FRIENDS AND LOVERS AND OTHER VERY STRANGERS

---1---

The tip was right!

It had been such a boring patrol so far that Savage Fury almost couIdn’t believe her masked eyes when she spotted the van parked behind the electrical supply warehouse far below.

Right time, right place, right van!

Laboratories and scientific supply houses were being raided nightly and thanks to the city council’s new austerity policy there weren’t enough police to go around, especially on night shift. Bad news for the decent citizens of the Valley, good news for the not-so-decent, and excellent news for Fury, Justice Juggs and Scarlet Dragon, who were more then willing to take advantage of all the tips the police couIdn’t handle. Most were dry holes—unlike hers, Fury thought, reaching down to ease her costume bottom around her bulging crimson-thatched pussy. The mere thought of action made it cream.

Fury stepped off the roof and, dropping to the street below, landed light as a thistle—a mostly naked monster-titted thistle, that is. She saw a slightly raised warehouse door and her super-ears caught the sounds of thievery within: cartons being opened, footsteps, muffled voices. Two of them inside—women.

Let’s wait for them to come out, always loved surprises.

But Fury was in for a surprise of her own—several of them, in fact. The first came when she opened the rear doors of the van to find nothing but a bearded old man in a wheel chair!

“Savage Fury!” he gasped. “Thank God you’ve found me!”

She blinked. “You’re … Dietrich Hughes!” The ultra-reclusive billionaire who’d been rumored to be missing for months though no one knew for sure.

“These crazy women have kidnapped me! They’re trying to get control of my fortune! Forcing me to help rob my own companies!”

Fury’d wondered why every business that had been robbed was a member of the Hughes worldwide conglomerate.

“Please!” he begged her. “Get me out of here before they come back!”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s all that much hurry,” the Cowled Crusader smiled as she reached in and lifted him and his wheel chair lightly to the ground behind the van. “These ladies need to be taught manners.”

The aging billionaire smiled and rubbed his bony hands in sadistic anticipation. The ponderous-pontooned paladin couldn’t blame him, but wondered if he was one of those who got off on watching women fight.

Well, this won’t be anything like a fight.

Then suddenly he clutched at his chest and bent forward.

“What is it?” Fury cried.

“… Heart,” he gasped. “Too much excitement. Medicine … in arm.”

Fury bent forward, gloved fingers fumbling anxiously with the compartment cover on the wheel chair arm. That’s all you need, to be blamed for this rich old hermit dying when you—

That was when two more of the night’s surprises jumped out at her. The first was a noxious cloud of poison gas that erupted from the compartment when the cover sprang open. It engulfed the Masked Mammazon’s awesomely-overblown body and clung to her super-skin burning and penetrating despite its invulnerability, blurring her vision and instantly turning her fearsome super-muscles into limp rags.

She choked, tried to stagger back but was too weak even for that. With a groan, Fury slumped over the old man, gloved arms barely strong enough to hold her up, stupendous jellobags spreading across his knees.

“Surprise!” he cackled unnecessarily.

Taking her by her crimson ponytail the old bastard pulled her slack opulent lips down to his. Unlike the rest of her, they weren’t too numb to feel the dry cracked revolting kiss or the withered but nauseatingly active tongue that forced its way between them and (seemingly) halfway down her throat.

“mmppfff!!”

Eyes widened in their mask at an all-too-familiar zipping sound and the third surprise of the evening leaped up from the old bastard’s crotch: a big blue-veined dick, easily the size of a banana and hard as wood. Fury wanted to shot-putt this old pervert to the moon but she had all she could do to hold onto the chair’s armrest. All her incredible strength couldn’t keep him from taking a firmer grip on her ponytail and pushing her face down into his lap, impaling her luscious drooling mouth on that great rigid organ.

“GLLLLllllggghhh!!”

How can a geezer as old as this still get a hard-on like this??

“Awwlgggghh!”

Even for you and your gigantic tits ….

“Gukkkkhh!”

And hasn’t he ever washed it???

“A concoction of one of my chemical firms,” Hughes explained as, cowled head spiked in his lap, the helpless humongous-hootered heroine choked on that huge rampant dick. “A cloud of it will kill anything and everything within ten feet, then it disperses harmlessly.”

He pushed her head down with both hands. Fury gagged as his cock-head rammed the back of her throat.

“I myself am immune, of course.”

Suddenly his hands were gone and she found barely enough strength to push herself away from him and his disgusting mouth-pronging meat before he could force her to drink his cum. The super-stacked super-bombshell staggered back, but found herself so dizzy she was barely able to balance on her 6-inch heels. She could feel the gas wearing off even now, but ….

---2---

But as Savage Fury reeled back gasping she ran into someone, someone with large solid breasts and a pair of strong arms that caught her, snaked under her armpits and curled up around her shoulders. She got a glimpse of business suit sleeves and polished nails, then hands clasped together behind her neck in a full Nelson and she found herself inexorably bent forward, by strength well-nigh the equal of her own at full power!

