“MS. AMERICANA: IN PONY GIRL ISLAND“, or; “INTO EVERY GIRRrL’s LIFE A LITTLE REIN MUST FALL”

The following is a work of fiction intended for adult entertainment. It contains characters created and copyrighted by “MR. X”. These are used with kind permission by “MR. X” as stated on his web page. Any and all other items and elements not created and copyrighted by “MR. X” appearing in this work are here by declared works of public domain by the author, free to be used in whole or in part in any and all medium.

-ROOK-

CHAPTER ONE

The high moon struck its ethereal gaze upon the thin weedy streets below as if it were in contemplation of a sneer of disgust at what it could not help but see revealed before its millennial battered unblinking eye. A warren of foul blighted snags of coughed up gnarled wisps of trees dotted a cement channeled maze of dilapidated weather worn unloved streets striped of care, concern, curiosity, or purpose. Dead end hulks of abandoned buildings seemed spiked into its desiccated trash strewn pewter shores; shadows pew dripping in long ragged tangles down toothless haggled cracks upon which congregating vermin gather and gap at dismal pools of oily brackish sooty run off in fevered staggered pestilence at pecking orders unbridled by decay and spun open in hateful malice of unnatural powers. There had been magic here. Long ago, and again more recent still, strong enough to set the wary moon skidding its reflection off the fatted puddles and swimming away dazed in its well grooved course. A pale skipping stone vanishing behind a bank of heavy cloud.

Ms. Americana slipped out of the cloak of heavy shadow and used the moon’s disappearance to run across the open street. Her shiny red calf high insole zippered boots splashed in the large puddles she could not avoid dotting the street. She needed no professor Whirter or his nurse Tina, to tell her something was a miss when over night temperatures began reaching a balmy ninety degrees in the middle of a Delta-City January. At least the freak electrical storms plaguing the city for the past four days had finally abated, and this had allowed the professor and his rather nymphomaniacal nurse to pin point a brief unusual source of strange pulsing vacuum of power before it shrank and vanished. The signature radiance was too unusual and the coincidence of its brief existence and the unusual weather patterns was too much to pass over a heads up investigation by the curious ‘Queen of Justice’ her self. Besides the unusual storms had sent much of the underworld into a temporary hibernation. Leaving the bored super heroine with little to do, ‘one can not bring the forces of nature to heal, with a well placed taste of crimson gauntlet.’ The pouting hero had grudgingly observed. The energy well professor Whirter had glimpsed seemed to suggest that perhaps one ‘could’ do something about the weather, providing that some one was the mighty Ms. Americana, and that someone else had found some diabolical means to begin tampering with the seasons natural rhythms in the first place. The energy void the professor had pin pointed had the unsavory aspect of similarities to a few previous brushes the Queen of Justice had made with creatures of the ‘magical’ persuasion. This was a field where she had little practical knowledge nor defense, and those previous encounters had turned out rather nasty for her. Thus when the professor had advised caution, the usually bold to a fault Ms. Americana had reluctantly agreed. This in turn may explain her rather maladroit crossing of the street. Unused to a stealthy approach the statuesque Amazon of Adventure found her self splashing loudly across the water gashed tarmac, the flecks glinting off her powerful striding legs, her footfalls echoing off the shrill flat orifice of shape and shadow towering in menace about her.

Despite this, the shadows lurked but did not leap, and the daughter of General Wade reached the deserted haunt of the great ruins of the gothic spiral mass of St. May’s cathedral and slipped into its respective splinters of shadow with out incident, regardless of the incensed increase of the haughty silences holding of breath and refusing to breathe.

The cathedral as well as much of the area had once been a landmark of out standing opulence and pride, until the green house effect had shrunk much of the polar caps and increased the forces of plight upon the once towering cliff side suburb. A great subsidence had resulted and in the span of an eye blink of a month the entire cliff side had toppled into the black foam waters or slid in pieces into a gurgling marshy deposited heap. Three years latter the ruins still lay abandoned, a chaos of chewed up once prime real state now nothing more than fetid new born swamp land and red tape tangled frozen miseries. It was impossible to tell who had done the most damage, the ‘greatest generation who had ever lived’ and it’s vapid selfish destruction of the delicate balances of nature, or their pot bellied ‘baby boomer’ greed fingered brats with their omni devouring corporations and lawyer flawed mutilations of common sense and livable freedoms? In ether case, Ms. Americana now slithered as quiet as a six one, one hundred and forty pound, hard heeled, full strutting, mouse could, into the half exposed great hall of the tottered stone edifice. The great cathedral had been crunched into a back breaking fold upon its own spine, and the subsequent torque had collapsed much of its once vaunted vaulted ceiling. It now gapped in a jack-o-lantern leer at the banks of storm ravaged cloud over head. The odd silvered light of half devoured moon tore the jagged stone buttresses to a madman’s forest of shattered trunks and tortured dreams, creepers and vines of splintered rotted oaken beams made shuddering splashes of spectacles upon the peripheral mind’s lapping edge. Things seemed to twitter here and vanish before a stray dripping beam of pale light could uproot their lidless murky pools.

Ms. Americana shivered despite the humid heat and her recent exertions. There seemed an unnatural chill in the air about her, and she paused even though the center of the apex she sought still lain several hundred yards ahead of her. Pulling her self to a lower lip biting firmness, the Queen of Justice continued to pick her way through the muddy ruins to her target destination; the cemetery beyond.

Ms. Americana was not in the strictest habit of following another’s line of clues or reasoning. She had her own elaborate research labs and technicians as her alter-ego Brenda Wade, and her hidden crime lab as Ms. Americana was nothing to snap a finger at, but professor Whirter was not an acquaintance to be easily slighted. When he had let it be known through the street grape vine that he had something of possible interest for Ms. Americana she had leapt into her custom flashy car and jetted straight over to his semi-secret lab. Upon arrival the good doctor had absently recalled the information and then burst into an excited ramble as his memory jogged into and through the convoluted stream of consciousness that made up his arcane flummoxed world. With one hand holding off the hungry eye of nurse Tina who kept insisting Ms. Americana was long over due for a complete physical (the poor girl had never been the same since her accidental mishap with a test lab full of inseminoid plants that had misbehaved and trapped her for a fortnight!) and the other hand trying to pin the pin balling doctor into a chair to try and follow his runaway train of thought; the star and striped avenger had finally tussled out the location of the nexus hole in question and some rather unsavory information that Got Gal had already passed on the mission as it didn’t seem to involve any sewer dwelling phallic tentacle monsters. Ms. Americana wasn’t sure how to take the notion of a hand-me-down assignment, but she was horribly bored and the area professor Whirter had selected was remote and technically still an off limits military enclosed zone. This meant she could get a good work out jogging out to the target sight as she would have to leave her automobile where the army core of engineers had sealed off the area with concrete blocks and a twenty foot high chain link fence capped with razor wire. Even if the whole bug hunt turned up a dud, she was certain she would find a nadir-do-well or two lurking about in the ruins once she had passed the few guards stationed at the main gate house where the last functioning road to the area gave way to shattered and jutting slabs of warped pavement. These she could joyfully take into custody and that would at least break the monotony of the last two weeks of mind crippling boredom. Besides Ms. Americana Day was rapidly approaching and not to have done some front page worthy crime fighting just before the parades and floats made her giddy and nervous to say the least.

Thus Ms. Americana found herself only a few hours after leaving professor Whirter and escaping the pawing hands of nurse Tina, half leaping half stumbling through the impressive hulk of St. May’s cathedral and into the eerie mist shrouded cadaverous ruins of the once grand mausoleums of the acres of cemetery beyond. Gray marble slabs and slanting gapping maws of busted granite obelisks and pedestals fought strange silent motionless battles with carved relief’s and oddly agonized statuary, with grim visage gravity backing all with mirthless taunts, letting loose a sudden shower of pebbles or a whooshing stone invisible in the heavy white mist heard in sickening wet resounding thud! To impress all with a gavel fall of ubiquitous indifference.

It was only as the Mighty Maiden of Right caught what she guessed to be the slight hint of something definite in the night air about her that she for a brief second realized how painfully unprepared she was for this nights impromptu excursion. She had not thought to stop and gather up any of the many useful gadgets lining the walls of her secret rooms labyrinth through out Wade Mansion, or stock piled in hidden safes about her various corporate businesses, or even cared to pause to rifle through the voice activated gadget storage panels within her own hastily parked Ms. Americana vehicle. No she had only thought of the excitement and single minded thrill of the adventurous task at hand and the possible entitlements it might bring to her impatient sprit. Now as the moon split a hollow through the veil of incandescent mist, a beam of shimmering light fell about Ms. Americana and it hallowed a polished up turned slab of pock veined marble wet sheen with dewy fog and there in wimpled reflection the voluptuous vigilante caught her own eye and she marveled at her self in the sudden awareness that often marked her distracted state when she fell unexpected upon her own sudden reflected form.

As she sized her self up with her keen critical eye she had to reluctantly admit she had arrived upon her destination woefully under equipped for what she had been told was a potentially dangerous task at hand. Rather than repelling equipment and her spelunking leathers or her back pack of flares and compass or her electric mapping gun and night vision goggles, she had instead; her usual basic combat uniform of choice and fine tuned results of experience. Namely, she was dressed in her bright fire engine red calf high white lipped flared shinny vinyl boots. A large gold star adorned the outer side of each boot and a long zipper ran from the top to the hard leather sole of the inside seam of each of the sturdy healed shoes. On her hands she wore her similarly colored gauntlet gloves. Shinny red gloves that stopped in the middle of her fore arms with a gold trim braid. Four large white stars lined from wrist to braid in a straight steady row. On her face she wore her famous deep sky blue eye mask speckled with small white stars; this was wide cut at her eyes to allow her large blue gray green eyes an unobstructed view as they flashed proud in her magnificent beautiful face. Above the mask, between it and her fierce mane of black long wild hair, a gold band emblazoned with two red stars framing the crested center spike of beveled gold shimmered. Below this full plump soft thick lips smiled or sneered as situation demanded in their vibrant ruddy glory. Below her pout able lips a thin choker of blue studded with a single gold star encircled her swan like neck and centered her opponents focus but for a split second before it inevitably drifted and then seized upon the items below. Ms. Americana was justifiably proud of her forty four double ‘D’ cup sized breasts, they were spectacular and the wide eyed envy of every super model who read the front pages of the worlds newspapers, as well as the ultimate wet dream fantasy of every fan boy who perused the several thousand web sites dedicated to her magnificent mammary. Not only were they of formable size, but their construction of firm natural globular gravity defying acrobatics astonished and entranced all who beheld them. To this end, she kept them scarcely concealed or encaged in the skimpiest of form wielding slick bikini top she could construct with her vast resources at hand. The top was of a similar shiny vinyl material as her gloves, mask, and boots, but had a skin tight sheerness that all the others lacked. Two small straining blue slivers of straps struggled over her broad athletic shoulders to stifle the kinetic swaying orbs leaps and bounds at her every jiggling breath, and some how only just managed not to burst in utter defeat at this unfair and nearly impossible syphilitic task assigned to them. They in turn connected to the sheer molded cups of the bikini top that strained and quivered in constant agitation at the abundance they sought vainly to crop. The right breast was sheathed in a red and white striped over brimming cup, the left in a blue and white stared over flowing cup, together they were precariously joined between two pulsating valleys of white effervescent flesh by a single much put upon gold star clasp. The taught fabric did little on it’s best days of obedience to hide Ms. Americana’s large prideful areolas or her large jutting thick nipples, but give the cups the slightest provocation and they seemed to rapidly slip in their collective duties so that at any given moment it was not uncommon of a sight to see the buxom battler beautiful pink crescent areola of shapely mounded pleasure winking out from one tight cup lip or another at the world with a sheepish smile to all. Below these magnificent wonders of worldly perfection Ms. Americana wore her much queried and little fathomed power belt around her tiny twenty six inch waist. The belt was gold with two blue stars book casing a large capital letter ‘A’. Her power belt enhanced her strength agility and speed to near astonishing levels even giving her some protection from fire arms! But mostly she liked the way it made her waist look more like a size twenty two. Below this she wore her high cut bikini bottoms. They had a broad front halved with a blue back ground on her right side with three white stars seductively tracing up her small pelvic mound, and a red and white stripped left side. The two sides were balanced by a single gold star set in the bikini bottoms front center panel. The back side of her bottoms were of blue and despite her millions of dollars and outstanding powers of super humane abilities, she had never been able to figure out a way to stop the bottoms form slipping up the crack of her motherly forty inch round hips or from severely camel toeing her front into a skin tight labia splitting fold, so she had just gone with it and basically wore the bottoms as if they were a skimpy cut thong, which is what they became the instant she took a step, and resisted the urge to pull the suit out of its well desired nooks and crannies unless their were press and flash bulbs around. This was not only the extent of her basic combat out fit, it was the entire ensemble of what she now found at her disposal as her image faded out with the moon light and the mist directly before her parted just enough to reveal the gapping hole that the professor had told her she would have to climb down into to reach the exact center of the energy disturbance.

