The following is a work of fiction intended for adult entertainment. Ms. Americana and Got Gal are copyrighted character created by Mr. X and used in kind permission as detailed on his wonderful website. Rook.

SUPERHEROINE QUARTERLY VOL. 100 ISSUE 100!

Ms. Americana had the same problems that other duel identity super heroines had. The people who wanted autographs amidst a terrorist attack at a strip mall. The ducking of annoying paparazzi while in uniform, who only wanted to get peeper shots of a woman’s unmentionables. The adverse relationship between hard working heroine and the rather maladroit men of the police force. And of course the juggling act of keeping the public, press, and police from ever figuring out the privet identity from the public super heroine persona. This later meant clever subterfuge and often risky dual public appearances requiring split second timing of costume changes. It also meant that if one persona or other had some important or unavoidable engagement that the other one had to have a realistic excuse to be out of the publics eye for that same set of circumstances. But sometimes things just worked as a gimmie.

For example everyone in Delta City knew that Brenda Wade was going to take a few days off in order to have her wisdom teeth surgically removed. It would have been suspicious indeed if Ms. Americana, a very close friend of Brenda Wades would have also vanished from the public sight during that same period of time. It would have been far worse though for Ms. Americana to be seen on the streets of the city with swollen cheeks and slurring her speech through Novocain numb lips!

Luckily, GOT Gal had contacted Ms. Americana and being fully aware of her secret identity as Brenda Wade and the dilemma she faced with her dentist ordeal offered a proposal which would help both of them out. GOT Gal had been asked by the wealthy Camilla Bareass to house sit her new inherited family estate, and GOT Gal had suggested Brenda in her Ms. Americana regalia tag along. The general public would know that Brenda Wade was recuperating at Wade Manor and that Ms. Americana was busy helping GOT Gal at the palatial estates of Camilla Bareass. In reality, Ms. Americana could sit in a nice cozy chair by the fire and shut away from the world sleep off the effects of the dental operation with none the wiser.

It was a good plan and Ms. Americana welcomed it. Of course there was more to it than merely house sitting. In fact, it wasn’t house sitting at all! Camilla had recently inherited the old family estates only to move in with her staff and find the place haunted! It was absurd of course, but after just one week both Camilla and her entire house staff had fled. Not wishing to be ridiculed by the rest of the Delta City wealthy she had asked GOT Gal to look into the strange going ones at Bareass manor and do so under a pretense of watching the estate while Camilla took a much needed relaxing three months stay at the family’s Moroccan mansion. To give a greater credence to having two of the cities greatest super heroines house sit a privet estate no matter how luxurious while its owner went off on extended vacation, Camilla Bareass took this opportunity to have the famous Bareass jewelry downtown store’s entire security system redone and modernized. Announcing that the entire inventory of almost priceless world renowned stock would be temporarily stored at the family estate under the watchful eye of the ultimate super heroine team! GOT Gal and Ms. Americana! The entire underworld smelled a trap and sneered as both super heroines made a brief appearance at the Bareass downtown marbled edifice store and then escorted the kings ransom in jewels to the twenty mile distant Bareass estate. A few eye brows were raised in the criminal cartels when on their tv sets they noted that Ms. Americana rode inside the armored car alone and GOT Gal drove the famous flashy patriotic painted Ms. Americana mobile at point of the police escort. But it was forgotten with the marmalade and toast and the morning paper declaring yet another war brewing in the middle east.

There was a great irony in Brenda having her wisdom teeth removed, in that being an Aphrodite gene super woman her increased healing powers would naturally over come the effects of the operation and heal her completely in a matter of an hour at most, but the sleeping gas that would be used upon Brenda Wade in preparing her for the operation would have an unusually long de-habilitating effect upon her because of that self same gene. In fact all forms of chloroform gasses or drugs whose sole purpose was to render one unconscious for surgical procedures had an almost diabolical similar effect upon all Aphrodite gene super heroines, it not only rendered them unconscious with exceptional speed and ease considering their other super resiliencies, but it lasted longer upon them, producing lingering long term effects of confusion and an almost uncanny retarding of higher motor and intellectual functions. In short it rendered a super heroine some what ‘stupid’ for several hours after regaining consciousness. It also had the rather embarrassing side effect of removing all impediments in the individuals psyche against sexual arousal. An Aphrodite gene super heroine waking up from any kind of sleeping esthetic found her already difficult to control womanly ‘needs’ now a raging flood of lusts that her addled mind couldn’t comprehend the reason others might deem them unseemly or needing to be repressed. To put it bluntly a few whiffs of knock out gas and even the most ardent moral super heroine becomes a cock hungry mega-slut!

Naturally super heroines struggle to avoid such encounters and recoil in horror from those few pesky villains who use such techniques in their repertoire, but occasionally one has to bite the bullet and go into a situation of anxious returns and hope for the best. Such it was for Brenda now, those wisdom teeth would have to come out. And Brenda Wade who had never been sick a day in her entire life, would have to be put under in order for the dental surgeon to do his job. This meant Brenda Wade would than have to spend a few days ‘recuperating’ away from prying eyes and tempting innocent un-expecting males who might find their privets being brashly unceremoniously openly fondled in public by one of the richest women in the world somewhat shocking.

And yet for Ms. Americana to go into seclusion at the same time might start the tongues wagging as to who is really behind that star spangled mask. But one couldn’t have the Queen of Justice herself wobbling through the streets groping passersby’s to gauge their packages size and desirability in satisfying her needs or making salacious suggestive comments to a school yard full of Catholic girls! There was no telling how long the after effects of the drug would last. On a normal Aphrodite gene super heroine the effects could be measured in hours, but Ms. Americana used a sexual repression belt to bolster her super heroine powers and thus practiced the terrible price of utter sexual abstinence. As such any knock out drug did unusually longer more powerful effects upon her in releasing her sexual pent up kinetic energies, which the belt would undoubtedly magnify a hundred fold.

Still GOT Gals plan to make a slight public show of the two of them before the downtown media and escorting the jewels to the Bareass estate was about as low risk as one could ask for considering that the red faced drooling slack jawed heavy lidded partner of hers kept boldly staring at her tiny tops bulging cleavage and licking her numb lips. Still after a few close calls the public stunt was over and Ms. A was sequestered into the back of the armored car alone and the journey was then uneventful out of the city and through the rolling hills up into the low mountains where the Bareass estate was situated. Luckily the timing was good and Ms. Americana who as Brenda Wade had her four wisdom teeth removed just three hours ago and vanished into the downtown Wade manor house, was more sleepy than horny yet and GOT Gal managed to get her inside the Bareass estate and into a comfy chair by a fire while she saw to the armored car being secured inside the previously heavily fortified storage building behind the grand house its self. The small detail of police were then left to watch the building and the front gate in shifts while GOT Gal and Ms. Americana policed the deserted interior of the great house with its own priceless artifacts which Camilla had been transferring from her own scattered houses to the once regal family estate. GOT Gal carefully tuned her GOT Gem to the police walkie-talkies and told them to report in to her if anything seemed amiss.

With the jewels basic security taken care of, GOT Gal contacted Camilla for a brief check-in and then set about with the unusual task of settling Ms. Americana into her room. The girl was all hands! It was like trying to wrestle a horny octopus! But luckily her simplified brain was easily distracted and after a few embarrassing gropes of her breasts by those leather gloved hands and some slurred comments about Ms. Americana needing ‘fresh squeezed milk for breakfast’ in the morning, GOT Gal managed to get the lust drugged super heroine to shift her obsession of her tits to a child like wonder at the bag of books and magazines that Brenda Wade had stopped and picked up for herself before her operation.

Ms. Americana couldn’t remember much of anything immediately prior to the operation and simply yelped, “goodies!” In true gleeful wonder at the bag of surprises. After rubbing the shinny bright colorful pictures in the magazines she found a book full of monster and ghost stories called, “One hundred and one stories to affright!” She turned to the section on zombies and began to thumb through the title page. Newly engrossed in her new book, GOT Gal tugged her top back into place and breathed a sigh of relief as she quietly tip toed out of the room. She had a house to invest age, a little ghost story of her own to unravel and now that she new that Brenda was safely away in her room away from the prying eyes of the press and the jewels were safe under lock and key guarded by sadly men, but still within her immediate call to rescue, it was time for her to scourer the house and grounds for signs and clues for Camilla’s related tales of the haunting had indeed piqued the super heroines thirsty curiosity.

As she slowly closed the door, GOT Gal glanced behind her at the mere minutes ago simmering lustful sex pot now transformed into an almost juvenal innocent girl in a brightly splashy bikini cuddling up with a good book before a warm fire and smile and blew her a kiss whispering, “night hon.”

The door closing unnoticed behind her, Ms. Americana thumbed to a title which had caught her shimmering eye and pulling her booted knees up to her chest began to read:

THE WHITE STAR OF INDIA

The fog that roiled and boiled up the low uneven hills and spilled and filled the shallow swath of short valleys along the sea coast shimmered in the midnight pale with a consistency of toppled sedimentary sand bars through the cool hushed streets so many un-tuned still hours before dawn. The fog did not part with the sharp report of a bold step but struck and clung to all it bruised its self up against; so that Kristi found her leather booted small feet in a crushing wet white silky swirl of high backed hissing cats of fog as she strode purposely forward in the gray milky pitch, the crunch and clack of coble stones wetly echoing her skirting rustle and half deadened footfall of her blind listing search.