Unhhh—can’t … straighten ….

Forced to stare down at her own thighbooted feet, the dazed double-dirigibled dominatrix glimpsed long curvy miniskirted legs behind her, dark-hosed and spikeheeled. Very stylish office attire, the kind Paige Powers had never been able to afford, let alone fit into.

You could’ve if you’d fucked your bosses instead of just giving them blowjobs, but a girl has to draw the line somewhere.

“Oh, I don’t believe you’ve met my secretary, Miss Pringle. JoAnne dear, this is Savage Fury.”

“Charmed,” from behind her as the super-powerful secretarial arms bore down.

They lifted Fury’s muscular but useless limbs out to her sides like flapping glove-sheathed wings and forced her to bend forward till her ponderously pendent chest-pumpkins sagged to her knees around their narrow straps.

“NNNNNH!!” Her strength was slowly returning but she wondered if even at full power she could break free of this iron grip.

Then someone stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the mocking billionaire. A lace-gloved hand tilted her drool-beslobbered chin up. Fury’s masked eyes had cleared enough for a quick flash of long gartered legs in dark hose and a black uniform of some kind overflowing with a huge pair of tits, before a fist, also lace-gloved, slammed across her jaw like a wrecking ball (“ughh!!”)

Sending her staggering into the van with a crash, almost knocking it over. Shaking her cowled head to clear it, she turned to face her attackers—and stare.

“And this is my maid, Mimi. Mimi—Savage Fury.”

“Enchante, biche.”

Secretary and maid—one was dressed in the tailored miniskirted business suit Fury had glimpsed before, and recognized enviously as Armani (not off-the-rack Armani either) showing a lot of lithe nylonned thigh and more than a hint of sizable cleavage (though nothing like hers). The other wore a frilly French maid’s outfit complete with frilly little cap and garters that showed all of long long legs and a flash of panty below the apron and most of all: widely-plunging décolleté over—barely—a pair of chest-whoppers almost comparable with her own.

“Mmmm,” Maid Mimi smiled. “I can’t wait to ‘ave zose teets in my ‘ands!”

“Well you just might have to!” the Masked Mammazon growled, and charged.

Right into a pair of dainty iron fists (one from each) that, aided by her own reckless momentum, buried themselves wrist-deep in her gargantuan globes (“ooollgghhh!!”) not only stopping the overblown watermelon-titted Amazon cold with bulging eyes and protruding tongue, but leaving her a mega-voluptuous sitting duck for the other pair of fists which smashed into the joggling sides of her ponderous pontoons, crushing them together (“aaaahh!!”).

Then, as her gloved hands clutched at her mashed milk-mountains, the first duo of perfectly synchronized dynamite-loaded knuckles uppercut her pert beslobbered chin in a single explosive follow-up (“uGhh!!”) lofting the stunned stupendous superwoman through the air as though hurled from a catapult. Fury crashed through a brick wall into a pile of trash cans, lay dazed on her back in the hole, boot-sheathed legs spread wide around the crimson-furred mound of her snatch.

“Thees eez goeeng to be fon!” monster-titted Mimi chortled, rubbing her lace-gloved hands together. “Loook at zat poosee!”

“Business first,” JoAnne the secretary said flatly, “fon later.”

“Thees beeznesss eez fon,” Mimi replied as they dragged the struggling moaning Cowled Crusader out of the hole by her ankles. “Especially weeth won soch as thees.”

“Don’t you mean ‘two soch as thees’?” JoAnne smirked.

She nudged Fury’s swelling cunt with the toe of her shoe, parted her slack fucklips around the V of her bottom so that it sank in between them. “Honey, you need another bikini wax. Or heavier dental floss.”

Mimi giggled and they reached down for the prostrate Fury’s hulking side-sagging udders. “We weel ‘ave fon shaving her later. Weeth a verreee doll razor.”

The sumptuously-sprawled Battling Bombshell had been waiting for the last of the gas to wear off and her head to clear, but her titanic boobs hurt too much for her to let these bitches get their claws into them. As the two bent down, her muscular arms sprang up like leather-sheathed rattlers and banged their heads together with a trés satisfyeeng crack! The two women yelped and Fury brought her thighbooted legs up into their stomachs pistoning them back into the van, which this time toppled over onto its side with a crash.

“Careful with that!” Dietrich Hughes barked.

But they got right up again. And JoAnne was pissed.

“You’ve ruined this suit!” she screamed. “Do you know how long it takes to tailor one of these things?”

“Not long for you,” Fury replied. “You’ve got nothing to tailor it on.”

In the background, Dietrich Hughes chuckled. Even Mimi giggled, her own gigantic barely-restrained jugs jiggling in their tight bodice.

“Shut up, Sadie,” JoAnne gritted.