With little choice Ms. Americana made like a Billy goat and began skittering leaping and clawing down the craggy descent of the sink hole. Just past its weathered entrance all dim light faded and Ms. Americana cursing her impetuous nature only slightly more than the moon’s lack of cooperation, slide and skidded zigzagging from dark ruble mound to dark crevice. Her power belt helped her heightened senses pick out what filtered chinks of stray light as could be found, but the inevitable gave way, and she found her self catching a boot toe upon an upturned root and pitching headlong into the pell-mell dark abyss about her.

CHAPTER TWO

Flag Girl was worried. She nervously paced the marbled tiled halls of the Wade pent house apartments. Brenda Wade, the public persona and secret identity of the masked Ms. Americana, had found the Wade estates in the upper country side often too far removed from the critical action of Delta-City and she had converted the top six floors of one of the Wade corporation’s downtown skyline office buildings into an opulent showy privet penthouse residence with a maze of hidden rooms and high tech automated security surveillance and defense systems for her quicker use when situations warranted it. Ms. Wade had grown so accustomed to the convenience of her new high rise dwellings situated in the hart of down town its self, that she often spent the week days living there an easy brisk walk or limo ride to her many business meetings and social activities and responsibilities, not retiring to the country estates until the weekends or on holidays. As such her spunky hard headed stubborn mischievous but kind hearted ward who shared the perks and perilous pleasures of being a super heroine as Ms. Americana’s side kick; Flag Girl, also resided in the downtown apartments during the school year. And it was in these spacious oddly decorated halls that Flag Girl now fretted nervously.

Ms. Americana was late, and worse she had not checked in with the large automated computer complex filling up the entire fourth floor of the Wade apartments via her power belt. Flag Girl once again walked over to one of the many hidden access panels of the enormous hidden machine whirling away in the guts of the sculpted frieze walls, and sprang it open with a well practiced flip of her wrist. She keyed her own personal code and once again checked to see if there had been any new report from Ms. American in the field. There wasn’t any, the only new satellite up load was from Ms. Americana’s car which added its regular hourly feed report stating its location, condition, and adding a gentile reminder that it was due for an oil change and good lubing next Tuesday, as well as a brief mention that its left front tire pressure was a little low. Other than that nothing, no word from the ‘Queen of Justice’ her self.

‘That tares it,’ thought the little tow headed blonde. Flag Girl had already been sullen and agitated all day knowing Ms. Americana was chasing down a lead that could finally lead to some action, while she had been stuck in classes; but now it was nearing mid-night and despite the standing order of her not suiting up on a school night, Flag Girl had slipped into her costume and had been nervously pacing away the minutes to the self appointed line in the sand she had drawn for her self. She was not egger to get her self into any trouble with her legal guardian knowing her dismal grades coming up for the ending quarter was going to do that in cringing bountiful plenty. So she had set little time hurdles for the past seven hours; if no word by six she would go a head and dine, if no word by ten thirty she would amble up to the fourth floor and access the direct satellite relay panels, if no word by eleven she would suit up into her costume, and so forth. Each little inane increment bringing her excited self closer to what she longed for and what she nervously feared a solo venture out into the night as Flag Girl!

The atomic digital clock seamless transformed to mid-night and suppressing a mixed shudder Flag Girl snapped the small panel closed. She walked purposefully to a half embedded marble column crowning the hall ways corner and activated the secret switch to one of the many hidden tube shafts scattered about the six floors of the Wade apartments. Just before stepping into the silent opening alcove and putting her self into the possibility of a thousand weeks of ‘grounding’ and nail breaking chores, she paused a moment and hesitated, and in that hovering second catching her reflection in the large wall mirror opposite her. She studied the image wavering there before her, with its one booted leg half inside the open cylinder, and gave her self a firm looking over.

Flag Girl pursued her image telling her self that she was doing a last minute check before entering the field as any good soldier of justice would do, but she was looking more for courage and self confidence than a lose strap or forgotten piece of equipment, but the familiarity of the routine and the reassurance of what she saw gave her a rising sense of self worth that quickly put the glow of her usual cockiness about her face and the hint of an over indulgent sneer began to play about her lips. Flag Girl’s costume was of her own design, but it was naturally patterned off her mentor and idolized companion Ms. Americana’s costume. Like Mrs. Americana Flag Girl’s costume was in work in progress, it changed as she gained experience and tried various materials and designs. Currently it consisted of sky blue elbow length gloves of soft supple leather which matched in color her simple face mask that covered her upper face with its large eye cut outs and stretch shinny fabric. She currently wore her blonde hair in a short bob cut but was trying to grow it out long like her hero Ms. Americana. Around her graceful like neck she wore a blue choker centered with a single gold star that glinted above her blue tube top. This top of a single band of stretch spandex had two prominent large white stars positioned directly over each of her pert nipples and her firm ample bosom swayed and tested the fabrics merits to the utmost. Below this she wore her power belt, that incredible marvel of Brenda Wade’s mysterious invention that keyed to Flag Girl’s biorhythms and gave her an echo of increased strength, agility, and endurance, not to mention healing rate. Like Ms, Americana’s it was gold in hue but of a much slimmer and thinner design, it also seemed to have much more difficulty accenting Flag Girl’s powers and could some times leave her high and dry. Brenda had explained this to the frustrated waif as being in keeping with the belt’s drawing its source of harmonic powers from each of the woman’s pent up sexual repressions. The teen age Flag Girl’s body was just too much of a hormonal river in flood for the belt to respond to its rapid heaving and plummeting peaks and valleys with any kind of assured measure. This had been one of the reasons that Flag Girl had only been out on three previous missions with Ms. Americana and in those she had been regulated to back-up and surveillance work. ‘That would change though,’ Flag Girl mused feeling her self confidence swell into a prideful mirth as she smoothed out her costumes bottoms. Her bikini shorts were of a fuller cut than Ms. Americana’s but this still had not stopped the ‘Queen of Justice’ from lamenting at the skimpiness of the two piece suit. As such Flag Girl had a one piece costume on her sewing table that was almost finished that Brenda Wade had been relieved to glance over, but what Brenda had not noticed was that her sly ward had made the new one pieces bottoms of a much more risqué cut and the entire suit it’s self out of a shiny more sheer material. Flag Girl both hungered and dreaded the new costumes eventual unveiling and was some what relieved it wouldn’t be tonight. She was already putting her self into enough hot water by risking venturing out after Ms. Americana as it was! Flag Girl turned her high plateau hinny towards the mirror and used her forefingers and thumbs to pull out the shiny red and white striped bottoms over her full round butt cheeks. She surveyed the result and pouted her lips at it, and then almost hypnotically and with slightly shaking hands gently pulled the bottoms edges back in, exposing more of her white soft orbs of flesh. She giggled at it and shook her ass a little and the giggle broke into a short laugh, liking the effect of the improved look. The power belts not only keyed off the sexual energies repressed and held in rigid check by each heroine’s staunch frigid will, but it amplified them once placed about their slim waists. The great thrumming vortex of damned up sexual lusts brimming into the belts voracious vacuum spewed it back into each heroine a thousand fold, mere tingling wants quickly became surging over powering needs of wild abandon. It took the vain prideful iron wills of each unique woman to master and cap these erupting explosions, but neither could catch every licking little flame that seeped at the corners of their conscious mind nor harness completely the great subconscious libidos that simmered and boiled in that great echoing chain of power. Unable to ‘touch’ them selves less the dreaded long desired orgasm rob them of the very foundation of their belts power source for days if not weeks, the hunger warped from an itch to a rage of unimpeachable source. Both women had subconsciously and invisibly unaware had turned the uneatable need to touch and be touched into a voracious sublimation of needing to be devoured by eyes and stir lusts in others that they themselves had to suffer through. Thus Ms. Americana and Flag Girl had slowly and unnoticeable to their civilian selves, turned their taunt desires of sexual frustrated lack of release into unfettered exhibitionism that neither scarcely noticed once their belts were in place. It was in the belts strong under currents that Flag Girl now in all her innocence and pure faith, smiled in pride as she watched her bottoms slowly creep around the gibbous globes of her derriere, taking only pride and sublimated pleasure at the sight her civilian self unbelted may have once thought scandalous and sluttish to a provocative extreme. Flag Girl noticed none of this nor thought about it but dwelled instead upon her thigh high blue spandex boots with white trim and gold heels, readjusting a seam, before straightening and striking a fist on hips pose and thrusting out her shivering mighty chest. She felt good and confident again and ready for anything, despite a moment of conceited envy at the thought that Ms. Americana’s breasts were still a cup size or two above her own proud chest. But she was still growing! And that thought put the smile back on her lips and a full swagger into her large robust hips. With a back ward glance full of pride and a little seeping twinge of lust, Flag Girl shot her reflection a smile and darted into the cylinder lift and vanished behind its swooshing fabricade of spiraled veined marble.

CHAPTER THREE

Ms. Americana rose unsteadily to her feet, a gloved hand to her groggy head, and tried to shake the stars from hence while her thin strapped bra strained to contain the leaping stars of her bosom. ‘So much for stealth,’ she moaned to her self. She had enough of this sneaking around, who was she some cringing male to go pussy footing it around the shadows when there was real danger to be dealt with?! She was a superior woman! And wouldn’t let some unknown threat send her skulking about like some whipped errand boy! Her eyes were beginning to adjust to the gloom of the irregular pits bottom and she began to make out the odd shape here and there. How long she had been unconscious she couldn’t say but from the change in the coolness and damp of the night air she believed it had been some time. She was about to activate her power belt transmitter and check the time from her central computer bank back at Wade Towers when she saw the thin stabs of light piercing the dark behind her.

The thin feeble slats of light lead her bold stride to a series of breaks in the cave-in walls. A little investigating and Ms. Americana found a small bolt hole she could squeeze into; the parted mass of roots and clotted mud revealed a well worn stone lined passage way just beyond the incline of rubble. At first she was puzzled by such an elaborate extension of stone work beneath the ground, but then she realized with a slight discomfort that the cemetery sink hole she had stumbled into lead into the warrens of catacombs branching out underneath the collapsed cathedral above. As far as the light it remained a mystery despite its increasing magnitude as she slipped into the passage, until she finally rounded a corner of the low ceiling crypt and found her self standing in the arch door less portal of a short squat stone room of some what elaborate carvings and effigies of remembrance of once wealthy papal patrons now long dead. The light it turned out to be of several small sources of kerosene lanterns hissing away scattered about the lightly rubble strewn floor and a large ebbing unearthly glow originating from a low humming machine that several cloaked figures seemed to frantically huddle about in great consternation of tinkering and fruitless grunts of efforts still born.

What happened next may be summed up with the phrase, ‘fecal matter hitting fan.’ Both Ms. Americana and the small group of figures seemed to become instantly aware of each other in the same shocked instant and several half second aborted furtive motions and false starts allowed Ms. Americana only a moment for rapid defense with out her usual pithy tirade of declaring her arrival and striking fear into the harts of her adversaries. Instead she found her self tossing off the grappling lunges of several of the oddly monkish robed figures with wrestling twists turns spins and high kicks to any body part foolish enough to get in her boot’s well heeled path. It was at this moment that Ms. Americana realized that in her semi-conscious state tumbling down the sink hole embankment her power belt, iron clasped by her conscious will, had been easily snagged off her distracted body by the hairy roots clawing at her pitching descent. In fact it now lay several hundred yards above her head, a third of the way up the slope of the muddy ravine dangling on a knotted splintered pine root. With out her power belt Ms. Americana was an Olympic level athlete but no great shakes at unarmed combat, she was a bruiser not a finesse fighter and it was only a mater of time before the sure weight of the opposing numbers against her swarmed over her twisting and panting form and dragged her down to her knees in the heavy sodden musty air of the dimly lit room.

Bowed down her great raven tresses tangled head held low by a heavy sinewy hand, the Lady of Liberty through clenched teeth pushed up her high brow enough to survey the figure sauntering toward her prostrate pinned body. Through leaping shadows and her own sweat knotted locks the hissing Queen of Justice could not fathom if the figure moving before her was male, female, or if it were entirely humane at all? It seemed cleft of shadow its self and when it spoke the sexless murmuring voice gave no further clue but only increased her perplexity.

“I know this one. She is called Ms. Americana. She may prove an ideal chamber host for us, once the mechanism is repaired. Bind her; be not deceived, she is greater than she first appears.” Ropes were produced seemingly out of thin air and Ms. Americana lost sight of the central figure as she renewed her struggles against those trying to bind her corky limbs.

“You shall rue the day when you sought to restrain the arms of justice! What foul and unwholesome deeds do you wrought on this once holy ground! You vile and wretched creatures of darkness!” Ms. Americana spat in her throws against the half dozen robed figures synching her up like a fated calf.

“Oh, and gag her as well, I had almost forgotten her loquacious nature.” The cloaked figure tossed the order ideally over its shoulder before returning back to the two hooded figures still lingering about the odd machine in the center of the cob web sagging room. “Well?” The figure growled at the two who stood uneasily transfixed by the Amazon’s sudden appearance and fiery struggles.

“Ah, yes I think we can finish the repairs now -” Began one of the hooded pair, a stuttering voice identifying it as a young male.

“What’s all that business then about a ‘host chamber’ thingy?” The other chimed in, interrupting with a male British accent.

“Just fix the device!” The obvious leader of the small cult hissed.

“Hang on, now. Don’t go telling me where to get off! You aren’t no union steward to me.”

“Easy now Bill, don’t queer the deal.” His partner interjected.