She bore no lamp and the oil wicks of the irregular street lights burned feebly in the heavy cotton air of clay swirled coiling strands of un-torn but elongated filament air of her uneasy wake. She paused with one dim ember of flickering street light behind her and nothing but narrowing dark all before, and the wisp and tangle of the slow dancing air stuck to her as if she were a sweaty laborer in a carding shed on shearing day. With her well corseted hart thumping madly in her throat, a stranger to this land, she plummeted forward into the mocking sublime ballet of the night fog until the agitated rhythmic lapping roar of the jetties over came the rifle shots of her uneven footfall.

A low swinging wooden sign on creaking salt blackened chain slick with dew reflected a winking light of a near by yellowed smoke smeared window, a glass mildewed eye in the dead face of the white shroud night, and she made her way to it, with the uneasy sinewy pounce of the fog imbued open water slapping about the invisible shore seemingly within an impossible simple arm reach of her cold blue ungloved right hand.

She never reached the warm light of the common house. A shamble pile of inky shadow soiled glimmer dripping casks, nets, and crates harboring to one bean pole leaning shunted corner of the wharf building spit vowels at her, and she was struck dead in the sudden cold night air, pinned in place as if by a headhunter’s spear. As a shudder of shadow divested its self from the shoal of hulking shape in the fog and pinched off bobbed and weaved in place, waiting for her to finish their mingled approach. She swallowed hard the copper taste in her parched small mouth and made three halting steps toward the oily shape but found she could will herself to go no further. The shape leaned forward as if realizing this and in doing so a soft nigh invisible shaft of the near by yellowed light twinkling off the rocking sign struck the shadow into the hideous figure of a way worn man.

The face was an impasto of gray fog, blue night, and jaundiced yellowed tavern spilt light, too quickly painted amidst the tatter and wet cloak of layers of unwashed gaudy garments stripped of all care into a moldering scum of base black hewn survival. The unsteady light lent the ragged age battered beggary features no warmth or personable glow, but as if by some cruel intent lacking respect of hard pressed wanton survival, it instead cast all in a hellish infernal impersonal cold humorless horror stripped of individual suffering and humanity, as a preacher dose God in his Sunday sermon.

Kristi recoiled despite herself at this image of damnation coughed up so suddenly before her. And the slack lips of the earth bound fiend trembled at the brief flash of acknowledgment of its lowly state impressed as recognition beyond its dried up well of pain. The sign creaked and it vanished into the dark, creaked again but only its voice was heard. It had leaned back into the wet pile of shadows.

“You are looking for Malcolm Star.” The creatures voice was not the rasp of street dust and turpentine she had expected but rather the even balm of a learned man of substance and means and this struck her with a shudder of revulsion she could not repress in the increasing cold bane of the disenchanted night. It had not been an inquiry but a statement and it did not wait out her initial shock for her to untangle a reply. “You will not find him. For three days now, you have been busy about the port asking after the ship, ‘The White Star of India’, but it is not a ship you are after, but a man you seek. You will not find him. His father Jacob Star, the former Governor of the Isle of Bantamie, has taken up residence in the great villa up in the hills of this island. But Malcolm is not there, Malcolm is no longer anywhere. But only the Governor of Bantamie can tell you anything about that. You should go home, Kristi Star, you should go home. Your uncle is not the man you once thought you had known, and your playfellow of youth is beyond mortal reach.” The voice stopped. The silence impeachable.

When Kristi fumbled her way the last few steps to the lip of the rubbish heap, there was nothing of the man to be found, his nest of coiled ropes was empty. Kristi thumbed the small scrap of paper left for her scarcely an hour before at her hotel that had lead her out into an alien landscape of impellent dangers to this odd and terrible place and the increasing strangeness of it all, she left off worming the small parchment in her dress pocket and rubbed her numb arms in the increasing cold, it would be dawn soon. At least she had some definitive word of her uncle. Her thousand mile journey was nearing its end.

India was not yet the indelible jewel in the scepter Isles crown, but several of her costal islands, a great pod of hump backed ringlets of high forested cuds of land, had already followed in sway to whatever flagged fortress was seated overnight on its rocky pocked shore and its long suffering natives pledging obedience within any glistening columns march. As such many men including her uncle, had found ample opportunity to find fortune through the great trading company to take up residence on these chains of jade amidst the cobalt and azure and squeeze money seemingly out of the very humid air. None of these Viceroys and Governors had generated so much profit over such a short time as had her uncle Jacob Star. His little conglomerate of three tinny islands had produced more tea and rubber than all the other smoky crater larger islands all put together. When he had sent for his son to come join him, Malcolm had joyfully resigned his Naval commission and gone readily to his fathers side. That had been less than two years ago. Since then some great tragedy had befallen the main isle of Bantamie and Malcolm’s pledge to write to her had failed to generate a single letter once he had arrived at the island its self.

The villa in question that Kristi set forth the following day to seek out was on the lip of the high cliff west shore and was only approachable by a precarious set of footpaths winding up the slumbering giant volcano that gave this island its name, Namor. The villa its self was known simply as the House of Namor as it was the only residence of substance on the island outside of the port shanty town which confusingly also bore the name ‘Namor.’

It took Kristi the better part of a hot humid day to brave the jungle paths and with the rapidly setting sun reach the gates of the villa with the long fingered night shadows already over spilling the rosy crescent of visible sky behind the houses slash of man forced glade. The island of Namor had lost much of its brief luster with the removal of the posted garrison some two months back and degenerated into its current state of a rabble pirate port within days of the tall ships leavening. The timber walled and gated compound of the villa hardly more than a month old, already showed the astonishing signs of rot and depredation in the short time of its governors removal with his troops. That her uncle would willing confine himself in such a place of reeking squalor puzzled the girl, and she brushed back the lose soft black lock of hair from her sharp blue eyes as a lone hunched figure finally answered her long shouts and poundings and as a desperate last resort a shot of the lone heavy pistol she now wore at her side. The crude palisade gate opened on a creak of leather hinges and revealed the lower half of the two story white washed house that did little to dismiss her misgivings at her uncles current choice of residence. She could only mentally remark that whatever terrible tragedy that had befallen Batamie and its two smaller nameless sister isles and sent her uncle fleeing to this even more remote and seemingly inhospitable place for refuge must have been truly monstrous indeed.

The smell of salt peter and sulfur was still wafting about her petty coats from her brash pistol call for admittance when she was unceremoniously ushered into the prescience of her uncle Jacob Star and she leapt into his arms despite her uncertainly of her environment and growing dread of what she would rapidly discover about her true friends fate. Her uncle Jacob and Malcolm were the only family she had left in the world and she was greatly relived when the notoriously obtuse man over came his obvious initial surprise and hugged her back and kissed her forehead in greeting.

The evening diner was sumptuous if spare and the table of two was cleared away by the same glum slack jawed hunch back who had opened the log lashed gate for her and in turn seemed to be the only visible servant and occupant to her uncles current household. He vanished to his duties and being alone with the curtsies and repast behind them Kristi could not bare the gnawing questions her uncle had shunted off again and again any longer. Her uncle sensed this at once and without any new prompt upon her behalf rose from his chair and proceeded to pour both drink and story to her hungry heat dulled senses.

“When first I beheld Batamie proper, I had little prospect of her real worth,” the towering barrel chested man began. “She was little to look at. Three mangy fishing villages and mile after mile of dangerous jungle rot. But I set to work and soon we had half the island burned down to good black soil and rows of tea and rubber trees imported and planted. I could not believe how fast things grow in this volcanic soil. Soon we were up and running. But it wasn’t until I met a seedy old Dutch man named Von Toth that the true prospect of profit emerged. He heard tell of this struck off priest, defrocked, out cast, from some near by island temple, a chap called Xerat. Now Xerat had this proposal, if we could help him re-gain access to the island temple he would in turn help out in our labor problems. You see ducky, the pinch of it is, the natives don’t want to work, and a great chunk of the land has to be used up in growing fodder for them and housing them and all that rot. But this Xerat fellow had a solution to all of that, but first we had to get him back into the temple. Which we did. In fact it was pudding, the whole ‘complex’ was nothing but some palm frond huts with a few dozen priests all hunched down around this black stone crude arch in front of a pit. A few good stout men and musket shots and that was that. Could have done the whole thing with sabers. Anyway, in goes Xerat down into this snug hole and out he comes with a staff and an armful of scrolls. I sent a few men in and they came out with some handful of semi-precious stones, but Xerat was right, his haul was the mightier.” Jacob paused looking into the embers of the dying fire and re-stoked the fire place with a blackened saber kept nearby for just such a purpose.