“Blow it out yer ass,” Mimi replied in a Bronx honk.

Proud as she was of her retort (usually the kind of thing she came up with hours later when crawling home covered with cum and bruises and rope burns), any hope Savage Fury had of taking advantage of this spat disappeared when she lifted the van overhead to hurl it at the bitches.

“Hey!” the billionaire yelled. “I said be careful with that! It cost a fortune!”

“Imagine my sorrow,” Fury sneered.

With perfect precision the duo dove into her like twin artillery shells. Maid Mimi took Fury high between her colossal tits and Secretary JoAnne low squarely on her bulging twat, knocking her out from under the van, which crashed to the ground.

“Fuck!” Hughes exclaimed. “It’ll cost a fortune to fix! Beat the shit out of the musclebound cow!”

“Hey, I’m not musclebound—UNNHHHHH!!”

The two women each took a gloved arm and hauled Savage Fury to her spikeheeled feet, stretched her between them by her muscular leatherclad limbs. Grunting, the Thighbooted Thunderbolt struggled against their grip but to no avail, together they were simply too much for even her.

Mimi slammed a nylonned knee into her gut (“oooff!!”) bending her forward with a strained gasp, only to be jerked upright again so from the other side JoAnne could smash a similarly dark-hosed knee into her belly (“ullggh!!”). Again the gargantuan-globed goddess bent double, masked face crimson and drool spilling to the ground from her lush ragged lips. And again her captors racked her gloved arms jerking her upright.

“unhh!! You fucking—!!”

This time both knees crashed into her mounded cunt (“OOOLLFFFF-aaaGGHH!!”) and Fury would have gone to her boot-sheathed knees if she could. She couldn’t even bring her hefty leather-sheathed thighs together around her ruptured snatch.

Maid Mimi took a moment to reach down and grope the awesome-bodied Amazon’s dripping throbbing twat and Fury had to swallow a whimper of pain. “Sacre bleu, many men ‘ave smallair bolges than thees!”

She clenched her fist in Fury’s sodden fuckfruit making her stiffen with as much of a breathy squeal as she could manage through clenched teeth. It wasn’t much.

You … could take either one (“guhhh!!”) no sweat but not both, not the (“ugghhh!!”) way they work together ….

As her gut was knee-blasted again and again and she could only flop and thrash and grunt futilely between Mimi and JoAnne, Fury played her only remaining card. Gathering what little breath remained to her ….

“Is—is that the best … you’ve got?” she managed to wheeze hoarsely, pounded fiery belly heaving. Didn’t sound very convincing.

Yet the bitch-duo took the bait—in tandem as in everything else. They brought up both knees again to kick her pussy out her asshole but this time Fury bent over first, jerking the pair (momentarily on one spikeheeled foot each) off balance. Their knees smashed into her joggling jello-boulders instead of her gut, which was bad enough and made her gasp and blow spittle from slack plush lips.

But didn’t prevent her grabbing their hands and hurling herself forward. As she did so the Cowled Crusader swept super-muscled arms together in front of her, swinging the unbalanced maid and the secretary and smashing them together with twin screams.

Teamwork … there too, how sweet.

Fury jerked them apart and did it again (another shrill duet) then hurled JoAnne away to concentrate on Mimi.

She took the maid’s lavish tits in gloved hands gritting, “Let’s see what I can do to these pipsqueaks!”

And when Mimi grabbed her wrists she slammed a booted knee into the “French” domestic’s crotch. A mammoth doughy mammary shoved into her face muffled Mimi’s scream and buried her smaller head to the ears. It took just a few seconds for her to stop struggling.

“This’s just a taste of what a real pair of tits can do,” Fury gritted. “I’d love to show you more, but I don’t have the time and you aren’t worth the trouble.”

And besides, across the alley JoAnne was climbing to her feet again, so the Glamazon Gladiatrix took the maid by one outsized jug and threw her like a very voluptuous javelin into her Armani-suited partner, both of them going down in a heap of tits and legs.

Fury turned to Dietrich Hughes. “Now for you, you sick old bastard. You won’t buy your way out of this!”

---3---

But why the hell was he smilinngg“GGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!”

As two latex-gloved hands reached around the micro-costumed macro-bodied Mammazon from behind to grab ahold of her massive quaking milkbags (as much as normal-sized hands could anyway) and blow them to bloody pieces!

At least that’s what they felt like.

Fury tossed her cowled head back with a shriek and in a spasm of agony threw herself up and away with such force from the coiled-spring muscles in her super-legs that she should have leaped over half the city and all of its tall buildings in a single bound.

But all she did was collapse to her thighbooted knees. And despite best efforts that was where she stayed.

I know my legs are there, I can see them ….

“It’s a funny thing about invulnerable skin,” the tall gorgeous woman in a nurse’s uniform commented as she stepped around in front of crouched numb-from-head-to-toe Savage Fury. “It still has pores. Millions of tiny entry points for the most virulent toxins.”