“Yes, easy now. Remember your reward once you get the machine operational again.” The figure seemed to shift tack; the pleasant voice seemed to add an echo of menace that felt strong in the eerie confines of the place.

“An why do we have to wear these stupid robes?” The British accent mumbled but both men had uneasily returned to work on the odd device after giving the subdued super heroine a few lingering ‘sorry lady’ looks from out of their inky black faceless hoods. “What is it with the rich, eh? Always some ridiculous fad.” But the two voices trailed off into muttering and technique musings as the strange workings of the machine before them once again captured their rapid interest. Neither had ever seen anything like it before. It seemed as if more sculpture than machine and yet the odd strange gleaming metals and stones had given way before their collective prodding’s to reveal a sort of basic mechanical language that each man found himself giddy to explore. Despite the weirdo’s and the large sum of money partially paid and promised each man would have put up with about anything just to study the device further, the cult leader had chosen the men well.

The two men suddenly leaped back as the machine leapt to life with one hard tug. “Hello!” One of the men voiced in obvious hidden smile.

“We’ve been waiting for you my darling.” The other gleamed as well.

“That’s the one all right!” The other cautious leaned in.

“Told you so, didn’t I?” The other taped a spanner against his partners shoulder.

“So…what’s it do?” The other still leaning forward mulled. “That’s an awful lot of power it’s kicking out.” And just as he said that, a large blue flash erupted from the machine and the two men vanished. Their two smoldering robes and the half melted spanner falling to the floor in a sooty pile.

“Excellent, the device is operational again,” the hooded figure almost clapped its hands together, but instead produced from its lone snaking sleeves long nailed supple hands with finger cymbals. The figure clanged the little shrill cymbals rhythmically as the other hooded monk like shadows began to chant. The pulsing irregular bluish light from the machine took on a steady green glow and then grew to fill the room with its almost blinding light. In a flash the light vanished and the room seemed to fall into complete pitch darkness with its removal. Out side, far above them lightning crashed and the room fell silent. The lone figure now knelling before the machine clashed its tinny finger cymbals one last time. They sounded oddly in the charged air, as if they where now a large deep booming gong hanging on the slopes of some ancient mountain top centuries away from the here and now. A strong small blue light oozed out of the machines top but it did not add any illumination to the hissing kerosene lanterns strung about the dead air of the room. From out of this core of dark light a blurry figure grew until it swayed above the rooms prostrate figures, its great bald scaly head seeming to push back the heavy ceiling and convex the matter about it.

“I bid you welcome and happy return, ol’ Dinjin of Kaalast.” The central hooded figure removed its finger cymbals and raised its self to bow a low sweeping gesture before the malevolent gaze of the genie.

“What happened? And where am I now?” The great bulk of the shimmering blue green genie seemed caught between arrogance and peevish uneasy concern.

“A slight problem with the apparatus ol’ great one. It failed at the point of allowing you to cross over into the host, but it has been repaired.” The figure seemed wonderful pleased with its self and stood before the green vicious form as it swelled and congealed hovering in the air above the device which began to pulse slightly.

“But not well, it seems.” The genie noted as the figure grew some what alarmed at the irregular flickering of the bubbling light the machine was producing from its smoldering core.

“The device is old and the relic incomplete, it is the best these sad times can master to endeavor despite the great need of our cause.”

“Humph!” The genie scowled as it blurred in and out of focus, “and the host?”

“Died, ol great one of the wasted lands.” The anxious robed figure peaked its fingers together before its shadowed brow.

“Pity, she was… tasty.” The Dinjin tugged at its long greasy mustache.

“But we have discovered another host my graven lord of storms and much more inviting if not so willing,” the figure swept an arm aside toward Ms. Americana as the genie noticed her for the first time.

“Ahhh,” the great Dinjin smiled a fanged leer, “most appropriate indeed!”

“Great Liberty!” Ms. Americana muffled in exclamation as the foul creature slowly swarmed toward her. She wasn’t sure if the thing was remotely humane, but she was certain that it was decidedly male! And the enormous three foot steadily swelling member between its smoke colored legs left little doubt as to its intentions toward her! Host indeed! Ms. Americana began to struggle against her bindings ferociously as the meek apprentice cloaked figures fled her side at the genie’s steady approach. A long flickering slobbering tongue shot out of its fish scaled lips and wrapped its self about her gag. The fetid brimstone pugnacity of the slithering organ caused her pupils to dilate. “Great Goddess No!” She thought as her mind began to swim, “It breaths a chloroform ether!” Her greatest weakness! Large slavering talons seemed to erupt from the things long bony fingers and they raced before the slow floating form as its almost living shadow fell upon her and began to grope her motherly hips with semi-translucent tendrils of shadow. As both tongue pulled her gag slowly from her mouth and pressed its self against her clenched lips, and long shadowy prehensile tangents began to slowly tug at her bikini bottoms waist band, Ms. Americana felt a chill spread through her arching body of mortal dread. “It’s going to rape me!” Her bewildered mind screamed! And deep in her power belt permanent warped unconsciousness where slavish proud sexual lust stewed and simmered, the pride of public virtue’s secret all consuming bondage and rape fetish fantasies began to seep to her surface and as Ms. Americana struggled against the bite of her bonds maddened to escape her attackers ravishing hulking menacing approach, her deeper persona puckered up her hardening nipples and began to well oil her crotch all unobserved to the Mistress of Right!

CHAPTER FOUR

Once Flag Girl had stepped out of the silent turbo lift into the subterranean passages beneath Wade Towers and entered the little electric monorail cart that whisked her to the secret garage several city blocks away from the down town district, she realized she had several problems. The first one was a nagging dread that became an obvious obstacle once the little cart had deposited her at her destination; ‘wheels’.

As in she had none. The bay containing the Ms. Americana car was naturally empty, the car its self was several miles away parked behind a farmers hay bale in a field an easy power belt sprint mile from the excited guards still drooling over their freshly autographed Ms. Americana cheese cake charity calendar repined to their shacks wall. The large shiny Ms. Americana motorcycle in the next bay was tempting but unlike the car it had a built in safety system that keyed off Ms. Americana’s power belt and wouldn’t start or operate for anyone else. Flag Girl knew, as she had secretly tried to start it several times in the past. There was a power glider hanging in its harness but it was in a shambles from its last outing and still under repair. A miniature one seat helicopter was likewise being over hauled by the techno savvy Queen of Justice. Another Ms. Americana car was still little more than a web of steel and frame work up on jacks. There was a speed boat and even a small four person submarine just another short monorail ride down to the hidden cove, but neither would do her much good for this evenings venture.

In fact the teen age titan of tender longings chewed a gloved thumb as she puzzled her few remaining options. She could try and jog the ten miles to the cars satellite pinned location, but with her power belts glitch ridden track record of performance it may knock out on her and suddenly leave her four miles and exhausted, neither here nor there. She could take a cab, but the thought sent a deep scarlet flush to her heady independent cheeks. There was however one last option.

The teen Flag Girl whisked down the streets of Delta-City in a bumpy blur, her star spangled helmet spinning off the oily incandescent street lights into a vinyl night sheeted sky. The little modified red and white and blue moped wheezed along at a forty mile an hour clip as the pot holed streets and shot suspension tested her tube top beyond its structural limits. After about the ten thousandth time, Flag Girl gave up tugging up her stretch top and let her large proud nipples breathe the fresh chill night air rushing over them. The over taxed little motor kept her padded seat vibrating strongly between her clenched thighs, but wither it was this challenging sensation she struggled to master as it fed great swaths of fresh sexual arousal power into her belt and was echoed back or the gapping stares of the few citizens marveling at her luscious jiggling exposed breasts that wielded the wide brimming smile to her young face, who could say?

Flag Girl found the car after only getting lost twice and just as the little gas tank that she had failed to think of filling had run bone dry. She had pushed her little vehicle the last mile, but she had found the car. Now to find Ms. Americana! Flag Girl used her power belt to contact the central computer back at the Wade apartments, this was a newer but less powerful machine than the one kept in the murky depths of Wade Manor its self, but she was out of reach of its unaided reception and she hadn’t thought to bounce any relay signals back to it. Besides she only needed the computer to hone in on Ms. Americana’s power belt signal and relay that back to her. An easy enough task for the enormous pile of micro processors that could adjust the minute paths of the various Wade satellites themselves when needed.

Flag Girl set her belt to silently vibrate with increasing intensity in response to Ms. Americana’s own power belt location, as she neared the cathedral, less the synthetic voice of the central computer issuing from her own belt alarm any would be criminals to her where about and foil her stealthy approach. She had snuck by the guards easy enough who seemed to be spending a lot of time in the small rest room out back of their guard shack taking turns apparently reading some calendar while using the facilities. ‘They must have a lot of important events coming up,’ Flag Girl thought to her self as each man lined up and waited his turn, ‘and apparently a touch of the stomach flue as well.’ The ease at which she stealthily crept by the predisposition guards swelled her confidence to no end and the little gnawing doubts swirling in her tight little belly vanished as her chest soared in bountiful pride.

However, the ruins of the Cathedral had been creepy and the whole up turned cemetery would have sent her back to wait at the car if not for the pulsing of her power belt which camel toed her briefs and kept her mind sweating with clenched concentration to avoid slipping into a rapid power belt draining orgasm. By the time she found the large abyss of the sink hole, the now constant agitated rubbing of the silk bikini bottoms against her swollen clitoris had erased much of the world around her and Flag Girl quickly entered that foreboding pit with out much hesitation nor dread, her mind lost in the cozy throws of the rapidly growing liquid warmth welling up between her thighs. She found the lost belt and reluctantly turned off her vibrating beacon with a gasp and shaking gloved hand. ‘Where was Ms. Americana then?’ Reluctantly Flag Girl descended down into the continuing void before her.

It took her several minutes to find the half concealed aperture in the murky dark of the uneven pits floor. And several more minutes to untangle her self from the wet clammy vine like roots, which seemed to almost possess a living half will to restrain her, but she was certain this was just her fevered imagination. Following the eerie light that seeped in vaporous glows about the maze like passage ways Flag Girl stumbled upon a horrifying sight. Ms. Americana half buried under some hulking monstrous shape! With out a second thought Flag Girl snatched both her magnetic star shaped ear rings form their metal studs and flung the deadly projectiles at the bulbous form. They missed completely as they always did, the design was sadly more decorative than practical, but they flashed past the large green slimy shape and struck the odd glowing mist spewing machine beyond it. Upon impact the device flashed and sputtered in its wretched low hum, sparks showered forth, and when Flag Girl lowered her fore arm from before her squinting eyes the monster had vanished. The room however now seemed to contain several half startled half blinded robed figures and Flag Girl raced to the reclining form of Ms. Americana in a single power belt leap. It took her only a moment to realize that the Queen of Justice had been compromised the deep heavy lidded sheepish grin spoke of several long drawn out forced orgasms having been torn from her unwilling body and the thick mucus ooze about her face gave silent undeniable testament of large gulping loads of man milk. The power belt would be worthless to Ms. Americana now! It might be days or even weeks before her sexual repressed energies replenished themselves. It was up to Flag Girl then to save both their nubile butts! Hoisting the still partially bound super heroine up on her shoulder, the teen age titan leapt back down the hall way she had so recently emerged from, a few well placed kicks sending still dazed cloaked figures sprawling. It was soon obvious that the people in the room had not been aware of any secondary entrance from the sink hole in the cemetery. Flag Girl quickly lost any vain pursuers in the maze of tunnels and they gave up and raced instead back up through the entrance to the crypts via the ruins of the cathedral its self. By the time the group found themselves top side and wondering where the second opening was located, Flag Girl was sprinting past the still occupied soldiers at the guard house. But she felt a pang of joy and blushing pride as she heard several of the men cry out their anguish at seeing the Queen of Justice in her stricken state. “Oh, Ms. Americana!” Rang out from the little toilet out behind the guard shack, even as the teen age vigilante wondered how the men had seen her and her burden speed racing past in the dark?

CHAPTER FIVE

Brenda Wade was a little peeved. But there wasn’t much she could do about it as of yet. She both was proud and upset with Flag Girl’s recent rescue of Ms. Americana. Just needing rescued was a bit of an embarrassment in its own right, but being rescued from such a compromising situation was even more of a collar tightener. Even now Brenda hooked one long red French cut nailed finger into her lacy blouse neck line and gave it a tug, despite the fact that she always wore her business clothes with ample décolletage. Luckily the vile creature what ever it was had not got around to mounting her properly and completing its desired task of mating with her. True it had tore several long deep orgasms form her with its tentacle like probing, and it had forced vast quantities of delicious sperm down her throat, err, that is nasty distasteful horrible man spunk into her mouth, but at least it had not impregnated her. But none of that really had gotten Brenda’s goat half as much as the now insufferable smirking of her protégé Flag Girl bouncing about the Wade apartments. Why the unlicensed little nut had completely totaled the Ms. Americana car during their escape!

Brenda Wade now shot the little teenager a sideways glance, where she was spinning back and forth in her high back black leather office chair, Brenda had brought the girl with her to the conference room as it was a school break and she didn’t trust leaving the big headed child alone for hours on end, and because the meeting at hand was more in keeping with Ms. Americana’s line of work than Brenda Wade’s, and she thought she had better start including the young girl more in the serious side of that ‘other’ business as it were. Brenda concentrated more fully on Professor Quintus and Professor Quim as they stumbled through their usual disorganized briefing.