“We returned to Batamie proper and Xerat fell to work to keep his part of the bargain. Using a scroll and the staff to stir it, he worked up some foul smelling gruel that he said would make the natives work night and day. They would never tire, and never need to eat anything other than that disgusting ash pile of gruel once a day. It fell out just as he said. The natives never slept again, and only needed a mouthful of that slop once a day. We tore down their huts, made away with their gardens and covered the entire three isles with cash crops. In addition, the gray gruel made the natives unquestionably obedient, it was heaven! In less than a fortnight we were turning profit! But then ole Von Toth got squeamish. He thought it was somehow unnatural and wrong. But we took care of him and that gave us another worker and more profit for myself and Xerat. But then I began to question the arrangement? Could I trust that scoundrel Xerat? Of course not, because the workers were more loyal to him than anyone else. But it took me a while to learn his secrets. It was the staff in the end. No hocus-pocus there, the wood you see, that old gnarled black wood, had some kind of chemical in it that added the final ingredient to the stew as you stirred it. Once I ‘sussed that, it was just a matter of marching some men up to his shack and taking it by force. But the old bastard escaped, sans staff. And though he couldn’t make anymore of his living dead men, he could still over command those thousands we had choked the islands with. We had gathered them up from all around in raids. Thousands of the bastards. And now they attacked us.”

“It was during this time that Malcolm arrived with his ship of a hundred stout men. But even that fortuitous circumstance wasn’t enough. We had to burn the whole island to destroy them all. Still it looked like we might pull it all off, but I sent my last good man out with The White Star of India, the great pride of the ships under my command, to gather more reinforcements and much needed supplies. We saw her return shortly there after and rushed down to the gated dock to unload her, but Xerat was a clever bastard. He had sent out his minions on crudely made rafts and surprised the White Star as she waited for the tide to make it through the harbors mouth. They slaughtered and ate the crew, and hid themselves inside the cargo crates we lowered down to the dock. In a terrible paralyzed hart beat the beasts had gained access inside our walled compound. It was all over then.

In the end only a handful of us escaped that great plague of death. But Xerat escaped as well in command of the White Star of India herself no less, and has been hounding me for his staff ever since. He still has a few of his enslaved lot, but unable to make their gruel for them they decay on the hoof, though they seem incapable of dying proper. They devour any living flesh at hand, but it dose not seem to prevent their rot, only the soup of the staff can do that. Without that soup they are filled with an unquenchable hunger for blood.” Here again Jacob paused and turned to stare at the befuddled girl. Suddenly he started as if he had made up his mind and motioned to her.

“Come here girl, I’ve a sight to show you that will prove my tale to you.” And with that he strode from the room stooping in mid stride to pluck up a large heavy staff from the shadow of a corner and vanished without a backward glance. Kristi hovered uncertainly about her chair and then hurried after her departing uncle. He lead them to a back room and a closet cramped under a servant stair and tossing the small paneled closet door aside, reached in and struck match and lit an old whale oil lamp. He gave one quick look over his beautiful questioning niece’s face and then exploded through the small door and down a hidden stair contained within the white paneled closet.

Kristi paused but a moment and then ducked and followed her uncle and the dim light half concealed by his large corky bulk. The wood steps soon gave way to rough uneven rock and Kristi realized at once that they were descending into one of the many volcanic fissures which riddled many of these islands.

“The governor of this island had his house built over a fissure that leads down to a hidden cove, just in case he needed to escape any uncertainties to his rule.” Jacob raised the lantern and reveled a long serpentine crag filled with sea water and a large unmistakable ship; The White Star of India!

Kristi frowned craning her small white shapely neck, and moved from behind her uncle to stand next to him on the small ledge. There she could see clearly the great tall ship its masts almost touching the citadel of craggy rookeries above. Her uncle motioned her to a swaying rope ladder anchored by iron spikes into the rock at their feet and gingerly Kristi lowered her self down onto the first wooden rung careful not to snag her dress as she did so on the sharp harsh open rocks all about her. Her uncle set the lamp down next to them in order to help her start her descent upon the ladder. Kristi paused once she was away from the dangerous out cropping and swaying gently in the free black void. “I thought you said Xerat had captured and taken the White Star, uncle?”

“That I did lass,” Jacob now picked up the lantern and held it out above her to help light her descent.

“Then how did it end up here in your possession?” The ladder seemed to sway and buckle on some unfelt wind and Kristi wished her uncle would put aside the lantern and steady the ladder for her again.

“Well, now that be true. But our gallant Malcolm won her back for us and we all escaped certain death upon her and after some deliberation I sailed her here.”

“Then Malcolm didn’t die fighting the dead men on Batamie?” Kristi felt a sudden rush of joy swell up in her hart and nearly missed the next rung as she continued her descent.

“Watch your step miss. Well, it breaks my hart to tell it, but my own son turned against me. So in many ways he’s as good as dead to me, and yet a father and an only son, well, mortality is a strange grafter. Once the zombies had taken over the compound and we knew all was lost, there was no recourse but to try and recapture the ship and escape upon her. Malcolm did this, leading but the few men of the living we had left. But once on board and secured and made way to escape who should we find cowering away in an aft hold? But old Xerat himself. He was always a schemer and quick tongued, and away he went with this notion to me about how the laborers had not proved very attentive for tending living crops, but imagine what they could do if set to the task of working a simple mine on the mainland? Malcolm wanted to slay him at once, I wanted to hear some more details of his new prospective endeavor. Unfortunately, I had let Malcolm believe that I had been ignorant of this Xerat’s plantation scheme, and now it became unavoidable that he became aware as Xerat prattled on and on, that I was far from innocent and that we indeed had been fast partners in it. Malcolm did not take this well. Nor did he like the prospect of my interest in this new endeavor of Xerat’s.

Oh, how it pained me so to lock him up in chains and hear him howl with hunger and thirst in the ships hold for so many nights and days. Eventually he gave into base necessity and ate the ash stew I had made for him. And then a more obedient and compliant son no father ever had! As far as Xerat, I slayed him at once of course.” Jacob sniffed. “Well, after I had plied his contacts and details of this new scheme from him.”

Kristi swayed upon the rope ladder looking up at her uncle in horror. Her attention being diverted betwixt the angry tussle of the ladder below shook by the low wailing winds shuffled through the valley of rock and her bemused uncle’s face above. She decided to rapidly re-climb back up to him. Jacob pulled a short knife from his belt and slowly began to saw at the rope ladder. Seeing this Kristi stopped her ascent and reversed herself and began to quickly descend again into the darkness below. Suddenly a flash of light shot past her. He uncle had casually dropped the lantern and it sailed past her to shatter upon the rock floor not so far below. In its explosion of glass and tin and spray of oil light, it revealed a garish scene of horror, hundreds of milling slack jawed unblinking men, several who were poorly attempting to work their stiff ungainly limbs to climb up the ladder. At least two had managed to half the distance from the floor to her and in the flash of dying light she saw an unearthly hunger in their eyes above their salivating gnashing low moaning mouths.

From the dark above her she heard her uncle’s voice oddly calm in the growing darkness. “I’ve gathered a few hundred able bodies for my mines already, as you can see, well, if the lamp hadn’t snuffed it, you could see. But I have run out of some of the essential ingredients for the stew, and I have to wait for those to arrive by ship before we can set sail. In the meantime the natives have been getting a little restless and I need to re-stock the ships larder so to speak. If you don’t mind you can do me a service there, by continuing your climb down you can take a stroll around the ship I named after your mother whom you have grown so much a like and say hello to my son, or you can come back up here and give me a new son. The choice is yours. Just remember that terrible little accident that befell your mother and father when she chose my brother over me. Remember it and choose well.”

In the dark Kristi felt a clumsy clammy hand brush at her ankle and she screamed!

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The Bareass mansion was in its self, an out dated relic of the later 1800’s, with the newly crafted high security shed now housing the armored car and its contents being the most modern building on the entire estate. The next newest building was the pump house which replaced the original water wells and it was built in 1927! In fact, though the place had been gutted several times to realign it with the current trends in modern connivances such as electricity and indoor plumbing, the house its self still retained all the decrepit and rather repressive elegance and qualities of a starched collar bygone day. It looked and felt like some third world countries left over British grand hotel, missing only the bullet holes of uprising in the lath and plaster walls.

The history of the Bareass mansion like many palatal American estates was twisted and convoluted as much as the blood lines of its scandal riddled owners. The original opulent house of wood and stick construction built to emulate the fabricade of marble of the then more wealthy neighbors, complete with resplendent colonnade, had housed the first Bareass, the monarch Simon Bareass, who had made and squandered several fortunes in land dealings. Had passed from father to fist son for generations, despite the divergence in the 1850’s of the Bareass marrying one of their daughters into the east coast Blueball family. There were considerable lawsuits as the Blueball’s produced several male rivals to the Delta City Bareass estate when the Bareass’s had produced only females in response, and the original patriarchal Simon Bareass Will stating only the first born male heir could inherit the lands and home. A legal loophole was enacted by the females of the Bareass family in that they kept their family name even in marriage and somehow the Bareass’s had kept hold of the properties until in the late 1970’s the estate had finally fallen into the hands of the first born male of the Blueballs family; one teenage swinger named Barbary Blueball. Bar, as his friends called him or would have had he had any, had managed to squander away the entire Blueball fortune and properties and was amazed he had found himself out of hock and the owner of the Bareass estate as well as its still sizable maintenance trust funds. In a hart beat, the long greasy haired rail thin teenager in stripped bell bottoms and love beads had sacked the staff and set up shop with his latest mad cap scheme, a magazine called, “SUPERHEROINE QUARTERLY!”