From somewhere in the distance a familiar dryly-mocking voice said, “And this is my nurse, Joy.”

All Fury could focus on were the two red crosses, one over each opulent thrusting breast.

The nurse ran a latexclad finger down Fury’s spine and the helpless humongous heroine screamed at the fire it lit across her back.

Gloves … soaked with … something!

“It’s a simple nerve toxin,” Joy explained as though reading her whirling mind. “Works much faster and more effectively on super-nervous systems because they’re so much more energetic. This much would merely daze a normal person.”

“The dosage of the gas in the chair was too light,” Hughes said. “She came out of it within a couple of minutes.”

Nurse Joy nodded, took a fistful of Fury’s ponytail and jerked her head back to stare dumbly up at her. “She’s prettier than I expected. And a lot bigger.”

A hand cruelly groped one of Fury’s titanic blubberbags.

“Doesn’t look too bright, though.”

And bent over and kissed her on the mouth, worked her lips against Fury’s slipping in some tongue, then straightened with a contemptuous frown and slapped her masked face. She screamed at the explosion of agony on that side of her cowled head.

Mimi and JoAnne joined the nurse staring down at the benumbed boulder-busted bombshell.

“She’s cagey,” JoAnne said. “Be careful.”

Nurse Joy checked a wristwatch. “You’ve got five more minutes of the accelerant.”

Mimi smiled. “Zat shood bee long henough.”

Savage Fury found that she’d been wrong about Dietrich Hughes. He didn’t enjoy watching women fight. Nothing so fair—he enjoyed watching women, superwomen in scanty leather with legs up to their armpits and tits like joggling jiggling pumpkins, get the crap beat out of them.

He enjoyed watching his maid hold the dazed mega-Amazon, in her 6-inch heels almost a full head taller than her tormentors, in a full Nelson. He really got off on the sight of his secretary and nurse pounding Fury’s gut to mush, burying punch after punch into her heaving bare belly making her grunt and squawk and squeal and struggle frantically but uselessly. Especially when the punches landed low, on the crimson-thatched bulge between her great booted thighs.

He even waved his arms about in time with her screams and moans, as though conducting an orchestra.

He laughed when Nurse Joy grabbed a spongy roll of waist meat and gave it a twist that made the monumental battlequeen sob. “You ever heard of exercise, Supertits?”

“We’re getting all the exercise!” Secretary JoAnne smiled, hooking a brutal shot squarely into Fury’s belly button (“BLaaGHH!!”).

He relished the Mighty Mammazon’s helpless sobs and squeals so much that when JoAnne took over on the full Nelson he had her spread Fury’s leather-sheathed legs wide so the other sadistic employees could take turns powering their knees up into her fruitful cunt mound. This time the squishy thuds and shrill squeals were accompanied by splashes of thick cum that oozed down the spectacular battered powerwoman’s thighs into her tall boots.

And when he grew contemptuous of the Cowled Crusader’s increasingly plaintive cries and bleats he had Nurse Joy cram a fat ball of medicinal cotton into her luscious mouth, filling that ragged drooling hole till her cheeks bulged out and the only sound Fury could make was a pitiful “mpfffff!” It was soaked with something that wasn’t chloroform, the Cowled Crusader knew that foul taste all too well. This tasted sweet and intensified the pain of each blow and kick.

The worst of it was, the drug also kept the Avenging Amazon conscious during the whole humiliating ordeal, but the only time she felt any part of her outrageously overblown body was when it was punched or squeezed or kicked. She couldn’t even feel it when her boulderously bloated milkpails had been beaten and smashed so much they began to lactate in creamy squirts.

The first time it happened she’d been terrified that her latest gangrape had gotten her pregnant. Lord knows those scumbags had pumped enough cum into her poor pussy (not to mention her ass and mouth) for a race of children. But no—it was just another bizarre side effect of her powers. She’d gotten used to it since, but giving milk always left her with a raging thirst and aching wonderblimps that sagged below her waist.

But giving milk never failed to humiliate her in a way that (horrible as they were) being forced to suck dick after dick or drink their urine or being gangbanged in all her holes couldn’t.

Especially when, as now (as usual), her cruel conquerors grasped those mammoth dripping mammaries the way they would a hefty pair of soft milk-laden watermelons and brought them to their sneering lips to take a pull at her dark swollen nipples, sucking thirsty mouthfuls of Fury’s milk from her gargantuan glands.

“Mmmm, sweeet,” Nurse Joy murmured, grinding Fury’s hard teat in her teeth as she suckled.

“Hey!” Mimi cried from behind the helpless humongous champion, who could barely moan around her mouth-stuffed cotton wad as she was degradingly milked. “Save some of that for me!”

JoAnne, pausing to wipe her dripping lips, said, “We’ll fill a bottle for you.”