Professor Quintus was an elderly man who though prone to increasing bouts of absent mindedness had long been a Wade specialist in the ‘unusual’ science division, and Professor Quim was a young but brilliant statuesque lady that could have been a fashion super model if she had ever been bothered to shave her arm pits or buy a tube of lip stick. Brenda’s strong feminist leanings liked the brilliant minded young professors ignoring of male dominated sexiest pressures of appearance and had promoted the young woman rapidly through the ranks of lab technicians, bringing her into the small elite group of research scientist who worked unknowingly on solving several of the eventual unavoidable problems that Ms. Americana often found her self thrust up against.

The pair of Doctors now gave most of the reports on queries submitted by Brenda personally to the small ‘unusual’ science department of Wade industries and the whole event had taken on an almost bumbling circus show over the years. The pair where now struggling with the computer power point presentation and the frozen image of two baboons mating up on the large projector screen that had sent Brenda’s teenage protégé into a spasm of giggles and Brenda into several scowls at the leg swinging chewing gum popping child.

“Yes,” Professor Quintus mumbled, “that seems to have done it.” The two humping baboons vanished and where replaced by a large oceanic map. “Don’t know how that happened. Any way as you can now finally see, we have here the chart Professor Quim was commenting upon. It shows the rough location of the Isle of Manbate, which its exact location is not known but it is roughly believed to be here about.”

Professor Quim took over her smooth sonorous voice juxtaposing with the sleep inducing twill of Professor Quintus monotone delivery. “To our best abilities, this would seem to be the most ideal point of origin of the fetish you inquired about, that was stolen from the Delta-City Museum of Antiquities and Rare Artifacts almost a month ago. It must have originally been found on this island, though the museum could not trace it’s path of descent any further than the Harvest Museum from which it was purchased back in the 1940’s and its previous owners gift to that museum, by the great game hunter and later wild life naturalist and conservationist Nigel Baxter of the 1930’s. But taking into account the few other rare artifacts and their similarities also taken from this island, we would conclude this is the location you seek.”

“Why is it so hard to chart an island? Can’t you just zap it’s location with one of our satellites?” The teen had stopped fidgeting in her chair and had taken yet another mood swinging interest in the matter at hand.

‘My, she’s gotten bold of late,’ Brenda Wade noted of the waif. ‘And she’s not so young any more,’ Brenda noted as the leaning girl nearly spilled out a large breast from her scarcely buttoned tied at the waist blouse.

“Well,” Professor Quintus scratched his head.

“It’s because of its location.” interrupted Professor Quim. “It’s smack dab in the center of Brenda’s triangle.”

‘And she’s not the only one who has gotten bold,’ thought Brenda Wade to her self as she smiled at Professor Quim.

“What?” The teenager beamed.

“Brenda’s triangle,” Professor Quintus continued. “A strange isometric stretch of water where ships have mysteriously disappeared for centuries.”

“You mean to say,” the teen leapt out of her chair hardly able to repress the smile playing about her lips. “Those ships keep disappearing up Brenda’s triangle?”

“Yes,” replied Professor Quintus as Professor Quim nodded vigorous in ascent.

“So what you’re telling me,” the girl took the pointer stick from out of the Doctor’s hand and began to use it on the displayed map with the red dotted outline of a triangle on it. “Those large enormous ships keep disappearing up Brenda’s triangle?”

“Yes, ships of all sizes, both large and small for centuries. It’s quiet a mystery.”

“But, huge enormous freighters just vanish right up Brenda’s triangle?” The teen was struggling with the smile that split her face.

“All kinds of ships have been vanishing in that area with out a trace.” Professor Quim rubbed her small chin.

“But just think of how big Brenda must be to shove so many large ships up her like that?” The teen had to turn her back to the Doctors to hide her broad toothy mirth.

“Yes. It’s a wonder she can fit so much mass into such a tinny space.” Professor Quintus pondered.

“Truly amazing what Brenda has gulped up inside her black hole,” Professor Quim nodded as she watched the teen move the pointer up and down in the outlined triangle on the map.

Behind them, with her face flushed bright red, Brenda muttered to her self through clenched teeth, “wind sprints. I’ll have that little girl doing wind sprints for a week!”

CHAPTER SIX

A little too late the cocky teenager realized she had been dancing upon a line with her guardian and now she found her self punished, but in that really terrible kind of punishment where everyone pretends they don’t know what you’re talking about and that there’s no punishment at all, unless you your self want to voice what it is you ‘think’ you may have done wrong. It was the decidedly ‘female’ way of doing things and it resulted in the teen staying put and still in school with Professor Quintus checking in as her appointed chaperon, while Brenda Wade and Professor Quim boarded the Wade cruise line flag ship, ‘Liberty’ and set sail for the Manbate Island.

Ms. Americana had known that Flag Girl had managed to destroy the fetish artifact that had been contained in the ancient machine, but not the machine its self. She fathomed that the cult who had vanished with the machine would endeavor to find another such relic which she had heard allusions to during her unwanted embrace with the creature that the cult had summoned. That once it had another such relic it would again try to summon the vile thing, and in her hart of harts she some how knew that nothing less than Ms. Americana her self would serve as its ‘host’. She shuddered at the thought of that thing coming for her out of the dark some night while she was on patrol, and had decided to take matters into her own hands. If she could some how capture the cult leader, it would certainly bring any hope of the creatures resurrection to an end. Just figuring out where the fetish had come from and thus the place most likely that the cult would have to go to in order to get another such item, was not enough. She couldn’t lay in wait for years in some jungle temple. But then Brenda had a most magnificent idea. The island in question was remote and dangerous to get to, if disguised as Brenda Wade she made it very publicly known that she was sailing her cruise ship to such an Island, it would certainly be too tempting of an offer of easy passage for the cult to pass up. In other words, another perfect Ms. Americana trap!

For the trap to work she had to have a viable cover story for why a well known globe trotting feminist billionaire tycoon such as her self would need or want to sail a large cruise vessel to such a risky location. This she had furnished by her cunning understanding of the male mind, or what essentially passed for a mind in such creatures, and that was, ‘the wager.’ Brenda had simply kept dropping hints about the dangerous uncharted island and her usual slurs of males in general for several days until over one power lunch in the busiest of china plate restaurants a fellow peer of the business realm had snapped and betted her that ‘she’ couldn’t discover the island that all men had failed to prove existed. Brenda had loudly leaped at it and accepted the wager, adding quickly that she would do so in style and invite everyone along who wanted to come to see the proof of her accomplishment first hand; she would take her cruise ship ‘Liberty’ instead of her privet yacht, ‘Lady Mac Beth.’

There were a few snags in the whole scheme, one was the enormous amount of money in insurance premiums she found her self suddenly paying in taking her ship into such waters. The second was the bet it’s self. She had been fishing all week for some one to finally rise to her bait, and when it had finally come she had yanked at it without much fore thought, as it was the condition of the bet as it often was in the realm of high stakes big money and power wealth, had nothing to do with money and every thing to do with public humiliation. If Brenda won, which she was of course certain of having seen the relic and knowing the island did exist if not exactly where it might just happen to be at the given moment, the man in question had to shave off his enormous prized mustache and side burns. In fact, she Brenda Wade, would get to shave off those ridiculous things out in front of the restaurant in question with an entire TV crew filming the whole thing! She couldn’t stop laughing at the image of the little fat bald headed man shaved of his ridiculous facial hair! Of course if she lost, then she had to let the fat little lump ride on her back as she went around the entire circumference of the dining room on her hands and knees. That gave her a little pause, not in thinking she some how might lose, but just the disgusting depths of depravity that the male mind sunk to at any given moment, ugh!

Brenda had somehow imagined she would figure out who the most likely culprit was before the ship even left the harbor and then catch them easily red handed upon reaching the island. But pouring the manifest into her computer data banks had revealed next to nothing of any viable interest or tell tale signs of associated guilt. Once upon board things had not gotten any easier. Her very public bet had garnered a roster of ‘who’s who’ and hundreds of no body’s who ranged from wanabe’s to celebrity stalkers to just bored house wives and a few failed would be adventurers well passed their prime. The Captain’s table where she had to dine every night became a rolling display of odd quirks of humanities slightly gilded foibles. There was Perrier Derrière, the heir to the vast Derriere motel chain, with its infamous slogan, ’when it’s time to put your ass up for the night, Derriere!’ Then there was the pop star Jessica Simpleton, who had turned her large breasts and empty head into a million dollar franchise complete with her own reality TV show and a hit single, ‘if these breasts could talk, they would sound just like me!’ Then there was Pauline Shank the porn star who sublimated her astonishing voracious career by sleeping with just about every famous movie star in the mainstream film business and then going on talk shows and putting the men down as sexiest pigs. There was Weird Alvin Ankleitch a geeky man who had managed to make a career out of parodying pop music celebrities by changing the inane lyrics in their mass produced mindless hit tunes into even more inane mindless lyrics, until the utter lack of any real talent in the pop music business hit such an all time low that Weird Alvin had found there was no substance to left to mine to mimic. One can not after all parody parody. There were the two Oslo Twins, two girls who spent their entire lives being marketed as both product and resource, but no one could ever figure out what it was they truly had to offer, as they lacked any talent or accomplishment and seemed to rather simply have stumbled into representing the female label ideal of being rich and famous and successful and thus some kind of aggressive icon of all other female desires of the same. A soap opera existence without merit but full of endless reward! Then there was Amanda Knight, a girl who had climbed up into a great red wood tree and lived in a tent for four weeks to prevent loggers from cutting down the tree. She had written a best selling account of her ordeal, which sold millions of copies and thus destroyed millions of trees in making the paper for her book. The red wood in question was cut down shortly after she climbed down it and up into celebrity fame and riches, but that apparently wasn’t the point as she went on to prove by posing in a naked ad campaign against the fur industry, where she proudly stood spread eagle in front of a large red wood forest under a headline that said; ‘save a beaver don’t wear fur!’ She went on to do an entire nude calendar with slogans like, ‘pet it, don’t pelt it!’ embossed above her famously untrimmed snatch. She was every college boys wet dream and she had the pink custom Ferrari at home in her six bed room red hard wood floored house to prove it.

There was definitely no end to the possible list of suspects that kept rolling about the decks and slumbering in the lounge chairs, but none that seemed to fit the image of a hooded cloaked figure skulking about a crypt well past midnight. In the end, a week into the cruise Brenda Wade gave up trying to figuring out who the hooded stranger was and began to center her attention along side the Captain with finding the island. Her prescience over every chart was a pain and a nuisance that her feminist nature refused to neither acknowledge nor believe. As such the Captain slowly kept pawning Brenda Wade off upon Ensign Tice who became her de facto smoke screen between her and the much put upon crew. Tice was a beautiful if slightly short young woman of outstanding charm and could have easily been a ship purser or game show host. Brenda couldn’t help but like the girl and as the voyage wore on and the elusive island remained unfound Brenda allowed the cute young Ensign with the large flashing eyes to pour her the unusual night cap or two or four or six and put her wobbly body,’ damn sea legs!’ to bed on more and more occasions. It was shortly after such an evening with Brenda having strange dream images of her and Ensign Tice having a naked pillow fight together that Brenda woke abruptly from with a half snorted retort. What had awakened her was obvious; it was the half empty bottle of James Bean that had come crashing down on her head. What had allowed this to happen, was the fact that she was laying on the floor of her cabin instead of up in her bunk. What had caused this to happen she wasn’t quiet sure, but the bottle had been sent spinning down upon her head by a sudden lurch of the ship, and she could only guess that some similar discombobulating movement had been the previous cause of flinging her out of her bed?

Brenda Wade rose unsteadily to her bare feet, her sheer pink camisole fluttering about her. Generally she wore a plain practical t-shirt to bed and a pair of white no frills cotton Mary Jane panties, but she had some how felt this was not appropriate attire to wear in the prescience of Ensign Tice and had stopped at the ships boutique and picked up the only night wear she could find in her busty size. What Brenda and Ms. Americana didn’t know was that with each sexual defeat once the power belt had been first worn, a sort of feed back loop grew and developed within the physiology of the empowered wearer. In both Ms. Americana’s case and Brenda Wade this meant with every forced orgasm ripped from her body, a sort of odd dipolar effect began to take hold at a subconscious level. For Brenda and Ms. Americana it was invisible to their conscious notice no mater how obvious it may have been to all others around them. Both Brenda and Ms. Americana were growing increasingly more exhibitionist in nature and in attire. Right after her defeat at the hands of the Dinjin genie Ms. Americana had redesigned her suit.