To everyone’s wonder it was a hit! Subscriptions soared for the shinny perfect bound magazine that offered exclusive interviews with super heroines as well as blow by blow coverage of their latest battles and crime fighting efforts to bring justice back to the world. The mag was seen as being highly pro-feminist which was odd as the man producing it was well known to be an utter male chauvinist pig! Bar kept a harem of young women for his hedonist pleasure in his new digs and threw endless parties that became legendary for their sexual orgies, drugs, and booze. But still the magizine became the battle cry of women’s rights and liberties throughout the 70’s and early 80’s. In the latter 1980’s the ‘literary’ phase of the magazine gave way to pictorials and increasingly more and more risqué street images of with decidedly sexual over tones. This degeneration continued until by the early 1990’s the once prestigious premier feminist SUPERHEROINE QUARTERLY! Now was little more than a scandal mag with gossip columns on the various super heroines and chock full of paparazzi photos of nipple slips and up the skirt panty shots of famous super women. By the late 1990’s the magazine began to run its first ‘SUPERNUDES!’ a centerfold selection with look-a-like models in super heroine costumes or sometimes the down on her luck fringe super heroine needing to cash in on a career going south.

By the turn of the century the magazines most popular sections included ‘BEST SUPER ASS’ and ‘BEST BUST’ and had the readers vote for their faves. Every super heroine was outraged by this latest atrocity against their dignity while secretly picking up the readers survey poll to see how they placed!

At the same time, mounting debt from his personal spending even outstripping his magazines success and numerous lawsuits had forced Bar to relinquish control of the Bareass estates to Camilla’s army of lawyers and shut down his magazine. Nearly penniless the now middle aged man still roamed the streets with his camera still capturing nipple slip picks of unwary super heroines and selling them to the new generation of website super heroine webzines. The super heroines still called him the ‘cockroach’ for his scandalous pictures of themselves and his rather legendary sized penis and sexual appetites. In fact it was rumored that several super heroines had used his weakness of uncontrollable lust for a ‘quickie’ to reclaim a rather damaging picture the ‘cockroach’ had somehow managed to obtain of them in a compromising position..

Down, but not out, the women of the super heroine community eyed the cockroach with a wary eye, there were numerous rumors that the cockroach was planning a ‘comeback’ and nothing said comeback like unmasking a super heroine!

GOT Gal continued her saunter through the eerie halls of the mansion that was still a clutter with half opened cases of Camilla’s collections from her own travels and of those artifacts that the Bareass family had stripped from the house prior to Bar moving in in fear that he would sell the place bare to fund his pleasures, which in the latter years he in fact did!

Weaving through the hallways stacked with packing crates GOT Gal noted even some of the smaller upstairs rooms had been completely filled with packing crates of items left unsorted. In just two weeks Camilla and her house hold staff and security personal had fled in fear from the ghostly haunting. Camilla had at first naturally thought Bar Blueball was behind the spectral shenanigans, trying to drive Camilla Bareass from her rightful place, but this was no middle aged potbellied hippie sneaking through the twisting hallways at night and ringing bells and moaning and moving things about!

GOT Gal agreed, but she doubted it was some lost soul from beyond the grave as well. In fact, the buxom avenger had a pretty good who the culprit was, but she couldn’t be sure until she found what she was looking for and that for a moment had eluded the long blonde haired vixen.

GOT Gal had noted that Camilla was NOT the first Bareass to move back into the Bareass estate after the bankrupt Bar Blueball had been driven out. Though it had been her money and lawyers which had finally concluded the decades old settlement, as per Simon’s will it was the oldest first male Bareass who inherited the estate once Bar had been vacated by the Sheriff. And that person had been the elderly eccentric would be inventor, Ebenezer Bareass. Wheezer the Geezer, Camilla remembered all the Bareass children calling the old fart from their childhood. She didn’t care the absent minded old man was ushered into her victory estate, at least he was a true Bareass and wouldn’t keep trying to sell off the land like the broke Bar Blueball was attempting!

Besides the mumbling old skeleton surly wouldn’t outlast the winter in the drafty old mansion which Bar had let run down into a ruinous state in order to funnel all the up keep money into his own lint lined pockets. And he didn’t, after moving his few belongings consisting almost entirely of his books and experimental gadgets, he had vanished?! No foul play was discovered but the police did suspect some drifters caught latter in another state after killing a small family and trying to make off with their belongings had done the same thing to poor old Ebenezer. The drifters had done such things in a long string of killing and robbing isolated farm houses in a three month spree, unfortunately the two men had been killed in the attempt to apprehend them and the whereabouts of many of their victims seemed destined to remain lost for all time. The Bareass estates was in a direct path of their destruction and fit the m.o. perfectly.

After a few months of legal wrangling the extended Bareass family gave Camilla the nod and she began moving in and reclaiming the so long lost family estate. Only to come up face to face with what seemed to be the angry ghost of her murdered relative, Ebenezer Bareass!

GOT Gal had a different theory. The notion that an eccentric inventor moves into a large remote mansion, sets up his lab, and promptly vanishes, seemed to lead her personal experiences with the strange and unusual mind to the conclusion that the amateur eccentric had concocted some kind of device that had opened a door way and let something from another dimension through. Something with a puckish naughty warped sense of humor who didn’t want company in his house and who displayed a rather perverse horny design towards all women, if the statements Camilla and her staff had given GOT Gal were true.

Ebenezer had either been teleported into another dimension perhaps when the creature had come through or else been destroyed in the events occurrence. What GOT Gal needed and now sought was this hidden laboratory of Ebenezer Bareass. She felt confident that if two derelict wandering murderers in a rusted pickup truck had killed Ebenezer Bareass, they wouldn’t have then bothered to fill up their truck bed with numerous crates of test tubes and Bunsen burners, and yet several truck loads of such equipment had been brought to the house with Mr. Ebenezer when he had taken up residence along with a library full of books, which had also not been found when the police and latter family had searched the place from top to bottom! That the house had numerous secret passages were no secret, Bar Blueball had found several of them and shown them off to his house guests and there was even a ‘try and find a secret passage’ party game that they played from time to time.

But obviously old Ebenezer had found a room or suit of rooms somewhere discreet enough that no one else had discovered them and well hidden enough that no one since had relocated them. GOT Gal now needed to find these rooms if to further her investigation and prove her theory correct!

Ms. Americana had finished reading the short zombie story “The White Star of India” and feeling a little peckish had opened the little plastic camping cooler that GOT Gal had left beside her over stuffed chair. It was full of ice and bottles of water and most importantly a pint of “DREAM CREAM ICE CREAM” raw cookie dough! This stuff was as rare as uranium! It was made by hand by a small local dairy not too far from the Bareass estates and sold for seventy dollars a pint! But this ultimate luxury treat was simply delicious and the few stores in Delta City that carried it were always sold out. There had even been a police inquiry into a ring of alleged wealthy women in the city trying to unfairly purchase the product ‘before’ it hit the shelf! Rhonda Spears the wealthiest woman in Delta City and in the top ten wealthiest women world wide and also on most reporters top ten list of various super heroine alter ego possible identities and a major pain in Brenda Wades posterior, had been implicated, but the entire investigation had gone no where fast and suspiciously the police department unveiled fourteen new squad cars soon after the inquiry died down.

What no one knew about the scrumplicious dessert treat, was that it was being manufactured by none other than the ‘Porn-o-pine’ who discovering that in addition to the oils in his quills having a highly aphrodisiac effect on all women, that his sperm had this same effect but in an even more potent concentrated form. He had hidden himself away in a small dairy farm on the outskirts of the city and using his chemical genius had set up shop manufacturing the frozen concoction that made all women nearly swoon with giddy rapture, in hopes of being able to finance his further experiments and leave the small time knocking over of beauty saloons, health spas, and beauty pageants behind him. He found that running around the city at night in his costume was just to dangerous and nerve wracking for his more refined sensibilities and this current endeavourer was much more in keeping with his desires. Except he just couldn’t ‘make’ enough of the principle ingredient! It took several ‘loads’ from his nut sack to have enough sperm to manufacture a case of Dream Cream Ice Cream! The more ice cream he produced the less time and energy he had to work in his lab! It was a lose-lose situation and the Porn-o-pine realized the trickle of funds being brought in were not enough considering the toll on his time and the unhealthy interest that women and invariably the press and then the law were beginning to have about his product. Still, he wasn’t ready for his big ‘score’ idea yet, not in face of the ever present super heroine community just waiting for men such as himself to poke their heads out to invite them to play ‘wack-a-moe’ with their skulls!

But there was another possibility, he might be able to vat clone his sperm, and thus be free to work on his other projects while the little guys reproduced themselves which would solve his scarcity of saleable product supply problem as well. The trouble was, cloning wasn’t his field of expertise. In fact he knew nothing at all about it and it would take many years for him to learn such a difficult field of science, but there was an eccentric expert, a gifted amateur who was considered more of an inventor for odd gadgets but who had dabbled extensively in genetic theory. His notes might prove very useful as he had been working on some government NASA studies for advanced multiple reproductions for vat cloning of simple organic foods for starving third world countries. And the old nut had lived not far from his dairy farm! The eccentric fellow had gone missing some time back from the Bareass estates, but his lab had never been found and that meant that his notes and all his priceless equipment and experiments must still be there!