She battened down again on Fury’s thumb-sized spigot, pulled that elephantine udder out till it was stretched almost two feet.

Fury squealed into her gag.

“Make it a gallon jug!” Nurse Joy cracked, pumping on the Savage Sensation’s immense tit with both hands to squirt streams of heroine milk into her mouth from a foot away.

“Now here’s a useful power,” she said. “Super squirting!”

They all cackled.

When they’d drunk their fill of her jug-juice, Mimi knelt in front of the Monumental Mammazon and smashed those immense drooping chest-whoppers together spraying milk all over her face.

“Mmmm, eet’s great for ze complexion!”

Then all three pushed the towering awesome-bodied bombshell back against the van and went back to mercilessly battering her, paying special attention to her deflated double dirigibles which sagged to her waist like mammoth half-empty water balloons.

No one even had to hold her any more. They took turns picking her up again whenever she slumped to her boot-sheathed knees. When she fell flat on her titanic flaccid tits, squealing numbly from the pain and spitting out some of the cotton, they kicked her around first like a Mammazonian soccer ball. Then stuffed the cotton back in.

Somewhere deep inside as she was mercilessly beaten (“ughh!! oof!! awwllk!!”) Fury concentrated on hoping (“guhh!! agh!!”) her monster-mamms would fill up again by tomorrow morning, she didn’t want Walt to see them like this (“unh—unh—unh!!”). Even he would start to wonder if he found them drooping and flopping around below her waist. She sure couldn’t hide them from him, her gigantic jugs were the first things he grabbed onto when he got back from a business trip, like tagging home plate. The utterly vanquished super-Amazon didn’t even want to think about what would happen if these bitches tied her up and took her with them some place for some extended torment.

Forget about missing her flight to the Bay Area to see Krystin, Walt would be frantic. That had never happened while he was in town, though the last time it did she barely managed to beat him home after escaping from a three day agony-session entertaining Headmaster Stern and his class of horny and well-hung Grad Students.

In fact she’d just stepped out of the shower after washing off the last of her blood and their cum when Walt came in the front door. Paige had had to bury his face between her (fortunately unmilked) jiggle-blimps then practically carry him into the bedroom and fuck his brains out to keep him from noticing the thighboots and long gloves draped carelessly over the couch.

And right then fucking and sucking were the last things she wanted to do for the next year or so.

And then he bitched at you because you’d used up the tooth paste and all the hot water. And it still wasn’t enough—you felt slimy all over and tasted cum in everything for a week!

But all too soon for the vicious trio and all but too late for the Savage Sensation their five minutes of superheroine-bashing were up and JoAnne and Mimi’s super-strength faded. It was more like five years to the thoroughly thrashed and trashed Cowled Crusader, who lay whimpering at their feet amidst the stupendous throbbing flabby sacks of her drained milkpails.

Nurse Joy gave them bottles of special water to replenish bodily fluids. They’d worked up a bit of a sweat beating Savage Fury senseless, though both expressed surprise that it had been so easy.

“An’ fon!” Mimi enthused, casually kicking the sumptuously-sprawled mega-amazon (“unh!”) over onto her back.

“Bring the watermelon-titted cow over here,” Dietrich Hughes ordered. “She’s going to pay for damaging my van. Those things cost money!!”

JoAnne bent down and made a show of frisking the prone masked jiggle-goddess, and Fury couldn’t make a sound around the mouth-stuffed cotton or lift a gloved finger as her leather-sheathed arms and massively side-flopping tits were briskly and degradingly patted down, then waist and hips and thighboots.

The sadistic secretary even got down on one knee and felt around in the Mighty Mammazon’s snatch, inserted first two fingers, then the rest, then shoved her entire hand up to its wrist inside Fury’s gaping wet pussy making her stiffen with a teeth-clenched grunt. JoAnne’s hand made a sodden splorch! when she pulled it out again.

“Nope, hasn’t got a penny on her. Or in her, for that matter.”

The fiendish assistant scornfully wiped her sopping hand off on one of Savage Fury’s fabulous deflated floppers.

“She’s coming out of it,” Nurse Joy pointed out to Hughes, and the prone beaten Fury took little comfort from the alarm in her voice. “And it took all the drug I have with me to bring her down.”

“It’s just as well,” the billionaire said, popping a pill. “I want her to feel this. And taste it.”

Nurse Joy stepped to his side and reached into his lap to pull his cock out of his pants and dutifully and expertly stroke it hard. Mimi and JoAnne each got a good two-handed grip on Fury’s crimson ponytail and hauled the limp sniveling Battling Beauty over to the billionaire’s wheelchair, deflated but still titanic tits dragging along beneath her, throbbing nipples and gloved knuckles scraping over the alley pavement, booted legs trailing behind.

“N-no,” she heard herself beg in a thick blurred whine. “Please … no ….”

The mouth-stuffing wad of cotton was gone. She didn’t know when or how. Fury stared at the big tumescent salami projecting up from Hughes’ lap like a fat rhino horn.