Consciously both Ms. Americana and Flag Girl had thought a new suit design was a natural and healthy way for Brenda to get over her undoubtedly traumatic experience and get back on the horse so to speak. Besides the girls liked trying out different suits, but neither of them seemed to notice that each suit seemed to get slightly skimpier and more revealing than its predecessor. Ms. Americana’s latest incarnation from top to toe was; her iconic gold rolled edge headband, still the pointed solid Tierra style circlet with its large centered upon its noble crest capital letter ’A’ book cased by two large blue stars. Followed by her eye mask, now little more than thin strips of shiny blue, with a single large white star between her eye brows and one smaller star upon each cheek epaulette that crested down just below her ears. On her ear lobes she wore two large pierced gold trimmed red star ear rings. Around her slender neck she wore a raised blue choker band with a single large gold star centered on her throat. The star was on a red back ground broach with gold trim and it shone with a barrowed sparkle of both her large blue flashing eyes and her full thick red shiny lips. Below this she wore her bikini top of identical color and pattern design to her previous suit but the straps were even narrower and the cups virtually see through, and as was often the case with a forced raped orgasm the belt had caused her breasts to swell to almost another full cup size just as it had shrunk her waist and widened the girth of her full round hips. Her power belt remained the same, but her bikini bottoms were now of a much smaller cut. The front dipped low and she had given up on the fight with the back side and had simply gone with a thong behind. Other wise the skimpy briefs still had the same color scheme as did her boots and gloves, though she had shortened the gloves some what and changed the four white stars into two gold and blue stars. She had also moved the gold star catch to her top from her front where it was buried underneath the mounds of her flesh to the back strap of her top, hopefully rendering some of the embarrassing ‘pop’ unsnapping moments her last top tended to have every time she dared to break out into a full out run. She also added a gold trim to her panties and placed a single white star peaking out from the little strip of blue cloth just before it disappeared into the folds of her large rotund buttocks.

It was to this costume now that Brenda Wade half staggered toward. Unlike her yacht there was no hidden state room with her costume hidden in it. Instead she had simply packed her suit in a locked brief case disguised in the pocketed lining. There were apparently some benefits to wearing next to nothing as a crime fighter after all. Brenda wasn’t a greatly endeared with nautical knowledge but she did know that large enormous cruise ships did not normally go lurching about. This was a job for Ms. Americana!

Brenda had little worry about explaining the sudden appearance of Ms. Americana on board the ship. Before sailing Brenda Wade had agreed to smuggle some important pieces of equipment aboard her ship for the United States government. The crates where placed down in a special hold and next to them were another secret room in which Ms. Americana was suppose to be secreted away looking after the governmental items. She was to drop off the items once they had reached their last safe port of call the military base on the island of Destroma, the last ‘safe’ island before entering Brenda’s triangle. This she had done, even managing to pull off an elaborate stunt of appearing to the base commander host as both Brenda Wade and Ms. Americana thanks to some quick change slight of hand and some electronic gadgetry. Now Ms. Americana was suppose to be back in her hidden room some where on board ship, only known to the government and the high ranking crew and Brenda Wade of course. It gave her perfect excuse to whip out the super heroine whenever she felt the need for her and have an adequate back ground story all set in place for the newspapers at a latter date with the government’s eye witness validation. It was a nice coup and she had been smug about it every since she had successfully pulled it off at the naval base three days earlier.

Now however, the shifting lisping deck, the whisky bottles effects both with in and with out, had Brenda staggering for the locked valise when the door burst open. There with large guns threatening were several rancid foul looking men who demanded her presence upon the bridge at once!

Upon the chaotic bridge Brenda found her self being introduced to several unseemly men with far too much tan skin and too little manners. ”Who do you think you are? This my ship!” Brenda felt frustrated without her costume and the power belt she didn’t dare try and tackle these men. Even if she over powered them, as she was sure she could considering they were only men, it would risk blowing her covering identity and all she had worked so long for to create and nurture, her entire crusade to revenge her father would be lost. “I demand you leave my ship at once!” Brenda could only think to play up the spoiled rich bitch angle a bit more and buy some time.

“Actually, that was exactly what I was planning on telling you.” Brenda spun around at the failure voice and found her self looking at -

“Ensign Tice!” Brenda was stunned; she had let the woman wash her hair for Liberties sake! Was nothing sacred any more!

“I’m afraid it’s actually Captain Entice.” Brenda stared at the buxom woman who sauntered past her decked out in a thin red and white stripped midriff barring t-shirt and cut off shorts, a heavy bejeweled cutlass with a large skull handle hung slapping at her firm butt cheek. “And what I’m doing is taking your ship, because what I am is a pirate.” Captain Entice gave Brenda a wicked grin and slapped Brenda’s ass as she leaned in close to her, letting her hand linger on the cupped butt cheek long enough to sear it into both Brenda and Ms. Americana’s fantasies for many long hot nights to come. “Put her in a life boat like every one else. Oh, and because she wants ‘her’ ship put her in one a lone and tie her to the bench so won’t fall over board. Damn sea legs you know,” Captain Entice winked and gave Brenda’s chin a shake between her forefinger and thumb. The thugs dragged the fuming socialite away as Captain Entice watched her nearly naked behind snake back and forth under her gossamer pink panties, “uh! I’m going to miss that.” Captain Entice shook her head and began to set a new course for her ship.

Thus it was that in the middle of the night on the high open seas well up Brenda’s triangle, Brenda Wade found her self alone in a life boat, gagged, bound, and tied to the bench seat, wearing nothing more than a see through pink teddy and an angry frown. In the dark she could hear all the other small life boats rowing together and tying themselves up, but they were ignorant of her lone plight, in fact the crew had assumed the pirates would hold her for ransom and thought little of her absence when they were spotted and rescued without further incident just twelve hours latter. The head of the insurance company that had singed the policy on Brenda’s adventure had a hart attack upon hearing of the loss of the ship and retired to run a fish and chips shop in Blanchester.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Brenda Wade was adrift. Strange dark currants churned all about and seemingly through her. Pitching rising swells upon a black storm wreaked sea tossed her about in horizon less crescendos of frothy plumes and spinning descents, rising falling spinning tumbling over turned with a white roaring crash drowning, drowning and a deep calm erupting. Brenda Wade woke up suddenly wet both with out and with in a long sweet faint orgasm stretching her legs and eyes wide. She shuddered and convulsed and wiggled her self into a seated position. She was in a cave, half up on the rocky ledge of one side, light filtered in from many openings and her lower body still hung in the shallows of the ocean water that pulsed and covered the caverns floor. ‘Where am I,’ she thought? Suddenly Brenda noticed a large luminous shape flittering about the fractured waters surface; she instinctively pulled back her legs fearing it to be a large fish or eel. But the figure broke the surface before her and Brenda saw it to be a beautiful young girl.

“Do not be afraid, I rescued you from your sinking craft and brought you here. I am Princess Nermana, Chick of the Sea, and daughter of the Queen of Sirens.”

“Err, thank you for saving me,” Brenda began still trying to recollect her thoughts. She relaxed her flinch and rolled her self to a more comfortable sitting position upon the rough stone, noticing for the first time that her pink satin bottoms where missing.

Nermana blushed at Brenda’s realization of her missing underwear and quickly blurted out, “I have saved you with the kiss of life, and brought you here where you could breathe.”

Brenda noticed now the gills flapping in the water treading girl’s neck and recoiled with astonishment and amazement, her own pink panties completely forgotten. “Th-thank you, very much. I’m very grateful. Perhaps I can return the favor some day.”

Nermana seemed ecstatic at this and thrashed about. “You can, you can, and you can do so this very day!”

“Oh,” Brenda felt several rapid fluttering confusing thoughts mingle and trip over one another as the Chick of the Sea shot between Brenda’s legs and placed one webbed hand upon each knee, leaning over her reclining body as she pressed her self back into the unyielding rock.

“Yes.” the Princess whispered her blue gray face with enormous eyes leaning just inches from Brenda’s own rapidly flushing face. “I am in desperate need of a favor right this very instant.”

“Well, I - I will do my very best, but I’m new at this sort of thing. I mean I owe you my life and all and I don’t want to be ungrateful or rude -” The Sea Princess pulled Brenda closer to her. “Oh, please be gentle!” Brenda half sighed half screamed.

“There is a nasty evil vile creature known as the Sea Hag, a witch of terrible powers, who subjects all the peace loving ocean folk to her callous whims.” Nermana whispered, glancing about the sun vented cave. “Her unjust reign comes from the trident she stole form my long vanished father. Fetch me the trident; she dwells upon this very island I have brought you to.”

“Ah,” Brenda was confused and surprised at and embarrassed by the obvious disappointment in her shaky voice. “You want me to steal this trident thing for you?”

Nermana leaned back and seemed to sense Brenda’s slipping firmness of intent of promise. “Your little vessel lies far beneath the waves. I will labor to return it to you and help you up right it that you may sail from this accursed and most dangerous isle if you but fetch me this heirloom of my divine right.”

“You’re sure you wouldn’t want me to do something else for you? I mean I am most grateful and would naturally do any, most intimate task you might need to full fill your own personal desire -”

“No, just the trident.” Nermana didn’t seem to catch Brenda’s drift, and Brenda her self wasn’t entirely sure what she meant.

“Of course I will help you the best that I can.” Brenda began, was that a lone black pubic hair stuck just below the Sea Chick’s mouth? “I will undoubtedly need your further assistance in the near future.”

“Wonderful! I will go and fetch your small craft at once let us both hurry back! I will meet you here before sun set, Oh and do not fear the Sea Witch for she is taking her usual three day nap after calling up the storms of which your poor boat was sunk! Her shack is near by, go there at once and hurry, but do not look upon her, just grab the trident; it is the source of all her power and flee back to me! You’ll be quiet safe! Hurry now!” And amidst all that while disappearing and resurfacing in great animated splashes, the Princess finally disappeared entirely with one flicking web footed wave.

“Wait! You forgot to untie my arms!” Brenda shouted, but it was too late. The bubbly glad girl was gone. With much struggle Brenda managed to right her self to her feet. The footing was giddy, and her sopping wet nearly invisible nightie refused to unwrinkled and smooth out upon her wet body, leaving her entire virtue exposed below. She could do nothing about this though, and instead set off and out of the cave from the nearest large opening she could see the early morning sun light streaming through. The sun that met her damp body out side was hot and bright and after the close echoing confines of the wet cave she was sent blinking squinting and then jogging rapidly over the hot sand dunes, racing for more comfortable footing in the shades of the small forest of tropical foliage she saw on the slight rise before her. If her situation seemed ludicrous and surreal, it did not seem to bother her much. Brenda moved through the steamy undergrowth of the verdant jungle, her hands and arms still firmly tied behind her back, her damp clinging night slip refusing to unwrinkled at her belly and cover her salt beaded thick thatch of ebony pubic hair. She stumbled bare foot and with out much sense of direction into an unknown jungle forest under the cawing of strange bird songs and fragrant breezes with out much more qualm than if she had been walking towards a podium at City Hall to give another speech about the need for greater strides in the field of woman’s liberation of the shackles of male oppressive bondage.

As such she was neither unduly surprised in her single mindedness nor completely unshaken in her self absorbed mental images, when a mall little gothic house burst before her in an unexpected stumbled into clearing. The island was very small indeed. The house was surprisingly ‘new’ looking, as if freshly painted white, and was encouragingly ‘homey’ in appearance, with a nice tranquil soft pleasing air about the whole of the small structure. Forgetting her self to be Brenda Wade, as this was after all very much a Ms. Americana venture, Brenda walked boldly up to the white picket fence gate with its red thorny rose entanglements and after several grunting awkward back ward see sawing glances managed to undo the latch with her rope pinned fingers. The house had little to no yard, in fact the structure its self seemed crowded into the tinny enclosure and Brenda reached the front door after only three small strides. There seemed little point in trying to maneuver the large brass knocker, and so Brenda set to work on the handle which she found to be unlocked. The door swung open noiselessly with a press of her damp buttock and for the first time Brenda gave pause.

After all, any one would have doubted a one sided story whose back ground that they knew nothing about, but not Brenda Wade, she was bold and honest to an extreme and thus gullible to a fault, perhaps if the person telling her the tale had been a man? But it hadn’t been, it had been a woman, and the story had come while Brenda was tied up and helpless her subconscious deep bondage fantasies on the verge of leaking out in a flood, and thus perhaps confusing her lines of reasoning even more. Besides she prided her self upon her ability to judge a persons character within a second of meeting, and despite her erroneous track record of failures in her ‘first impressions’ over the years, her pride kept this questionable belief very strong indeed. No, she believed everything the fantastical girl had told her. She paused only now because she was faced with the choice of going up a small stair case almost immediately before her, or turning to her left and entering a door less aperture leading into a dark small room, or turning to her right and pushing open a plain white handless swinging door. Since the Sea Hag was suppose to be a sleep and since most houses had their bed room on the upper floors, Brenda decided that she would be best suited to head up the stairs before her, but experience had told her that it would be unwise to venture up stairs and get suddenly caught by some unknown creature lurking about the down stairs rooms, trapping her upon the stair case, with it between her and the only exit she knew of off hand. She turned to the open door way on her left and entered it, peering bout in the dim half light.

The room was a small parlor of clustered but simple decorations, spotlessly clean and tidy, with a door leading beyond it through which Brenda now ventured. It opened in turn into a tiny bed room, lit by a large open window through which a steady breeze stirred the long white curtains so that they reached their long rippling fingers almost into the center of the room its self. Other wise the room contained a small white canopy bed with its bed curtains lazily drawn and a single padded chair upon which a large heavy looking much decorated ancient looking trident staff leaned ponderously out of place. Brenda moved to the staff and paused beside the bed, unable to resist her curiosity she sated it by peering through the bed curtains which she managed to part with one well placed breast. There she saw the slumbering form of waif of a girl sheathed all in white silks. The young nymph was of lithe build and her features of the palest complexion, her hair was of long flowing white and her white parted lips seemed scarcely to breathe. Her thin lids laid half open and crystal gray blue eyes hazily lay in their ivory pools, one long wrested hand hung over her small breasts and the other lay at an angle at her side, she seemed a dream lost in its self and Brenda left off her hypnotic gazing and returned to her task of retrieving the trident.