The Porn-o-pine gingerly slipped his super villain costume’s nut hugger skin tight bike shorts on over his sore small package and placed his goggles on over his small beady eyes, while Ms. Americana swilled down each luscious drop of her spunk laced ice cream, a squat rotund figure slipped out of the old dairy barn past the few dozen head of milking cows through the gate and down the road in the midnight pall before turning in across the fields toward the Bareass estate not more than a mile as the crow flies across the pastures away. While the icy concoction caused a slow warm spot of damp to spread across her own skin tight g-string bottoms, Ms. Americana was about to have an unexpected visitor who knew as nothing about her presence at the Bareass estate as she knew of his approach to it!

GOT Gal was flummoxed. Her search through a third of the great house had produced nothing out of the ordinary. Well, the ordinary of a great maze like mansion with dozens of secret passages which she had discovered and been lead from one floor to the next and back again in a confusing muddle of turnings and winding stairs. Most of the rooms themselves were bare or filled with stacks and stacks of unpacked crates or piles of furniture waiting to be properly placed. Only a few rooms on the lower floor and a few bed rooms on the third floor had been readied, but these had then been disemboweled when Camilla had uprooted herself and her staff for their European trip. This left the old mansion with its outdated antique lights (many of the lighting fixtures had been removed and sold by Barbary Blueball in his last few months of bankruptcy and had not yet been replaced by Camilla, thus leaving the already dimly lit house even darker!) scarcely cast a glow in the high ceiling hallways and did little to light the strange shaped rooms that seemed piled on to the house rather than carefully planed and laid out during its initial construction. It all added to a much more deserted and ruinous feel to the house than it properly deserved, and heightened the tense anxious nervousness that GOT Gal now felt as she silently crept along yet another musty carpeted corridor that seemed to have no other purpose than to lead her from one irregular room to the next and then dead end in a small niche, yet again?!

GOT Gal shook her head and began to carefully back track, other than the brand new security shed out side housing the jewelry truck and its armed police escort, the only other new-ish addition to the house its self was the few rooms that Barbary had gutted and refurbished during his brief tenor of the estate. These being the dance floor party room down stairs on the main level and an odd grotto stone swimming pool room built into one of the basement areas, both of those construction projects had unveiled secret wall passages and had triggered Barbary‘s occasional hunt and discovery of more such hidden rooms and hallways. He would have gutted the entire place if he hadn’t been spending his entire fortune on wine, women, and drugs! And all of it from photos of her and other super heroines tits and ass!!! It made GOT Gal shudder with repressed anger and she punched one powder puff blue satin opera gloved fist into the same accrued open palm other and sneered at the walls that seemed to almost defy and mock her with an near conscious malicious intent.

Doors seemed to close on waifs of sudden unfelt drafts and lock and lights flickered and went off and loud noises seemed to explode in empty hallways and rooms, but as unsettling as all of this was there was no sign of Camilla’s much warned lecherous ghost! According to the furiously feminist Camilla and all the members of her entirely female staff this particular ghost stole all their undergarments from their rooms, from the laundry in the basement, and in the last few days, even off their sleeping bodies! It pinched their bottoms and groped their breasts at all hours of the day and taken to fondling them as they slept! The very last straw had been Camilla being rudely awakened by what had felt to be a quiet sizeable male sexual appendage wedged into her sleeping mouth, she had wrestled free and upon flipping on the nearby lights had found herself alone in the room! The door and windows had been locked from the inside and she was certain that there had been only seconds from her shoving away from the horrible penis in her mouth and flipping on the bed side lamp, no one could have slipped away into a secret passage in that time. A thorough search of the house and grounds had found that the ghost had tied up several of her young staff and was undoubtedly planning to return to them to abuse them sexually at a later date, as he had left them naked and gagged and well hidden in seldom used rooms. Camilla was certain that Barbary was behind it all, but GOT Gal remained firm in her convictions that the true culprit was some fiendish creature some how either created or unleashed by the previous amateur inventor of the house and she had but find the laboratory to confirm this and establish exactly what kind of beasts she was dealing with. That the creature was obviously avoiding her seemed to reaffirm her belief that it was inherently cowardly and harmless and she would dispatch it easily, if she could but find it or the lab! If she couldn’t find the hidden lab, then perhaps a trap!?

Barbary Blueball slipped out from behind the heavy wooded slope to the east of the Bareass mansion and in a crouched position winged it up to the night shadows of one of the outer buildings a short distance from the main building its self. He clutched at the camera he wore on a strap around his neck, it had never been in a case since the day he had bought it (can’t win a Pulitzer with a camera in a case!) and he considered it his ‘lucky’ camera. It was the camera which had taken the most of his cover shots over the years and had been the one that he had used to take ALL of the now notorious theme issue of ‘do they bikini wax it trim or shave it bald?’ The resulting pictorial spread of up the skirt and panty slip shots of twenty of the city’s most famous super heroine beavers had caused the greatest and sadly last furor for his Superheroine Quarterly. The district attorney, a woman he suspected was a ‘cape’ herself had closed him down and filed multiply law suits against him. He had always spent far more than he made, but the lawsuits had stripped him of everything including in a roundabout way, Bareass mansion its self.

But he had been down and out before and he was certain all he really needed was a single ‘unmasking’ of one of the top echelon of the super heroine community to put him back into the good graces of liquid finance. He had unmasked two super villainess in the magazines early days and had received a plaque from the city and a handshake from the red white and blue Queen of Justice herself, he didn’t really see the difference in unmasking that self same woman now! If he could get a photo of Ms. Americana without her eye mask he could write his own ticket again! The problem with getting a shot of a cape without her mask was they always showed up rather unexpected and left quickly. But here Barbary had an ideal opportunity, he knew where both Ms. Americana and GOT Gal were located and knew the place intimately while they did not and he knew they were going to be staying in the place for several days at least. And that latter meant needing to bath, and that meant taking off their masks!

There were about four squad cars out front, with two police watching the main gate. He reasoned the rest would be positioned around and inside the well lit portable generator ran heavily reinforced shed in the back housing the jewels from the Barass downtown store under remodel. He doubted the two capes would stand around the shed and wasn’t surprised that they had taken up residence in the nearby house. They would undoubtedly do patrols of the grounds and such, but it would be inside that house were they would disrobe for a shower or bed! And that is where he and his lucky camera needed to be.

Fortunately he had his keys still and while he did not doubt that Camilla had replaced all the outer door locks to the house and garage and gates, he doubted she had yet had the small outer buildings done yet. He was correct, his key unlocked the small storage shed and he quickly slipped inside it. The climb over the outer wall had torn his trade mark stripped bell bottom jeans but it wasn’t the first time he had to shimmy over a wall and if he failed to get the goods tonight it might not be the last!

Barbary moved the rider lawn mower over to the side and pulled up the rusty floor grate inside the small shed. This secret passage which lead to the basement of the Bareass mansion was one of the very first he had discovered and as he had found it while alone he had kept the discovery to himself. An escape rout works best when it is for you and you alone! Now he would use the little runaway tunnel to gain entrance to the main house and begin stalking his quarry in earnest! Women were made for one thing and one thing alone, to be used by the superior sex of males to do their bidding and now those two fat titted cows inside were going to do ‘their’ job and make him rich again! Barbary Blueball let the iron grate clank shut behind him and flicked on the little belt light he always wore when he was on the clock, which was always, and moved cautiously down the narrow musty moldy uneven earthen tunnel.

Rhonda Spears was on just about everyone’s short list as the secret identity of most of Delta City’s Super heroines this was because she was tall, athletic, young (she had just turned twenty-three), and had a statuesque curvaceous figure that was the envy of every woman in Delta, and was fabulously wealthy to boot. Put her in an eye mask and a gaudy bikini and she simply looked the part. The irony in all of this was that Rhonda Spears was NOT a nice person. She was utterly self centered and didn’t care in the slightest about anyone or anything other than her own egotistical self. While a leading feminist and propionate of most women’s causes this was more to do with her sense of loathing and disgust for all things male rather than any feelings of sisterhood or will to help another besides herself. She constantly butted heads with Brenda Wade whose altruistic mindset absolutely baffled the golden haired large busted slim youth, who having inherited her fathers empire of weapons manufacturing had molded it into one of the largest arms manufacturers and dealers in the world. War was money for the woman who loved money more than anything and she did all she could within her considerable power to start and continue as many global conflicts as possible, much to Wade’s tremendous ire. That she should be thought of as the alter ego of one of the goody good shoes running around in public in their panties and thigh high boots was utterly laughable to the ice hearted woman, but it made for good press and she did all she could to keep the speculations going.

However, there was a little matter of the recent financial collapse and Rhonda found herself facing several large balloon payments that she desperately needed to make coming rapidly due. Tough times were great times for investing especially in war, but for all her capital and profits to be made, Rhonda found herself with staggering losses in her portfolios and in rather a bind in central Africa where she had to payoff an ousted government official now reestablished who had numerous evidence of some highly questionable dealings she had had with the previous administration. He wanted cash, no checks, and he wanted it in diamonds! And Rhonda couldn’t help but notice there were all these sparkly diamonds just sitting there in a little shed out in the middle of no where on her good friend the air headed Camilla Bareass estate.