It’s just another dick, her numb mind repeated dimly. Just another dick.

She always tried to make them all ‘just another dick’ but they never were. Not when more rigidly erect manmeat kept being shoved into her masked face and down her throat. She was one of the strongest women in the world but scumbags kept forcing her to suck their awful rigid meat and drink their cum and piss and she couldn’t figure it out. Any more than she could stop it.

“Christ she’s heavy!” JoAnne bitched as they lifted Fury to her knees. “These tits alone must weigh a ton each!”

Sometimes they felt like it ….

Savage Fury swayed on her knees before the chairbound billionaire. She was so weak Mimi had to hold her up by her scarlet ponytail.

The beaten super-bombshell realized she could feel that. And her pulpy battered lips, and the dull pounding ache in her belly. She felt the smoothness of Hughes’ pants when JoAnne and Mimi each took an aching stupendously sagging tit-hulk and lifted it onto his thighs so that they engulfed his upstanding cudgel of a penis like two watermelon around a huge banana.

The drugs are wearing off. If I can make this last ….

It wasn’t the first time that Fury’s survival depended on her cock-sucking skills rather than her muscles or powers. Not even close.

But a win is a win, whatever humiliation you have to endure to get it.

---4---

To buy time in the way that always worked with monsters like these, she struggled, moaning “N-no, I won’t, y-you can’t make meeee ….”

Knowing full well they could and would. And her disgust and fear weren’t all acting. In fact very little was acting by now.

So, predictably, Maid Mimi and Secretary JoAnne together pushed her masked face down onto the old man’s improbably erect cock and when she zipped her lips tight and his rigid organ’s swollen head poked her in the eye, Nurse Joy laced a vicious karate chop into Fury’s throat. The Savage Sensation choked and her mouth dropped open and into it plunged inch after inch of Dietrich Hughes’s great blue-veined dick (“gglgghhh!!”). Behind their mask, her tear-filled eyes went as wide as her plush lips.

His trio of assistants applauded.

“I hope it’s up to your usual standards,” Hughes gritted, eyes squeezing shut as Fury’s cowled head dropped onto his cock and into his lap till it nestled face down between her own gargantuan milkbags. “I paid enough for this. I better get my money’s worth.”

What?

The old pervert yelled “IT’S … GOING … INNNNNN!!”

“Wow,” JoAnne gasped. “I can’t believe she took the whole thing!”

“In one gulp!” Mimi marveled.

God it tastes awful, like it’s never been washed …. Don’t use your tongue, don’t ….

As the Cowled Crusader began to slooowly suck that huge cock, Hughes said “My good friend … Jonathan Hard (oh yes do that with your tongue!) told me you give the best (nnnnh!!) head around. I see he (aaaaaa!!) understated your talents … considerably.”

Despite her revulsion Fury tried to take her time, she knew it was a good sign that she could taste the horrid big schlong as it stretched her lips and plumbed to the back of her throat, she could feel her entire body now, her strength was coming back ….

But he was after all an old man despite Nurse Joy’s drugs. And the sight of Savage Fury’s overblown near-nude magnificence being savagely beaten by his secretary, nurse and maid, this towering masked bitch-goddess reduced to pitiable cringing at his feet with those legendary monster-udders drained of their milk and dripping onto the ground, was too much for the elderly tycoon. So he

Popped

Blew his tiny squirt of a load down her throat.

Fury had been spat on by more.

But then came the follow-up, courtesy of an old man’s old bladder: as his organ shrank urine surged into her mouth and she fell back on her big naked ass, choking and gagging, piss bubbling from her mouth over her chin.

“Help me up!” he ordered, the grotesque sight almost getting him hard again.

A good employee anticipates her boss’s wishes and Maid Mimi and Secretary JoAnne were already at his sides lifting his emaciated body from the chair. Nurse Joy stood next to him to steady his spouting penis with two fingers, directing its sour fetid stream all over Savage Fury’s cowled face and the massive mammaries that sagged out to her sides almost to the ground. The powerless ponderous-pontooned paladin could only splutter and choke.

“That’s for damaging my van,” he gritted. “Those things cost money!”

Dimly: What the— He could buy a thousand vans with pocket change!

“Let’s hurry this up,” Hughes said as the yellow flow abated and Nurse Joy gingerly shook the last few drops into Savage Fury’s masked eyes making her wince. “It’s getting light.”

Then from beyond the alley came the sound of an engine revving. And a voice, sharp in the predawn stillness: “This is Car 54, Officers Toody and Muldoon reporting. Strange sounds in the alley behind Hughes Biochemical, send back-up.”

I don’t believe it, actually saved by the—

“Cops!” Maid Mimi yelped.

“They can’t find me here,” Hughes said. “Let’s leave, ladies.”