It was nearing five o’clock in the after noon by the sun’s estimable position and night fell fast in the tropics, so Brenda hurried the last awkward shuffle into the opening in the rocks along the shore that opened into the half hidden cave. The trident clanged over the rough volcanic rocks as Brenda dragged it unceremoniously behind her. Nermana was there and anxious to see her approach.

“Do you have it?!” The young girl squealed.

“Yes, I have retrieved the relic as you have requested.” Brenda glanced about her, “Where is my boat?”

“Oh I have it here, we just have to right it and raise it to the surface. Quick give me the trident so I can lever it off the ocean bed.” The rapturous girl couldn’t take her wide eyes off the trident.

“Here then,” Brenda turned around and presented the trident closer to the waters edge, she felt the trident yanked out of her hands and when she turned around Nermana was gone from sight. “Uh, Princess? Ah. Nermana?” The sun was setting out side and the cave was rapidly becoming dark. Brenda was becoming confused when suddenly Nermana resurfaced near by with a large pink sea shell appearing in her wake.

“Here, get in quickly. There is no time to lose! The sea witch will be awaking soon.”

“Where is my boat, and didn’t you say the Sea Witch would sleep for three days?”

“With the setting of the sun, it will have been three days, now hurry.”

“But where is my ship?”

“I couldn’t find it, and besides this vessel is far superior to your boat, it will take you directly to where you want to go!” Nermana was becoming increasingly uneasy and kept shooting glances past Brenda up through the opening and along the dimming sand dunes beyond, “Now hurry!”

Brenda stepped gingerly into the large pink clam shell that had slowly opened up before her, “This thing will take me to Manbate Island?”

“Is that where you want to go?” The Sea Chick frowned.

“Yes it’s very important that I get there as soon as possible. Do you know where it is?” Brenda found the footing with in the concave ribbed shell to be firm enough with Nermana’s hands supporting it from the lapping water.

“Hmmm,” Nermana paused for a long moment in deep thought. “Sure, I mean I guess so, that is I think I know of such a place, maybe.”

“What do you mean maybe?” Brenda felt a pang of worry for the first time in her chosen companion’s reliability.

“Hold on tight! Shell take her to where the manzies dwell!” And with that the shell leapt forward with a splash and began to race out of the cave through a tide filling narrow gap in a near by wall, as Brenda hands still tied, fell helplessly to her knees in the bucking shells pitching lurch. “Goodbye, and thanks again for the trident!”

And with that Brenda found her self in a madly scooting shell skipping in whizzing speeds whisking across the wide open sea, both the small island of the Sea Witch and the smaller waving figure of the Sea Princess receding in the fading sunlight.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The shell sped through the night and by day break Brenda found her self tossed awake and spit out upon the sands of another strange small island. The shell immediately sank into the waves behind her despite her loud protests to the contrary. Brenda was hungry and tired despite her napping in the tossing shells carapace. Her natural super healing rate that she possessed even with out her power belt kept her strength up but she would need some nourishment and some decent rest soon, and she would definitely need to release her self from these bonds binding her arms behind her back! For now Brenda saw nothing to it, but to press on up the beach and into the fringe interior of the small island hoping to survey something of advantage in face of her current predicament.

“At least the sea weed headed gill girl had got her to Manbate Island, if only the creature had had the common sense of untying her wrists for her first!” Brenda gave her aching wrist another tug but bit her lip at the raw bite of the wet lashings. “Perhaps a sharp rock out cropping would do the trick?” She would need to find something before the hooded figures arrived seeking their relic. She had no doubt that they would have an easier time in getting to the island than she had. She was certain that some one or ones aboard her cruise ship had been those same cloaked figures from St. May’s cathedral and that once put into the life boats they would continue their search for the island by what ever means necessary. Still, Brenda thought she had surly arrived at the elusive isle first and could quickly turn her current set back to a full advantage, once she her self had located the islands ruins and of course managed to set her self free. All in all, Brenda had her hopes rather high and her confidence was not lagging despite her rumbling belly. Finding nothing of value along the coast, Brenda quickly set her tread inland and her tiny sun bronzed body was swallowed up by the heavy sullen forest.

Stepping gingerly over vines and picking her way through the under brush, Brenda was suddenly amazed to find her self standing on a well maintained brick path which she naturally followed expecting jungle growth covered ruins to pop into sight at every abrupt turning, but was absolutely stunned into a momentary pause by the image of a large English county side plantation estate villa that met her unexpectedly in a large lush clearing. She no doubt would have remained a gapping statue upon the brilliant green fringe of the sward gently undulating out before her if a croquette ball hadn’t chosen to roll up to her heel, followed by several young women in long white summer dresses of Edwardian style.

The girls introduced themselves with several well mannered curtsies and welcomes and eventually lead the still puzzled and tied Brenda inside the large sweeping mansion and into the great hall there in. It was here that she waited while the owner of both the house and island was fetched form the laboratory and introduced to her. The owner turned out to be a short stocky woman with a high chin and flaring nostrils who removed a rubber glove to shake her guests hand but upon seeing her bound state simply retracted the hand into a casual pose of curiosity as she spoke. After trying her best to answer as many of the questions prompted to her, Brenda decided to try a few queries of her own and was rewarded with the figure before her responding with great fan fare and self pride.

“Why dear,” the stout little woman smiled, “I’m Doctor Mammary and you’re on the Island of Doctor Mammary!” With that Brenda noted for the first time that several of the young girls that had lead her inside the large dwelling had removed their puffy sleeved loose fitting jackets and revealed underneath thin white blouses stretched to the brink of bursting at the enormous breast flesh barely contained within. As Brenda glanced around her in wide eyed wonder she realized there wasn’t a cup size in the lower half of the alphabet in the large room. The group of girls who seemed to increase in steady number as more entered the room from various door ways and stair cases to peer and whisper over their unexpected visitor kept bringing in a seemingly endless barrage of ever increasing bust size. It soon was apparent that Brenda Wade and her amazing forty-four double ‘D’s were by far the smallest breasts on the island. Not something neither she nor Ms. Americana had ever really experienced before and she found in the mix of awe and jealousness a strange quirk of apprehension. The stares and snickers at Brenda’s small chest sent the billionaire industrialist into an unfamiliar cringe that had her trying hide her puny chest at the gawking gathering of girls all about her, but with her hands behind her back and in her tiny torn pink slip this was not something she could readily do no matter how much she hunched her shoulders and lowered her body. The Doctor seemed to finally notice her unease and with a smile admonished the young girls who were getting louder and more aggressive in their increasingly hostile threats as to Brenda’s little tits. The Doctor leaned in close and with a leering dribbling grin informed Brenda that she would soon help her out of her terrible problem, and just then a line of young girls where lead into the room with another girl helping them walk at each hand and amidst a thunderous joyous rancorous applause from the lip licking mob of girls, the entering line of beaming young ladies inched forward their breast defying description and covering their entire upper bodies and swelling out several feet in front of their cautious steps, swaying their enormous large exposed and engorged nipples, droplets of thick milk seeping forth and running in rivulets down each massive proud round dug. “Ah, you’re just in time for lunch!” The Doctor salivated as the entire horde of young girls shoved forward clamoring in ravished lust to attack the enormous jugs waddling toward them!

Brenda had seen enough, taking the distracted state of the mob pushing past her as her cue to leave, she escaped the house with a sprinting stride and did not stop until she had once again reached the long strip of beach, her sides aching from panting breath and her chest smarting from her own jostled quiet ample enough forty-four double ‘D’s thank you very much! Further escape seemed unlikely and was no doubt why no immediate effort had been made upon anyone’s part of pursuit of her from the house and grounds. Brenda had just collapsed to her knees in the setting sun baked sands when she noticed a strange sight on the beach just a few yards from her. It was a life boat from the cruise ship ‘Liberty’ but it contained not escaping passengers but three bedraggled men and Captain Entice her self! Not bothering to try and fathom this strange occurrence Brenda waited until the small crew had beached the life boat and disappeared into the jungle forest beyond. She realized she could never over power the four with her hands still tied behind her back and in her increasingly weakening condition, but she could steal back the rightful property of her life boat. Which she did. It was something of a struggle to get it pushed back into the surge of the surf with her breasts against the prowl but the thought of Doctor Mammary and her fiendish breast crazed creations gave her thighs power and her feet dug deep into the wet foaming sands. Once past the breakers the swell took her quickly out into deep water and a fast rushing current. She could see no sign of the cruise ship ‘Liberty’ and she thought that odd and disappointing, but with extreme effort she managed to raise the small crafts emergency sail and snaking the mast line around her breasts and placing the rudder handle firmly between her butt cheeks and thighs, she could just manage handling the craft as it soared out into the gathering night and its bursting stars over head.

Morning brought the much welcomed sight of yet another small island to Brenda’s weary eyes. Slipping in and out of sleep in the rocking boat with the rope tugging at her breasts through out the night and the rudder pulsing between her clamping thighs had naturally rubbed out several orgasms from Brenda, but with no power belt in sight she had given up on worrying about maintaining her sexual repression horde. “Shit,” she had murmured through parched lips as another orgasm had rippled through her wet cum drenched thighs, “I’m on vacation after all!” And had giggled an almost hysterical laugh at her uneasy plight.

Brenda rode the waves in and tumbled out of the boat unable to muster the strength to properly beach it. The small craft tore away from her and floated away from her as she sadly watched it go from a panting heap on the pebbled rocks of the rough jagged beach. She collapsed in a pile and for the first time in many years she began to cry as she slipped into a cramped uneasy sleep.

When Brenda next woke it was to shake small crabs out of her sand covered hair and force her sore body onto its feet and stager in land once again looking of food, shelter, fresh water, and some way to sever her bonds. She had not staggered far when she came upon a gathering of small umbrella tables with Victorian hat and coiffed and dressed women sitting about them on an immaculate freshly tailored lawn. Brenda approached the nearest table and woman in erratic stumbles and collapsed into a white iron chair the unfazed proper woman offered her. Brenda felt feverish and the world around her sat hazily upon a cusp of dreams, the proper woman snapped a white lace gloved hand and a young woman in black leather straps and a bondage hood appeared offering two menus.

“What will you have dear?” The proper lady asked as she frowned over her own menu. “Try the red snapper it’s delicious.”

“Alright,” Brenda croaked her parched lips mumbling under her sagging head.

“Oh dear you’re thirsty!” The proper woman snapped her fingers again and another young woman in black leather straps and buckles appeared and unzipped the zipper over her nipple and squeezed the large long brownish red teat into Brenda’s dust dry mouth. Painfully Brenda instinctively suckled at the nipple protruding in corner of her split lips and was rewarded with delicious warm sweet milk. She gulped at it and felt an almost euphoric joy that brought tears to her frustrated and long suffering eyes, such bliss! “There, that’s much better,” the proper lady cooed and she smiled at Brenda who smiled back at her with milk dribbling down her chin. “You’ll feel much better and twice your self in no time at all. MY! You are parched, I’m afraid you’ve drained that one already?!” The woman snapped another finger, and another girl in black leather and latex straps and belts jumped into place replacing the gasping one Brenda had drained dry. This next girl had much larger breasts than the first one and Brenda found herself suckling hard upon the hot dugs, her tongue strenuously working the nipple popping in her hot needy mouth. She feverishly rolled the nipple about in her milk filled mouth and soon the girl was forced to switch to her other breast as Brenda gorged herself upon the young girl’s ripe swollen udders. “Better?” The proper woman had asked. It had taken another four sets of breasts to get Brenda back to her old self and she now sat half slumped in her chair in a semi-dazed almost drunken state with the last girl’s nipple obscenely quivering in Brenda’s almost decadent half puckered slurping debauched orgy of feeding. Brenda could only nod a milky smile and belch a rich deep small satisfied burp in response. “Good, we can have lunch then.” The proper woman smiled and motioned a gloved finger, sending several black leathered strapped girls running to their table with two large silver covered trays between them. They slide a tray before each of them and removed the lids. Upon each tray was a young woman trussed up in leather straps her pussy vaulted up toward the expectant dinners. Brenda watched as the proper lady bent down and began to delicately lick and suck at the young blonde pussy before her. In her half dazed state Brenda did the same with out batting an eye. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for her to burry her face in the juicy red haired pussy before her and in no time at all she felt the rewarding quivers of the red heads orgasm filling her mouth with the sweetest nectar she had ever known.

“Hmm, delicious.” Brenda murmured sending proud blushes to the cheeks of the bound and gagged girl on the silver tray before her.

