t tell if Lucy noticed he was standing there; either way, she didn’t seem ready to stop what she was doing for his sake. Hellen just hoped to god she wasn’t blushing.

“M-miss Hussley?” the manager finally managed to stutter.

“Er, yes?” Hellen said, trying desperately to ignore the hands on her butt and the tongue in her ear.

“W-would you and your f-f-friend p-please stop by my office when you’re ah, duh-duh-d-done?” Hellen could tell when they guy’s blood-pressure was starting to get to him. Usually, like now, he ended up sounding like pig from those old Bugs Bunny cartoons.

Once he’d reluctantly left, Hellen untangled herself from her eager lover, saying she needed a smoke, and snuck out the rear exit. The conflicting emotions of lust and embarrassment weighed to heavily on her to go have lunch with the rest of the staff and pretend she didn’t know what they were saying about her behind her back.

The back-alley behind the bank had been sealed with thick walls of bricks and cement at each opening into the street. There was no way anyone could get in or out without the speed and strength to scale the walls before the ceiling-level motion-detectors took notice. For Hellen it was the perfect place to change identities for a quick patrol of the city whenever the need arose, as long as none of the other employees were out back for a quick doze of nicotine whenever their need arose.

She had no idea how her cape worked. When her grandmother left it for her in her will, the old lady only included a few very simple notes about what it could be made to do and how it was supposed to be operated. For all Hellen knew it could just as likely be magical or alien technology, or anything. All she knew for sure was that as long as it was in contact with her skin it gave her super-enhanced strength, speed and senses, and it could morph to cover any and all parts of her body so she became impervious to all forms of physical punishment, and that it instantly lost all of its powers if she touched or was touched by anything made of or containing a high amount of rubber. That was why she had a rubber band wrapped around the band of her wrist-watch, preventing her from accidentally showing off any suspicious signs of super-enhancement in her daily life. Since the cape lost all its special features while she the rubber pressed against her wrist she could keep it safely tucked under her clothes during work hours.

If Hellen ever went into professional psychiatry she’d say there was nothing better than beating the living crap out of bad guys for venting out aggression that might otherwise interfere with one’s work. She checked the door to make sure no one was coming, and then started stripping off her clothes. It was something she had to do before sealing the cape around her. The outline of her outfit was so easily recognisable underneath the cape’s protective layer that probably anyone who knew her would figure out that Hellen Hussley was the Dark Damsel.

“Ew, gross!” Had to be the most ridiculous childish comment she could have possibly made, Hellen thought to herself once she’d inadvertently said it.

She took off her dripping wet panties too. Along with the rest of her clothes she stashed the soaked pair behind the pile of cardboard boxes in the corner of the alley.

After once again making sure she was alone and unwatched, Hellen shook the cape a few times, swept it around her shoulders and let it work its mysterious magic (not the words she would have chosen, but I’m not that picky).

First the cape lay down flat, like it was being glued to Hellen’s back, then it started to stretch and vibrate around the edges, until it lost its shape completely and started running all around her body like quicksilver. On the matter of the sealing process, her grandmother had only written one piece of advice, which went as follows: “FOR PETE’S SAKE, KEEP BOTH YOUR LIPS CLOSED!!!!!” Hellen bit her lips tightly together while the black substance washed over her face. The semi-liquefied cape pouring unstoppably towards her crotch, Hellen wondered why her granny had written her advice so shakily, as if she couldn’t be clear enough on the subject of keeping her-

“Shit!” It dawned on the Dark Damsel that forced naivety could be very dangerous.

She was still horny, and as such, her vaginal lips were fully open and slippery enough for the shiny black matter to pour inside her, trying to coat the inside of her womb, or something. It felt like the biggest dildo in creation was being forced into her with the strength and motion of a pneumatic drill. Dark Damsel bit her tongue; she would’ve screamed, but the fear of being discovered in this condition kept her as quiet as she could manage (like, gasping, moaning, the occasional whimper, you get the idea). Controlling the cape required the wearer’s full concentration, and right now Dark Damsel couldn’t get her mind off the wriggling, worm-like motions pushing deeper inside her. Worse, she couldn’t lower her super-sensitivity so each orgasmic sensation ended up being multiplied and repeated tens of times over to fill the void until the next one. She’d already lost control of her legs, as was apparent when she staggered face-first into the brick wall and sagged until her nipples squished onto the ground.

After five minutes of moaning and god-knows how many orgasms, Dark Damsel slowly managed to steer the minute fractions of her senses that weren’t totally occupied towards another, more dire, peril: the inside of her costume was being flooded by a mixture of sweat and vaginal fluids. The cape could only filter oxygen, so if she didn’t get her head straight (heh!) and figure a way out of this mess really soon she’d be in serious danger of drowning in her own juices.

Dark Damsel slapped herself in the face to try and focus. She had to find something made of rubber, and fast! “Rubber, rubber, rubber!” she hummed. “There’s gotta be some fucking rubber around here somewheaaaAAAAGHHHHHHH!!!”

Finally, the lower corner of the cape had stretched as far as it would go inside her, now grinding against the inner walls of her womb, setting off an orgasmic climax that made all the torment (it depends on how you see it, really) she’d experienced in the last few minutes seem almost enjoyable. This time she couldn’t contain it. She opened her mouth wide, and the sound of her scream would probably have deafened all of Metroburg if she didn’t then start choking violently on the thick, salty liquids starting to pour down her throat.

Between the burning sensation in her lungs and the dildo-shape having settled nice and snugly inside her, Dark Damsel managed to choke up at least one Famous Last Word. “Crap!”

(\ ()

W

The warm rays of what someone who wasn’t chronically cynical would call a beautiful sunrise shone through the windows of Hellen Hussley’s apartment and illuminated the occupant’s naked sleeping body.

Hellen opened her eyes, instantly blinded by the sharp light.

“Damn sunlight,” she muttered, sitting up on her bed.

Was it all a dream? Hellen thought. She hoped so. She hoped that whole surreal experience from the day she inherited that demonic cape had just been a really bad taco-dream (Really, really spicy Mexican food used to do really, really weird things to her head at night).

A yawning sound coming from the other side of her double-sized bed made her look around. There she saw Lucy lying on her back, smiling knowingly at her lover. The weight of her breasts made them sag slightly to each side. Hellen raised her head to look at Lucy, though her eyes adamantly stayed put on the abundant visage before them.

“Lucy!?”

“Yeah, and you got some ‘splaining to do!”

(End part One…)