“What about this?” Nurse Joy asked disdainfully, nudging Fury’s gaping pink snatch with the toe of a shoe.

“No time. Leave it.”

“Dibs on phoning in the next tip!” Maid Mimi said as she wheeled the billionaire up the ramp into the back of the van and Nurse Joy started it up.

But JoAnne lingered a moment to fetch Fury’s masked face a couple of vicious spikeheeled kicks (“unh!! OOO!!”).

“That’s for ruining my suit, you fucking cow.”

Then ran off. Fury heard the van start up (didn’t even wreck that) and drive out the other exit. She heard car doors slam and hauled herself to gloved hands and booted knees and crawled behind some trash cans to wait till the cops left and her powers came back.

Took a long time.

---5---

“Now, you be careful babe,” Walt said again.

“Walter,” she said, trying to keep her exasperation humorous. “I’m not going over this again. If you’d gone to the reunion—”

“Dear,” he said as patiently as ever, “there is nothing in the world more boring than someone else’s 10th high school reunion. Even a wife’s who I love very much.”

“Nobody would have looked at you funny.”

“Everybody would’ve looked at me funny. And they’d all be thinking the same thing: ‘What in hell does she see in him?’”

She smiled, played with what little was left of his hair. “That doesn’t usually bother you.”

“Usually I wouldn’t get it in such a concentrated dose. I mean, these guys knew you when. The football captain, the student body president, all those honchos.”

“They didn’t know me, they knew my tits. All those guys didn’t go out with me, yhey went out with my tits.”

They didn’t fuck me, they fucked my tits. They just did it in my twat.

“The only door the Titanic Twins didn’t open for me in high school—and that includes the boys’ bathroom door—was cheerleading.”

“Sure, nobody watched the game. They watched the three of you jump around.”

She giggled, fondled her gargantuan breasts in their outrageously overloaded sweater. Thankful again that they were so late Walt hadn’t had time to play with them because he would’ve felt their softness immediately despite them being almost back in shape already.

“The players didn’t watch the game either. When that linebacker ran into the goal post and got a concussion, they took me off the squad.”

“I’ll bet the guys were pissed.”

“They almost went on strike. Now see, if you’d gone with me you could’ve heard these stories a hundred times and you’d have them memorized.”

She smiled. “All right, so maybe you wouldn’t have had the best time in the world.”

Especially with all the jerks who literally lined up to hit on me, and would have anyway even if you had been there.

“But at least you’d have met Krystin and Jake. They invited you too. When I told Krystin you couldn’t come with me she was so disappointed.”

“You know this is the busy season, if I’m lucky and really hustle I’ll do almost 80 percent of my year’s selling in the next month. Then I’ll have more time for you.”

She sighed. She knew, she knew.

Because she also knew he wouldn’t. He never did, there was always another special promotion or new product to keep him away for weeks on end. But now that was okay, even preferable in some ways. She had plenty to occupy her when he was gone. And lately, there was always work for her on nights when he was at home. Like last night ….

Instead of thinking back to that mess (which only made her elephantine tits throb), she picked up two of her suitcases and turned to the station wagon. Made sure one of them was The Special One, with her costume in it. She never went anywhere without her alter-ego any more.

Walt picked up the other two. One was so light he almost threw it in the air. “Oh here, honey, let’s switch one. I got your bras.”

A separate suitcase, just for her enormous bras, or “double basketball slingshots” as Walt liked to call them. They needed their own case because to keep her mammoth milkbags from sagging below her waist (when she wasn’t powered up) they had to be so stiff and heavily-reinforced they didn’t crumple or wad.

That was one of the nice things about wearing the Savage Fury costume, the super strength it gave her made her boulderous babies stand out like, as one writer put it, “pink dirigibles straining at their moorings.” Which of course also made them easier targets than they already were, almost impossible for fists and feet and bullets and what-all else to miss.

Krystin said she knew a bra-maker who could make bras as light as a feather and so soft they could be wadded up and stuffed into a purse, but would hold even milkmonsters as big as Paige's up and out like they were filled with helium. The bras were easy on the back, too—no grooves, welts or heat rashes. Some kind of structural engineering thing.

And Krystin should know—in high school she and Paige had had absolutely nothing in common except the size of their chests. Krystin had been blonde, outgoing and mega-popular, the life of every party and said to look like Kim Novak's younger sister, while redheaded Paige was quiet and shy and compared to Rita Hayworth and Ann Sheridan.

They’d lost touch after high school when Krystin went away to college then moved East and Paige stayed in the Valley. Then came the 10 year reunion and it seemed inevitable that the two biggest girls in their class would run into each other almost immediately, stare in amazement at the same boulderous outgrowths, and say the same words at the same time:

“Good God, girl, how you’ve grown!”

While everyone else just goggled.