Maybe Rhonda couldn’t wrap her head around the notion of risking ones life for another, but she could definitely understand risking ones life for profit! It seemed the whole world pegged her as a super heroine in disguise, what better cover then for her to don a costume and be a super villainess instead?!

Rhonda stood on the rocky outcropping just south of the Bareass estates main entrance and tapped the side of her eye mask which caused the mirrored lenses inside to go ‘night vision’. The resulting green imaging showed the lone two lane black top road bellow her and the main Bareass estate entrance connected by a short paved strip to its north, up to the main south entrance gate. The main building was not much further beyond the immediate fence and she could see that there were flood lights lighting up the back side of the main house. There were two guards at the front gate, male and worthless, and there would be four or five more around the shed its self in back under the flood lights. Camilla had unwittingly told Rhonda everything about the shed as she was having it built and Rhonda had already figured out a fools proof way to slip in and out easily!

There seemed to be only one hitch, while she was surveying the layout bellow her Rhonda had witnessed a lone squat rotund man awkwardly scramble over the far east wall to her right and fall into the estate grounds beyond. He had reappeared limping shortly there after and had waddled his way over to the darkened house where Rhonda knew two super heroines were sequestered supposedly watching the armored car of jewels in the security shed but which Camilla had told Rhonda were really searching the house for Barbary Blueball who was seeking some petty revenge on her and her staff by masquerading as a poltergeist?! She’d have no trouble from them. But the comical lone figure might cause some collateral problems as he seemed to be trying to gain entrance to the house its self! He might cause a ruckus as he inevitably got himself caught. She would have to hurry. ‘Hmmmm, Poltergeist? That was as good a name as any for a super villainess jewel thief. Poltergeist it is then!’ And the Poltergeist half leapt half slid down the rocky embankment toward the Bareass estate angling away from the south main gate as she descended.

Hayden Panties from the famous ‘Panties’ intimate apparel line of stores and manufacturer, had been a wild willed young club hopping girl who occasionally modeled for the family line of women’s scanty boudoir ‘romance’ under garments in world famous runway showings her top model looks gaining her instant celebrity status which she squandered on ‘A’ list parties and constant night clubbing. Then she had run away with a Latin lover who turned out to be a slimy con man who secretly ran several South American stripper clubs and white slavery markets. Hayden found out about this by accident one day when she had thought to surprise her fiancée by slipping into his apartment and hiding naked in his bed. He had ended up surprising her by returning home with several new auditioning strippers from one of his clubs?! She had run naked into the bathroom upon hearing all the voices and hid in the bath tub behind the shower curtain. The strippers had changed into their work clothes in the bathroom while she hid in growing confusion, taking their bags and clothes back out with them to the living room. One stripper had left behind one of her garment duffle bags by mistake and searching through it Hayden had found only a bra and panties of the tiniest cut some gloves a pair of thigh high boots that just fit her and a Zorro like bandana mask. All these items she had put on to hide her nakedness and thus attired slipped out of the bathroom to spy on her would be husband and all these half naked girls!

At first she thought it may be women he was interviewing for his bachelor party and she even half thought she might sneak out and mix in with the women who were dancing around him and give him a surprise! But she hesitated and as she watched her boyfriend became violent as one of the strippers refused his sexual advances! He beat her savagely and then had another man, the guy that actually ran his clubs for him, cart her off to sell on the sexual slave market! Her boyfriend was a white slaver!!!!

Confused and frightened the young girl still in her stripper see through bra and panties mask and boots slipped out through the hallway window just in time to escape a search by her boyfriend who had heard her knock over a vase. Half running half sneaking through the city streets which ran as a maze of buildings which were built upon each other in a haphazard fashion up the walls of the valley, Hayden found herself suddenly in the middle of a firefight between the Latin American super heroine ‘Jaguar’ and the techno-villain Aztecno! The villain who combined ancient Aztec sorcery and garments and charms with high tech gadgets shot a beam ray at the Jaguar and terrified Hayden was caught in the beam as well. In a flash, literally, the young teenager found her body transformed at the genetic level! Somehow the ray designed to remove the Jaguars powers instead triggered Hayden’s dormant Aphrodite gene and transformed some of the Jaguars powers permanently to her! In the flash of that laser blast, Hayden Panties had become a super hero, though it took her several days to realize it.

The very next day she had broken off her engagement to her boyfriend by entering his small legitimate companies offices and pouring a scalding hot pot of coffee on his crotch as he sat in a board meeting. She had then hurriedly fled the country back to the United States just escaping the police under his hire and discovering some of her new genetic attributes in the process.

Back in the USA, Hayden discovered other than her enhanced healing, all her other powers of enhanced strength and agility steamed entirely from the skimpy outfit she had been wearing during the beam attack. Not only did she have to be wearing the tinny see through garments in order to unlock the full extent of her super powers but it was ALL she could be wearing. If she put on any other article of clothing at all it rapidly diminished her powers! As such Delta City rapidly saw a new super heroine fighting crime on its streets wearing nothing but a few stitches of clothing and a big smile!

This new super heroine called herself, “Couture” and with her 44-22-36 figure squeezed into a tiny 32 G-cup lace bra and crotch-less panties, this new young beauty scoured the streets mainly targeting white slavers and those men who trade or sell women for sex. Though the other super heroines raised an eyebrow at her attire, they welcomed her to the fight and gave her the unofficial ‘nod’ to work their streets along side them, in the never ending battle of truth and justice against oppressive tyranny and wrong doings!

And so it was Couture, with her fake French accent, that now took it upon herself to enter the Bareass estate grounds from the wooded mountains to the north right on the heels of the suspicious character who had slipped over the west wall of the estate and disappeared into a small storage shed? Couture had thought GOT Gal and Ms. Americana might need some assistance what with such a temptation of jewels sitting in such an isolated location and had taken it upon herself to patrol the outer parameter of the grounds. Apparently it had paid off as she had witnessed this lone male slip over the wall and into a storage shed. He hadn’t come out after several minutes and Couture decided to go investigate the suspicious situation herself. Ms. Americana had just recently helped her capture some white slavers working out of the Delta City docks and Couture thought it was time to return the favor. With a lithe agile flip the buxom waif landed on the estate grounds and rapidly made her way to the silent dark shed.

Ms. Americana completely unaware of so many people nearing the manor from all sides, licked the delicious few dollops of ice cream that had fallen on her massive chest and hummed at the yummy taste and the even yummier feeling it made in her over heated loins! She was definitely struggling with her state of arousal in the after effect glow of the operation, though physically she was of course utterly healed thanks to her healing powers, but she was dimly aware that the knock out gas had turned her little pussy into a sweltering swamp! And she knew that she had to resist any… well, touching of herself!

Best to take her mind off of her body’s plaintiff cooing at her, and what better way than to read another story in her book! She thumbed through the pages back to the zombie section and began to read:

Ms. Americana fished reading the story and with a stretch and a yawn of her lithe body closed and set the small tomb upon the small wooden table next to her over-stuffed exceedingly comfy chair. Her body was now quiet healed and her mind a bit more her own, but she could feel all those raging hormones that the surgical gas had triggered in her still bouncing all about her loins in a wonderfully wet longing itch! At least her years of experience now paid off as the little voice inside her head was telling her to stay put in the room and no longer goading her to go outside and find some of those dishy police officers for a brief, ‘chat!’

She giggled at herself and stretched again enjoying the tug of her top against her large supple breasts and her pert naughty nipples. She stopped herself from giving one peaking out nipple a playful pinch, knowing that would lead only to a several hour ‘flicking the bean’ session that would only derive her of her sexual store house of sexual belt repression and leave her powerless for hours if not days to come! No, better not to even touch that nipple slip less the sure sensation trigger a lust too strong in her for her little voice to shout down, better to leave it and force her minds attention on something else? Like what?

Ms. Americana surveyed what was one of the few furnished rooms in the giant house and eyed the leaning stack of cardboard boxes against one of the freshly repapered walls. It turned out to be several cases of back issues of Superheroine Quarterly!? Ms. Americana, like most super heroines, had a love/hate relationship with the decades old magazine. It’s once pristine promise of feminist calling and support of all things of truth, liberty, and democracy, had sadly been tarnished by sinking into the mire of crass sexual exploitism of all things feminine! Ms. Americana and Brenda Wade had put aside their initial qualms and whole heartedly supported the fledgling magazine with interviews and name dropping at charity functions only to end up seeing cover after cover show Ms. American topless and her mouth oozing sperm, how did they get such pictures?! Understandably they felt doubly and deeply betrayed by the last few years of the magazines sordid existence and as Brenda Wade she had secretly done all she could to undermine its continued publication, pulling as many strings as she could to sink the popular super heroine skin mag! In the end it had been more Blueball’s own inability to curb his own hedonistic personal spending that had gutted the magazines lucrative success, but she still liked to believe she had had a small hand in bringing about the demise of the filthy little rag.