“Yes, the red snapper is very good this time of year but I can’t resist a fresh young blonde for brunch, you know.” The proper woman dabbed the cum off her chin with a lace napkin, “do you mind if we have a little entertainment while we eat?” The lady opened her eyes wide at Brenda and hesitated with a little silver bell held between her dainty fingers. Brenda could only shake her head ‘no, that she didn’t mind anything at all in this dreamy wonderful place,’ unable to risk raising or opening her mouth to speak up off the red twitching twat before her as the girl was steadily shooting several thick smooth streams of jetting honey flavored cum from her pussy and Brenda didn’t want to dare missing a drop of the wonderful stuff! “Good,” the proper lady seemed genially pleased and she rang her little bell and placed it down on the table before her. In an instant there appeared a young bondage hooded girl between Brenda’s surprised thighs who promptly began licking and sucking her snatch with loud rapid abandon. Brenda could only stare in amazement until she heard the tinkle of several other little silver bells and realized that under all the long lace table cloths all the prim and proper ladies were having their pussies eaten by young girls hiding there.

All around Brenda young women in long flowing white Victorian dresses under large white elaborate bonnets were having their cunts savagely sucked and licked by black leather bondage clad young girls and yet they went on about their little conversations as if nothing were happening beneath their table coverings and long skirting in the slightest .Brenda however despite her best efforts couldn’t manage such a discrete fabricade and soon found her self leaning back in her chair, legs wide, head lolling back, tongue hanging out, gasping as orgasm after orgasm seemed to effortlessly slip out of her body and dance her around in a sweet haze of bliss. Luckily the well mannered ladies about her pretended not to notice the obviously distracted state of their guest and only smiled occasionally behind a gloved hand when a particularly powerful orgasm ripped out of Brenda’s soul and sent her shouting out a loud groaning moan.

The proper lady at Brenda’s table asked Brenda a few polite questions to pass the time as she picked up a thick tube with a straw at one long end and a large round slotted ball at the other which sprang to spinning vibrating life with a deft flick of her wrist, and which she rapidly inserted into the light blonde young snatch of the bound girl before her. She sucked at the gooey jism that soon filled the straw absently as she asked Brenda more questions.

Brenda however was having a hard time concentrating on these questions despite her best brow furrowing efforts as she had grabbed the small silver bell off the table in her teeth during a moment of absolute needful rapture and shook it savagely and now there was no less than four bondage girls working over her pussy to no end and her humping grinding pelvis no longer allowed her taunt ass to touch the chair seat. The orgasms had drained her as rapidly as they filled her and Brenda had several pairs of milky nipples smearing about her gasping face. Despite this she struggled to remain as calm and nondescript as the other formal ladies around her, as such she struggled to answer the proper woman’s questions despite her manic humping of cum covered face and gulping at milk covered breast.

During this informal garden party of conversation the proper lady was surprised to realize that Brenda was in search of Manbate island as their was another young woman who had arrived just the day before in search of the same thing. Deciding that this might be important the proper lady plucked the much reluctant guest out of her sodden chair and despite her airy whines of protest instated that she be allowed to take her at once to the Mistress of Horse.

“Who?” Brenda had dazedly asked still looking back over still bound arms back at the pouting cum covered girls obediently crouched at Brenda’s over turned chair. “I didn’t get to finish my red snapper.”

“There will be time enough for that latter,” the proper woman had scolded as she half dragged Brenda to her waiting carriage. Upon seeing the carriage Brenda came up short and stared in genuine puzzlement. The vehicle was of simple and somewhat familiar design of an old fashioned Victorian trap, but the carriage was pulled by six girls in black leather bondage wear. The women were on all fours, their back legs bent at the knees back up along their thighs in long leather boots that extended down past their knees like small stilts and their arms were like wise encased in similar black stilts. Their heads were encased in black bondage hoods with their long hair pulled out behind in pony tails, ball gags filled their mouths, and tight black straps and buckles covered their bodies but left their breasts and crotches and asses exposed. Both their nipples and clitoris were pierced and large hoops hung from all of them. The guide reigns hung from the carriages central extended pole and fitted into the nipple rings and rang back along the pole to a steering lever. Turning the lever right or left tugged in turn upon the corresponding left or right nipple of each girl and gave her directions upon which to head. The pulling harness attached at each slender waist and the six girls could send the carriage careening along at a rapid gate for several hours of travel. A brake lever rang in small chains to each girl’s clitoris ring and each anus had a large vibrating dildo firmly rooted in it from which sprouted a thick tail of long hair quivering in the air. As the carriage moved the wheels fed into a system of gears that in turn vibrated and rotated the pumping dildos protruding from the bench seat of the trap. It could also be used to supply a hookup of vibrating dildos to each of the pulling girls if the driver so willed it to be set up as such. The proper woman carefully slipped a large dildo up into her and picked up the reigns and her whip and then looked back over at Brenda who hesitated and stared at the strange contraption.

“Where am I?” Brenda wondered out loud.

“Why this is Pony Girl Island, and I am taking you to see the Mistress of Horse. Now be a good girl and get up her at once!”

Reluctantly and still in her post orgasm daze Brenda obeyed the proper lady, the trap leaping out at the pony girls egger excitement at the taste of their masters lash, the jolt sending the still standing Brenda down suddenly upon the thrusting dildo seat and a great yelp of surprised joy escaped her parted lips, “Oh my! This is the only way to travel!”

CHAPTER NINE

The Mistress of Horse resided in a large stone Victorian palace set in a large Victorian square surrounded by large opulent Victorian houses whose streets where full of proper ladies riding on in or making use of pony girls at every corner intersection or nook and cranny of the gas lit storm over cast streets. Pony girls were every where being used as beasts of burden as furniture as sexual gratification objects by long white skirted ladies at every shop window or vender stall. Brenda marveled at it but the rapid vibrating dildo in her swollen pussy wouldn’t let her think clearly enough to make any kind of real opinion about it all, but she was sure if she could just stop cumming long enough that she was certain she would feel some twinge of out rage of women being subjected in such a manner but right now all she felt was another delicious orgasm building and she almost grabbed the whip out of the proper woman’s gloved hand at the sudden stop of the carriage leaving her high and dry. “Such a lovely city, perhaps just once more around the park?” She tried but the proper woman was already ushering Brenda through the large iron gates and up the large stairs to the Mistress of Horses abode.

The great hall where the Mistress of Horse gave them audience was long and elaborately decorated with valuable paintings and sculptures from all over the world. It also was lined with trophies and soldier women in blue leather harness riding on the backs of individual pony girl mounts. The soldiers where armed with long poles whish in turn ended not in razor sharp points but instead in large phallic shaped shock prods that could depending on the selected intensity strike any creature into an orgasmic short coma. Brenda eyed their tall plumed helmets and glittering gemmed nipple coverings with some sense of awe and envy, even their mounts seemed proud and haughty.

The Mistress of Horse turned out to be a young girl who wore the same leather strap and buckled harness as the pony girls did except hers was a bright scarlet red instead of the black seen every where else on the island. She sat upon her throne which was fashioned out of leather and metal rings hanging from the high ceiling and pondered deeply. As was her fashion when the city brought her a problem she fingered the large electro-orgasm whip coiled at her side and cupped her small chin in her other gloved hand. She had a problem all right; two women had recently arrived in two separate life boats from a ship called “Liberty”. Both of the young women where looking for the forbidden island of Manbate, both knew of the dangerous and forbidden relics there, and both claimed their only interest in this venture was to prevent the other woman from reaching the island and removing the powerful relics of the ancient magical race who once dwelled there in their seat of now crippled power. One of them was lying, but which one? She would have sided with the one calling her self Brenda out of respect for her strong aura of innocence, but she knew the girl had recently stolen the trident of power from the Sea Witch, which in its own right would have been a terrible crime, except she gave it to those bubble headed foolish fish people who were always nicking the thing and then being tricked by the Sea Witch into returning it. Still there were laws, and the girl had proved to one of the biggest insatiable sluts the island had ever seen! Which for Pony Girl Island was saying quiet a bit, so she wasn’t sure about the soundness of that first impression of an ‘innocent’ aura. The other girl however had been more subtle and ingenuous, but eventually just as horny, she had a definite mean streak to her, but she hadn’t stolen anything! Besides both of the women where definitely hiding something about themselves, something deep and all consuming, she could really trust neither then to be the honest one. The Mistress of Horse was half tempted to send both of the young ladies on to Manbate Island; the long crescent atoll could easily be seen from the palace roof on a clear day, only an easy one hour pony girl paddle butt boat ride from the north shore. Neither of the two women apparently knew that the island was crawling with walking inseminoid rape plants and some of the horniest magic mutated mammals and reptiles the old planet had ever seen. The place was also a dumping ground for ‘failed’ experiments by Doctor Mammary, and some of the nastier of the Sea Witches conjurations. Then there was the Sentinels of the ruins themselves, a great maze of statues and traps powered by twisted magic of the long dead race that once enslaved and ruled these lost lands eons ago. That nameless ancient race had been unstoppable until faced with the slow withering of their own genetic pool, in desperation they had sought through their arcane arts to seek propagation through mating with any and all at hand. Their desperate sexual mating rituals ultimately proved their undoing but it left the twisted lusting after effects for centuries to come. Yes she was tempted to let the two go off and become breeding stock on that island, but that seemed too cruel a fate even at the hands of the Mistress of Horse, and besides their was always the possibility that one of them might succeed in finding a relic of some notable power and escape with it. Those damn relics where always calling ships to them, trying to escape that accursed isle and wreck havoc out in the greater world. The soldier guards of Pony Girl Island were sworn to prevent that, but it wasn’t always so easy. Their sex based weaponry worked well on the creatures of the Manbate atoll but it was still a dangerous place and not all missions where successful in recovering castaways washed ashore their by the sudden magical storms. Not even the Sea Witch and her great trident could keep all the long grasping reach of the atoll from clutching a ship or two into its bosom.

The Mistress of Horse pondered, looking over the one called, ‘Brenda’ before her now. The other one she had interviewed yesterday and as far as she knew the girl was still in her palace holding cell being ‘serviced’ by a dozen pony girls. ‘What sluts! They would both make truly formable guards! No she couldn’t risk either of them possibly reaching the island in question. They might actually survive hundreds of rapes and crawl out of there with a damn relic after all! Still there were rules, ancient laws, and she would have to be some what clever to work a loop hole to her advantage…’

The Mistress of Horse suddenly shot up right and turned a large smile upon the fidgeting big busted brunette before her with the milk encrusted lips and red swollen genitals. Brenda recoiled from that sneering smile and then sheepishly tried to return it. The young teen age Mistress of Horse burst into laughter that echoed mightily about the enormous hall.

CHAPTER TEN

“So what exactly ‘is’ a Pony Girl race?” Brenda asked the proper woman who was flanked by two blue harnessed guards a stride their pony girl mounts. She was accompanying Brenda to her holding cell as she felt some responsibility to the girl having brought her there before the Mistress of Horse.

“Well, in your case my dear, it’s a formal race between yourself and that other girl to prove which of you are telling the truth. A sort of winner takes all thing.” The proper lady stopped out side the opulent apartments with their barred door that was to be Brenda’s cell for the night. “It will be first thing in the morning, so I suggest you get a good nights rest.” And the proper lady tongue kissed Brenda hard on the mouth while pinching Brenda’s clit, which is how everyone says ‘goodbye’ to one another on Pony Girl island.

Brenda stepped into her rooms whishing she had her power belt. As Ms. Americana she could win any race! If only she were competing against a man she was certain she could win, as it was she wondered who her opponent‘s true identity were? She knew it had to be the leader of the cult, the central robed figure from that night in the dark cathedral crypts. At least she knew it was a woman, that was a new bit of information, and she knew she was here in the palace alone, so close! Brenda sat down on a pony girl who as several others did in the room acted as pieces of furniture, the young pony girl began to lap hungrily at Brenda’s pussy as Brenda in turn off handily ground her plump full hips into the girls receiving face, lost in thought, and yet never once bothering to notice her own arms still! remained tied! “Yes,” she muttered as her eyelids began to flutter with the approach of another orgasm, “maybe it’s good I don’t have my power belt. I definitely think it would be almost useless here. This is indeed a job for… Brenda… Wade!” And she filled with confidence as she filled the pony girl’s mouth with her love jelly.

From her own quarters the Mistress of Horse paused above reams of paper work, the little silver bell in both captives apartments kept up a steady tinkle as more and more pony girls scampered down the halls in response. “By my lash, what magnificent sluts, such a pity to lose them both tomorrow, such a pity!”

The sun beamed down early into the large hippodrome swarming with proper and prime ladies and their pony girls bustling about the long curved walls of marbled seats. Venders hawked items of ware and the long white skirted ladies under lacy and ribbon sun umbrellas found their seats as their pony girls quickly disappeared under their skirts and a low slurping noise began to take on a base note to the excited hum of the festive crowd. Here and there blue harnessed female soldier guards rode the backs of their pony girls mounts, and a few rode on their shoulders, the pony girls made to walk back wards so they could lap at the moist pussy of the guards riding on their special saddles.

‘There’s a definite pecking order to it all,’ thought Brenda Wade. And for the first time she realized there were no males to be seen any where. ‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ thought Brenda as she waited with her blue guard escort. She had been fitted out with a pony girl harness and bondage hood, her long hair pulled back into a pony tail through the back of the tight cowl, it left her mouth and eyes uncovered and Brenda felt rather comfortable in it as she had tried wearing a cowl hood in her early crime fighting days but had found that it restricted to much of her peripheral vision and played no end of havoc with her make up and hair. The rest of the costume consisted of tight constricting belted straps held in place by buckles. From the harness dozens of large and small metal rings hang loose, and the whole odd contraption left her breasts and crotch exposed. They had ‘finally’ untied her arms, only to then bind them into the same position behind her back a black leather sleeve that ran from her upper arms in one continuous tube, it in turn was connected to her neck collar by belted straps and the metal rings dangling here and there. Her legs were encased in thigh high leather boots with insane tip toe twelve inch heels, from which several more metal rings hung.