She did feel a few qualms about subversively torpedoing such a successful periodical in the land of ‘freedom of speech’, but… Ms. Americana reached for one of the back issues and began to thumb through it. Her shocked eyes were greeted with images of nipple slips and up the skirt shots of dozens of super heroine celebrities! But what really pissed her off to no end was that ‘Miss Astonishing’ was voted as ‘best breast’ three years running!? Obviously that bitch had them done! No one had cantaloupes that size! How did the slut even see to tie her shoes?! Obviously the whole thing was rigged! And that she was number TWO both in ‘best breast’ and ‘best ass’ proved it! Squirrel Girl had won best ass! “Top Tail” the headlines howled! Ugh! True Squirrel Girl did have a rather almost perfect spherical ass, and that skimpy costume of hers with the enormous tail did show off her posterior to an exceptional degree, but still! Her ass was WAY nicer than that nuts!

Squirrel Girl was an interesting super heroine to say the least. The accompanying article to the winning butt shot photo covered most of the basics but left out several important details which only a few other super heroines knew about. It stated that Squirrel Girl was of course Gwen Kashew, heiress to the great Kashew nut company, with a major plant just on the outskirts of Delta City. That she was a permanent residence of the Delta City Asylum for the Criminally Insane, that she escaped from her high tech holding cell almost at will, that she would commit these escapes only when a particularly vile male criminal was committing crimes of a sexual nature against women. (Gwen/Squirrel Girl were ultra-feminists!) That in her tiny super heroine outfit and armed with her famous giant over sized ‘nutcrackers’ which she welded as one would a three-section-staff or her smaller version which she called ’nut-chuck-ohs’, she would appear out of no where and render her foes incapacitated with apparent ease. She was infamous for being obsessed with the male sex organ to the point of speaking constantly in sexual double subliminal dual meanings, and had even developed the ‘cock cuffs!’ in which she would cock cuff her opponents penis and nut sack to his ankles and wrists leaving him helplessly hog tied until the police showed up. Her famous catch phrase was, ‘time for some assaulted nuts!’ usual delivered with a kick to the afore mentioned area! After dispatching her opponent she would vanish and shortly be found quietly back in her cell in the Asylum. She was considered the ‘only’ truly sexually aggressive super heroine out there, for despite her hatred of all things male, she exhibited a strong ‘lust’ for exceptionally large penises, which had resulted in her sexually attacking the male in question and often in her sexual ‘madness’ allowing the individual to get the better of her and ultimately escaping, But she always got her man, if sometimes on the third or fourth try! She was considered one of the most popular super heroines amongst the magazines subscribers despite her definite ‘B’ status on the super heroine rooster, mainly for her frank insatiable sexual appetite in face of all the other super heroines almost sexless demeanors.

What the mag failed to report was that Squirrel Girl was responsible for saving almost every super heroine from one sexual trap or another some time in her career. And that was one of the reasons every super heroine out there would not lift a finger to re-capture the brain rattled heiress every time she would escape. In fact, she had just recently saved Ms. Americana from one of the Booby Traps maniacal milking scheme traps. ‘Fresh squeezed indeed!’ Ms. Americana scowled as she rubbed her still tender breasts. It also failed to mention that the police had searched the Kashew nut factory several times and the great red wood forest immediately beyond it for the possible hide out of Squirrel Girl and had come up with nothing. It also didn’t mention that Gwen didn’t go ‘nuts’ until after her abduction by aliens, who apparently experimented upon her both genetically and sexually. Omega Woman and GOT Gal both inferred from their own investigations that Gwen may have actually subdued her captors by ‘out sexing’ them, literally fucking them into near comas with her genetically triggered nymphomania and then as they fled in escape pods, crashed the cloaked ship into the red wood forest behind her families factory. They both concluded that she must be using the still invisible ship and its alien technology to assist her in her seemingly incredible ability to escape any trap or bondage device at will! Regardless, the super heroine community had quietly excepted the some what mentally penis envy sex obsessed man hater as a staunch ally on those few occasions she deemed it necessary to slip out of her cell and into her costume to bring down some unusually male chauvinist pig! Despite the hushed up fact that Squirrel Girl more and more frequently ‘subdued’ her male adversaries by literally raping them into a near sexual spent catatonic stupor!

Ms. Americana flipped the ‘best butt’ page and scanned the ‘new hottie’ page. Though the magazine in question was several months old the Queen of Justice was surprised to see one new super heroine she hadn’t met yet. A young lady calling herself, ‘Monarch’. The magazine snoopers had already figured out that the super heroines real name was, Elaina King, that she was the daughter of a world famous etymologist, Baxter King, and that the Kansas born girl had once lived in a small Mexican city were the Monarch Butterflies winter, and where every year the children dress up in butterfly costumes to celebrate the beautiful invasion with a week long party. For some reason which the magazine apparently failed to find out, Elaina put on one of these very small children’s out fits and took to the street to fight crime! The accompanying photos showed a young intensely beautiful very blonde rail thing woman with exceptionally large boobs and hips (the hallmarks of an Aphrodite gene super heroine) in a very tiny several sizes too small orange and black one piece body suit that left little to the imagination with what apparently were two large functional butterfly wings on the back, as she was flying in the pictures, and a small orange and black eye mask.

Her father had died recently in an accident, leaving the girl alone in the world. It also noted that she had left Mexico and had been seen occasionally fighting crime in cities in the mid-western united states. She seemed to have adopted a new name to once again hide her day to day identity, but the snoopers hadn’t figured it out yet! There was the usual sexual slurs under each photo and an open invite for the new nubile super heroine to drop in the offices for a ‘nooner’ siesta with the staff?!

Ms. Americana wrinkled her nose in disgust at the sexual grossness of the rag and tossed it forcefully back into its box with the rest of the sleaze. Some young woman comes to this country to fight oppression and what dose she get? A rancid welcome from these losers! Ms. Americana noted that the vigilante group calling its self the ‘minute men’ had in the same page listed ‘Monarch’ as an illegal alien and promised to find her and export her back to Mexico. These ‘minute men‘, where the new Klu-Klux-Klan of their generation, with their thinly gilded hate crimes white washed in bold patriotism, they ‘patrolled’ the border of the USA and Mexico in pretence of stopping terrorists from entering the united states, but ignored the even less watched open boarder between the united states and the mostly white neighbor of Canada, and ignored the simple fact that every terrorist who wanted to enter America either did so with false papers through the major airports or slipped in on small water craft along the thousands of miles of unguarded coast lines, but had never nor would ever likely use the Mexican boarder crossing as it was the most watched of all of the continents boarders, well before the ‘minute men‘ had showed up. The raciest ‘minute men’ ignored these facts and kept up their armed hate watch, as bit by bit more and more reports of their ‘questionable’ treatment both to illegals crossing the boarder unfortunate enough to encounter the armed marauders and those legal citizens who just weren’t ‘white enough’ who lived in the path of these monsters leaked into the files of over burdened police departments.

Ms. Americana shook her head, sadly there was only so much she could do, the world needed more super heroines to out task such male dominated injustice, but only a few women stepped up to shoulder the task every year and most seldom kept at it for long. One good large cock gang rape sent most newbies right back onto the bus and home! Ms. Americana sighed, if only we super heroines had a bit more, ‘Squirrel Girl’ in each of us, who seemed to actually gain her powers off of forced sexual intercourse, well, then maybe the world would be a safer place. The queen of justice turned away from the stack of boxes and headed for the door. R & R time was over!

GOT Gal paused before the hidden wall panel she had just found and after several minutes of careful searching had triggered into opening. It was the eleventh secret passage she had found in several hours of focusing her innate awareness of heightened GOT Gem senses, but it was the first that sent her hackles into over drive! Her nipples instinctively hardened and she could feel her pussy lips thicken and pucker as her pubic hair raised up, all the signs of supernatural or alien presence! That she knew too well!

Before her a steel and re-enforced concrete stair descended to an earthen floor. A few steps past the hidden door and GOT Gal could see she was in a section of the mansion which had been completely gutted from earth to three stories above. An elaborate system of false walls and old doorways removed and lathed and plastered over hid the forty foot square wide shell, that contained in its center a three story metal cylinder. GOT Gal realized at once that she was looking at some kind of atomic bomb shelter added into the main structure from back in the mid-1950’s, though no record to her knowledge existed of such a construction taking place there was no mistaken the thick construction and its disheartening purpose. The large metal, ‘fallout shelter’ signs didn’t hurt in her arriving at the objects deductive purpose either.

“What better a place to house a laboratory than an old creepy bomb shelter?” GOT Gal approached the silent sealed silo and wondered how far into the earth the thing descended? “The Bareass family certainly were a strange paranoid lot.” GOT Gal reached the earthen floor which was hard packed and placing a hand on her jutting hip eyed the morbid monolith with some unease. “So… Where is the door?” Just then the earth beneath her high heeled shod feet fell away and in a shower of dirt and dust GOT Gal plummeted through a trap door!

The Porn-o-pine wheezed as he squeezed his fat bulk through the only unlatched window he could find on the ground floor and after awkwardly re-alighting himself he panted and wiped the sweat off his confused brow as he shot a wary glance out to the eerie illumination of the flood lights from the back of the house. ‘Why were the police here?’ There was a heavy ground fog swirling up on a sudden chill and the fixed spot lights from behind the house cast an uneasy super natural glow over the rest of the grounds.

After making certain that he had indeed not been spotted the rotund costumed villain slipped the sash of the window close and began to peer about the murky dark room. Certain that the house was silent and empty he took a creeping step forward and promptly crashed into the grand piano sending its case lid falling loudly upon the string sound board and in a start leapt back to send an entire cabinet of fine china smashing to the ground. The ruckus was so deafening that after what seemed several minutes of continuous crashing of glass that even in the silence that followed his ears rang from the previous explosions! In a panic the Porn-o-pine scurried in a waddle from the darkened room wincing at each new item he bumped into and sent crashing to the bare wood floor!

Barbary Blueball raised his head from dusting off his trousers and tilted an ear at the loud crashing noises coming from the house somewhere above him. “Sounds like a party and I wasn’t invited! Typical!” He sneered as he slide through the dark dirt floor basement of the old house through the maze of crates and old refuse to where he knew there was a connecting room with an old wooden stair case leading up to one of the storage rooms on the first floor, “Guess I had better show them birds how ‘I’ crash a party!” He hadn’t wove his way far through the maze of old furniture and relics when he heard another loud crash this one muffled and low key but obviously coming from an area to his immediate right and it was accompanied by the distinctive plaintive wail of a woman taken by surprise, a sound he knew by hart, and his instincts told him to seek it out before venturing upstairs.

Frowning he moved with a predators unerring instinct toward where he guessed the sound had come from through throngs of rubbish he had never even seen before during all his years living in the giant house and found himself pausing and back tracking again and again in the dim little circle of his belt light as he puzzled his way around dead end after dead end. Finally he found a simple wooden door behind a self of old broken jars of preserves. This door lead to a small earthen room with a small up raised rock and mortal well in its center. The well was caped with an iron cover, but it was rigged with a nearby chain and pulley system to be easily removed, that is easily removed once the six very stout iron shot bolts were forced back!

This he did and he then wrenched the iron lid up and swung it clear of the well opening. He then unclipped his belt light and shinned it down into the shaft of the well, only to be surprised to find, not the reflective sheen of water, but instead the rather bemused face of GOT Gal smirking up at him?!

With the loud sound of what had to be a massive fist fight suddenly exploding from the main building of the mansion its self on her left, the ever plucky super heroine, ‘Couture’ turned from the small outbuilding shed she had been racing toward and in a series of gold medal worthy flips made her way through the open window of a second floor room to race to lend assistance to her super heroine sisters in need! Besides she was glad to get out of that heavy sudden fog that was sending a terrible chill up her crotch-less panties!!!

Poltergeist halted a sudden loud sound erupted from the main house and as she crouched down on top of the roof of the armored car she watched with a smile as the guards argued and then broke up into two groups; one standing guard inside the security shed at the single over head garage door to the shed which she had ignored and the others pouring out the small single steel access door to run to the house. She had easily used her security lock pick device (made by the same company who had built the shed!) to gain entrance to the shed through the small metal door right under everyone’s noses who expected sirens and flashing lights to go off if anyone fiddled with the thing. She raised her small dart gun and dropped the remaining guards in seconds. Now to retrieve the keys to the vehicle its self and her diamonds!

Ms. Americana had no sooner left her room when she heard the most god awful noise echoing through the hallways! It sounded as if it was originating from the floor beneath her though in the maze of hallways and dim light it was strangely hard to be sure?! With a curse to ‘Liberty’! The over endowed crime fighter charged through the winding hallways in a bulrush to where the sound seemed to be originating! She had rounded one right angled corner after another until she slammed full into Couture who was running in the other direction towards the crashing sounds. The two didn’t recognize each other in the dim light for a second or two and a brief ‘tussle’ occurred. It only ended when a large fat silhouette of a man ran around the corner and shrieked like a girl upon seeing them! He flung his arms rapidly and dozens of highly concentrated aphrodisiac quills shot into both super heroines bodies! Within seconds both super heroines were tongue deep in one another’s hot boiling snatches and face humping one another in a fury of lusts!

Barbary Blueball shrugged, his gambit over, he half heartedly lowered some of the chain down to the stranded super heroine and helped her up over the lip of the well, He cringed under her ‘well well what do we have here’ but she took his camera and padded him down taking all of his rolls of film as well, despite his protests and he followed her as she commanded. They raced up stairs him calling out the route as best as he could remember and they found themselves back up on the main level and in the disaster that had been one of the music rooms.

More sounds of struggles sent them upstairs where they raced around a corner, he with a fire poker he had picked up on the first floor ready in hand, and found Ms. American savagely humping the face of another super heroine who was giving as good as she got! Barbary dropped his fire poker and in exasperation said to GOT Gal, “you can do ANYTHING you want to me, now and forever, please just let me have my camera for one shot of this!” GOT Gal pulled open the back of the camera and pulled out the film and handed the empty camera back to him. “Gee, thanks.”

Suddenly there was the sound of alarm sirens and the distant hallway exterior windows were filled with flashing yellow lights. GOT Gal raced to the end of the hallway and peered outside. Behind her Barbary whipped another roll of film from under his hat and slapped it into the camera, “Smile bitches!” He snarled.

Outside GOT Gal could see the police racing from the house over to the security shed where a fat rotund man had apparently ran smack into a woman in costume who had then dropped a bag full of stolen gems. The fat man was in the distance now puffing away like a steam train and had set off one of the trip wires to the alarm system. The would be thief woman was running away in the opposite direction, though strangely enough she seemed to have her hands digging at her ample breasts and sodomizing her ass through half pulled down skin tight leotards?! It was like she was uncontrollably raping herself as she fled?!

GOT Gal shrugged the bag of gems was still on the ground and the police were in hot pursuit, though she doubted mere men could capture even criminals as dumb as these, still she had her own mission to finish! The buxom super heroine turned back to Barbary who was watching the two face fucking heroines go at it with gusto and with his exposed reel of film in one sad hand and his empty camera in the other, GOT Gal grabbed the horny dejected pest by the wrist and told him to come on!

He followed her reluctantly as she quickly made her way back to the hidden room with the bomb shelter in it. She told him that here was a chance for him to be a real photo journalist but she doubted he was up to the task, still she couldn’t leave him anywhere near those two horny out of control super heroines no telling what they might do in their current state?!

Eyeing the several trap door traps she now could distinguish in the dirt floor now that she knew to look for them she lead both of them up to the side of the cylinder. It was coated in a rust primer paint, and it took several moments for her to find the door its self in the irregular surface. Surprisingly it opened fairly easily to her GOT Gem enhanced strength. With a slight shudder the metal wimpled and popped out of the door seal and slide obediently open. Inside the massive chamber GOT Gal and Barbary wandered through the brief maze of service tunnels and upper rooms until they found the main lower level stair case. GOT Gal was delighted that having returned the rolls of film back to Barbary he was diligently snapping photos of their surroundings as they progressed deeper into the recesses of the metal tower. What she didn’t realize was he was snapping photos of her crotch every time she bent over or her nipple slips every time she wrestled with an over head hatchway door!

In the lowest levels GOT Gal found the lab she had been searching for and within it the decidedly deceased Ebenezer Bareass. His decomposed body was still wired up to his humming machinery. And with a single staunch pull of the plug, GOT Gal sent the machines whinnying down to a dead silence. There was one lone shriek of an old man’s machine enhanced astro-projection howled and then echoed into a shuddered non-existence and then silence.

“Well, I think that ends Ms. Camilla’s horny ghost problem once and for all.” GOT Gal rubbed her hands together briskly and turned to lead the confused Barbary back up the steel stair case. Suddenly the hatchway above them slammed closed and locked into place! And from behind her GOT Gal could hear the raspy breathing of what could only be the corpse in the machine, “Or maybe not?!“ The super heroine raised her eyebrow.

Over her shoulder the reedy thin voice of the formally dead Ebenezer growled, “Now that is a pair of tits!”

Smashing a long dead zombie amateur scientist in the iron bowels of his bomb shelter lab was nothing new to the super heroine GOT Gal and as she explained the somewhat humorous details as Tanya O’Donnel to Brenda Wade over a quick power brunch in the new street bistro several days after the fact, both women laughed and laughed, “Did he really pee in his pants?” A crimson faced Brenda Wade asked for the umpteenth time about Barbary Blueball. And a chortle and nod answered her from the blonde anchor woman. “And if the zombie had anything resembling an urinary tract left I’m sure he would have pissed himself as well! It was an easy matter for me to rip a limb off and beat him to death (again!) with it! It was a matter of seconds and I had him a pile of dust at my feet!” Tanya blushed under Brenda’s flow of praise.

Just then one of Brenda’s sectaries rushed up and flung a magazine upon the table before the two startled women. “Can you believe it?!” the exasperated feminist sectary flustered, “ Barbary has brought back Superheroine Quarterly!” Both women looked down in disbelief at SUPERHEROINE QUARTERLY VOL. 100 ISSUE 100! Where a full color cover showed Ms. Americana, her face buried in the squirting muff of some super heroine called, ‘Couture’! And several insert photos on the cover lower corners showed still images of a helpless GOT Gal being seriously ass fucked by a zombie!!!!!!!!!! “Can you believe he’s making a comeback after all we went through to shut him down Ms. Wade?! I guess as long as sluts like this are out there any man can make an easy buck off of them! Right Ms. Wade?” And Brenda and Tanya could only nod and gulp their tea in silent thought.

‘I wonder if they have ‘best muff’?’ Brenda mentally shrugged to herself, ‘ I would surly win that one!!!!’