With the banging of a large gong once found in the ruins of Manbate island the Mistress of Horse arrived in a magnificent cavalcade of chariots and carriages pulled by hundreds of pony girls and with hundreds more of ornate blue guards riding their pony girl mounts shadowing these, they all circled the arena to great fan fare. Brenda had heard that her ‘bout’ was just the opening contest in this week’s great race, a sort of weekly entertainment spectacle and judicial process at the same time. Brenda found the whole thing both confusing and some what thrilling at the same time.

Once everyone had made it to their proper places and a lot of speaking had been done, none of it reaching Brenda’s leather covered ears very well, Brenda found her self escorted out into the arena before the central stands. More fan fare, speeches, as she was promenaded around the outer track before the masses of prim and proper ladies all an ocean of white in their Victorian high collar dresses, their skirts rustling and an occasional pony girl shiny butt peeking out here and there. Finally Brenda was brought face to face with her opponent before the high jutting seat of the Mistress of Horse and the high council of prime and proper ladies, but unfortunately it was actually mask to mask, for the other girl was wearing an identical set up of gear as was Brenda. The only thing she could tell about the young woman was that the carpet didn’t match the drapes, she wasn’t a natural blonde, the neatly trimmed stripe of soft curly hair between the woman’s thighs was dark black and her long pony tail was of a golden blonde. Seeing this Brenda quickly spread her own legs wide apart so that every one could see her own black heavy patch of pubic hair matched her shinny black pony tail, this was after all a test of truth and honesty as Brenda understood it, let them see at once who was a lying bottle blonde slut!

More speeches were made by the Mistress of Horse, the only bit Brenda caught was that the race would simply require each girl to complete one circuit of the track, first across the finish line was the winner and thus the person fate considered just. A bit odd, but Brenda thought she was more than an even match for her opponent, the girl had a body of very similar build to her own, but certainly not her genetic marvel or years of harsh discipline.

Each girl was then lead to the center of the oval race track. The entire circumference of the hippodrome was not that large; it was about half the size of a normal collegiate track and field and gave the whole idea of a race, even in impossible high heels and arms tied behind the back a some what absurd aspect. ‘It will be over in less than a few minutes,’ Brenda thought, eyeing the oval course of the track for some kind of hidden obstacles or traps. There appeared to be none, but to all seemed too easy and she began to worry a bit. She needn’t have bothered. Once positioned in their respective lanes next to one another the race stewards began to finish rigging up the two girls harness much too each woman’s surprise.

A large jewel was belted to each girls fore head and then a large dildo was firmly strapped into each of their mouths. Next the girls were made to squat and their knees were connected by a short metal bar with two rings at each end snapped into the boots rings. Next their neck collars were connected by a series of small chains to various rings on their harnesses, placing them into a hunched over position. Next an enormous dildo was firmly strapped into their cunts and a second one of equal girth secured into their anuses. To each of their nipples heavy claps were screwed into place, these where connected through the harness rings by small chains to the other chains. Once in these elaborate rigs the two girls were given the once over and then the stewards left the track. With a loud bang of the gong the race was under way.

As soon as Brenda took her first awkward step, the dildos in her mouth, pussy, and anus began to gyrate and pulse and vibrate and pump into her offices with increasing merciless speed. The second step sent the heavy nipple clamps into a vibrating sucking hum. Brenda quickly found that each movement was a tug via her chains upon some part of her body, and she moved as rapidly as the heady thrilling sensation attacking her body would let her. She had scarcely made it a hundred yards before her first orgasm over took her; this seemed to some how increase the size and already fevered vibrations of her invading dildos. In less than another twenty yards she came again, then in ten yards, then in five, by the time Brenda reached the half way point at the opposite side of the torturous track she had lost count of the dozens of pulse pounding orgasms that had claimed her body, and now she found her self entering that dizzy realm of multiply unending orgasm that robbed her mind of all but the most primitive of thought and left her body a rag doll of severed mechanical will hobbling along under the crowds roar. Her pussy raw, her mouth gagging, her ass on the verge of exploding, her nipples on fire, and her knees little more than strands of rubber, Brenda Wade finally collapsed into the tan dust of the track her ass pummeling the air with humping straining grateful orgasms!

When next she came to Brenda was being carried upon a litter with the proper lady walking beside her. “Did I win?” Brenda asked wincing at how sore her jaw was.

“It was a draw more or less. The other girl crossed the finish line before you did but your Manbate jewel recorded more orgasms and at a greater intensity, in fact you broke all the previous records, your something of a legend. I think you’ll find you have your own fan club!”

Brenda giggled sleepily, “So what happens now?”

“I’m afraid the law about ties are absolute both you and the other girl are to be banished from Pony Girl island under penalty of death if either of you should willingly attempt to return.”

“Banished?” Brenda frowned, her tits hurt, her everything hurt!

“You’ll be placed in your life boat and taken back outside the triangle to the shipping lanes; you’ll be looked after until a vessel spots you and takes you up.”

“But that other woman is evil! She’ll only return and release that Dinjin upon me.” Brenda tried to rise but felt too weak.

“You have both been bound with ‘for-get-me-knots’ it’s a plant form Manbate island it will wipe away all your recent memories of this place or anything you’ve experienced over the last few days. You both will return to your own world remembering little before you entered the life boats several days ago. Manbate Island which I assure you is the most hideous of death sentences.”

“But if we have no memory of all of this how will we remember not to come back here?” Brenda found the vines tying her body to becoming increasingly warm and soothing and pleasant to the touch, she felt like she was drifting off to sleep which her sore body welcomed desirously.

“Luckily for you both, the Sea Witch has regained her trident of power back from those silly fish people and she has worked a post hypnotic spell which will make both of you long never to return to this place ever again.”

“All these women, are they prisoners here?” Brenda felt herself drifting off into a deep sleep.

“Don’t be silly, each of the pony girls on this island comes from prestigious finishing schools in Sweden. The girls spend a semester or two here and then after a good binding with for-get-me-knots they are returned back to the schools with all of this little more than a distant memory, but each girl is returned perhaps a little wiser and kinder and a lot less stuck up and selfish. As far as the others, well for us this is paradise and we each left our boring hum drum lives out there to choose most freely to live here. It’s very sad indeed that such a choice is no longer yours to make, because we all think you would have found true peace and bliss here. Well, perhaps a little will live on in your deepest, wettest dreams. Well, here we are at the beach; I’ll have to leave you here my little darling.” And the proper young woman leaned over and kissed Brenda deeply upon her pussy lips as only the truest of Pony Girl Island friends do at a parting of sweet sad goodbyes.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Brenda Wade sat up groggily in her Delta-City Hospital bed and smiled at the shadowy figure of Flag Girl who had just slipped into her moon lit room via the window again. Brenda’s recovery was rapid and she would be released tomorrow morning, but even her fast healing rate could not undue several days at sea in an open drifting boat ‘too’ noticeably fast. She had to play along with the doctors expectation, thus for the past few nights she had been lying in bed while Flag Girl went out alone on patrol. Tonight would be different as Flag Girl had brought Brenda Wade her costume and power belt recovered from the cruise ship ‘Liberty’.

The ‘Liberty’ had been recaptured from the pirate Captain Entice and her seedy crew almost immediately after they had taken it over. They had not known about the secret government shipment, nor that the government had installed complete tracking devices on board the vessel just in case. Captain Entice had some how managed to escape with a few of her men and no one was sure where she had disappeared. The ship its self had finally been returned to Delta-City the day before and Flag Girl had retrieved Brenda Wade’s costume and power belt hidden in her state room brief case. Brenda could have ventured out on patrol with Flag Girl using her back up costume and power belt, but her recent drain of sexual energies had rendered this option impossible. Attempting to be discrete about her embarrassing situation she had tried to insist she would wait until her original costume and belt had been recovered. But Flag Girl had already over heard the doctors muttering earlier about how both missing women had been found drifting in their little life boat half naked and obviously sexually well and thoroughly molested by one another for what must have been several days of an orgy. And Flag Girl had not let up in the slightest in her snickering half veiled side remarks about the real reason Brenda Wade couldn’t venture forth as Ms. Americana.

Even now as Brenda slid out from under the hospital covers and took her costume and belt from the leering Flag Girl who remained perched upon the open windows ledge, she hoped her body had recovered enough sexual pent up frustrated energies to power up her belt. She definitely had never felt so horny in all her life! She began with the belt since nothing else would matter if it did not power up properly, and breathed a deep sigh of satisfied relief as it popped and zinged into a steady thrum of deep echoing power. Behind her she could almost see Flag Girls disappointment; she had been expecting certain proof at Brenda Wade’s reluctance at putting on her back up belt, now all proof would be lost. Brenda smiled to herself at that and began to put on the rest of her uniform, but found her self puzzled. The gloves and boots and mask all fit fine, but the bottoms and top seem to have shrunk?! Her top now forced her firm large breasts up and spilling over their cups, her proud large areolas have mooning over the tops sunken lip. The bottoms simply didn’t cover her patch of black silky pubic hair any more, whips of it hung out in tangles at the sides and it split her labia so that folds of her soft downy flesh pinched out on either side.

Flag Girl burst out lifting despite herself and Ms. Americana stuttered out, “The salt air must have shrunk my costume?”

“Then why didn’t it shrink your mask as well?” Flag Girl teased.

Ms. Americana blushed deeply unable to think of a response. “Well, there’s nothing for it. It will have to do for tonight the Warlock is in town and we have to stop him at once!” Flag Girl seemed to shrug at this and turned to leave her own single one piece new costume she had been wearing on the street while Brenda Wade had been missing and Ms. Americana had been ‘hidden’ aboard the ‘Liberty’, apparently trapped in her hidden room by Captain Entice until Flag Girl set her free upon the ships return to port; easily revealing her own hint of soft golden downy hairs as her ass filled the open window. Ms. Americana felt a rising anger at the girls increasing precious nature and flaunting exhibitionism but she really was in no currant position to say much about it.

Sadly Brenda Wade knew what was happening to her young protégé, she had seen it before. Brenda’s own genetically altered body could survive the power belts sexual dynamo of energies that vortex through the libido of the wearer, but so far she had never found another woman who could with stand those same punishing currents. Three previous wards Brenda Wade had adopted, and Ms. Americana had trained as side kicks and each had eventually succumbed to insatiable nymphomania. Luckily Brenda had had the foresight to build a safety switch mechanism into each of her wards power belts, as the sexual problems reached an impractical point, Brenda would reluctantly wipe the young girls memory of her side kick days and with a well earned endowment of Wade funds she would be set out into the world to liver her own life. Publicly it gave Brenda the look of a kind and caring foster parent helping as many underprivileged young girls as she could get a head start in life, privately it saddened Brenda to watch each of her wards leave her side only to end up as little more than tid bits in the gossip column of various foreign papers. But this Flag Girl seemed to be degenerating at an alarming speed and her conduct both as a super heroine and as a citizen was becoming increasingly scandalous, besides her attitude towards her was bordering on snide disobedience!

Brenda would have to do something about Flag Girl soon, but what? And who to replace her with? She would have to be young as older women simply couldn’t wear the belt at all! Some one perhaps a little more intelligent this time. Suddenly as Ms. Americana clambered out onto the window ledge with obstinate side kick she knew! The perfect choice, the young lady she had spent those hazy days in the life boat with, Professor Quim! She would make an ideal side kick, and she would call her ‘Liberty Girl” after the time they spent together in the ‘Liberty’ life boat. Ms. Quim was still in the adjoining hospital room recovering from her castaway ordeal as well; Brenda would cautiously approach her about it all first thing tomorrow. She had a very good first impression about all of this, now about her current side kick? Well, why break tradition she had always done the same thing with her other wards when they had reached a sexually unstable point, she had merely shipped them off to this little Swedish finishing school that all the other CEO’s swore by. It always seemed to turn out well; the girls left it in fine form and launched out on their individual careers with good success. Yes, that seemed the best answer all around. Flag Girl would be finishing up her studies soon and Brenda would make the necessary arrangements. “I lose more wards that way.” Ms. Americana mumbled to herself as she watched Flag Girl lower herself on the repelling line, obviously enjoying the tight rope sliding between her crotch.

CHAPTER TWELVE

It was Ms. Americana Day and Brenda Wade moved slowly over the thick red carpet laid out for her, as flash bulbs popped all about her and camera crews shoved each other to get a better angle. The enormous crowd jostled and screamed and cheered at her and champagne corks shot through the chandelier air. Professor Quim nodded her encouragement and Brenda Wade tried to smile back at her new ward, but the bit in her mouth prevented this as the fat balding man with the ridiculous mustache and side burns yanked her reigns as he howled with laughter from her back as she carried him about the restaurant. A riding crop slapped her ass, ‘hmm,’ she thought, ‘at least the night isn’t a total loss! If only the fat bastard knew how to really use it!’

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!