---6---

Walt insisted on dropping her off at the bus terminal. She said she could take a cab but he replied that would cost money, and she knew better than to argue with him on that score. So she had to let him take her, which meant a delay and a quick private phone call, supposedly to cancel the cab but actually to Krystin, who told her not to worry, take her time.

“So there’s no ‘danger’ of your husband showing up,” Krystin said. “Not for the whole three weeks.”

“He’ll be on his big sales sweep through the Southwest,” Paige assured her. “That’s why I have to come up there now.”

“Well, I said ‘any time’ and I meant it. But you’re being silly.”

“You don’t know Walt. If he came with me it would ruin the whole visit. He wouldn’t mean to, but he would.”

“Just because—”

“To him money's never a matter of ‘just.’ Trust me Kim, it's best he doesn’t find out yet.”

Dubiously: “Okay, Rita. See you when you get here.”

“They’re calling my bus, darling. I’ll see you in three weeks.”

“Three years. I’ll try to call every night.”

She tried to make it casual. “If you can’t you can’t. She’s always got the answering machine on, so if no one picks up I’ll call you back at your hotel.”

He glanced around, gave her stupendous sweatered boobs a covert squeeze. “Don’t let the Twins get into any trouble.”

On this point at least she could be absolutely honest: “Probably less trouble than they get in around here.”

He grinned, totally misunderstanding her reference. But that was what she wanted.

She turned to one side so he could kiss her on the lips without making a Big Production of it by, as he put it, “climbing the Twin Peaks” and maybe causing a riot (anything involving the Titanic Twins could do that). He turned and marched away, like a little boy forced to leave the candy store.

Paige waited till he was out of sight before taking her suitcases out of the bus luggage area with the googly-eyed help of two very willing employees. She led them to the taxi stand where, swaying and jiggling massively in the drum-taut sweater despite their industrial strength bra, the Twins created an instant traffic jam.

She chose a cab at random and waited while her slaves loaded her luggage into the trunk. The driver, an instant recruit to the Paige Powers Road Gang, said to her monstrous mamms, “Tell me you wanna go to New York!”

“The airport.” She handed him the address Krystin had given her.

Then got in and sighed when the cabby carefully adjusted his mirror downward, for a rear view that did not include traffic behind them. It was only her third cab ride in her whole life, but some things never changed.

He drove her to a small terminal on the far side of the airport from the main complex.

“Are you sure this is the right one?” Paige asked as he unloaded her bags.

“This’s the address you gave me, ma’am.”

“Excuse me,” a distinguished-looking gentleman in a pilot’s uniform said. “You’ve got to be Paige Powers.”

The pilot touched his hat as two crew members picked up her luggage. “This way to your ride.”

“I … wasn’t sure I had the right place.”

“This is the charter terminal, Miss. For private flights.”

Mystified, Paige followed him through the terminal onto the apron where several small business jets were parked.

Wow, Krystin has her own jet! She must be really rich!

They walked past several very expensive-looking ones, Paige wondering which was her friend’s,

To where a big passenger jet waited, its four engines idling. Paige stared.

“Wait a minute,” Paige objected. “There must be some mistake.”

“No mistake. This is your flight to the Bay Area, ma’am.”

She followed him up the stairs into the jet. The only other occupant was a stunningly beautiful stewardess. Paige had to ask, “Where are the other passengers?”

The pilot proceeded forward through curtains while the stew came up to her.

“You’re it,” she said. “Please be seated.”

It finally hit the tall boulder-busted beauty: this was Krystin’s plane.

---7---

Paige sat, boggled. She knew Jake Barrington was rich, Krystin had made no secret of that at the reunion though she hadn’t said a thing. She hadn’t had to—the mink she’d so casually thrown off when the dancing began was worth two years’ salary for Walt. And her jewelry! Forget the rings and the anklet—her diamond necklace alone had cost more than Paige’s home, and the rock that nestled amongst her colossal cleavage had been the size of an egg.

But this wasn’t rich, this was … RICH!!!! This was mansions in The Hamptons and Palm Beach and the south of France and other places she only saw on “Lifestyles” and “Wild On” with that skinny beanpole Brook Burke. This was a car for each day of the week and liveried chauffeurs (she didn’t even know what “liveried” was) and different maids for upstairs and downstairs, and swimming pools the size of lakes and tennis courts they held professional tournaments on that were broadcast on Sunday afternoons

And on … and on ….

And she got to spend three weeks in it!

Without Walt. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that—guilt mixed with (okay, admit it Tits) relief.

The stew interrupted Paige’s musings to take her drink order for later. She ordered a champagne she knew was incredibly expensive and of course they had it. What was a private jet like this without a wine cellar?

The engines’ dull whine rose to a muffled scream and they started to move. Paige watched the runway roll past her window, then fall away. Within minutes all there was was the blue Pacific far below. She had to force herself not to stare out the window so the stewardess wouldn’t know this was only her second time in an airplane, ever. And never, but NEVER, by herself.

She didn’t really like the champagne but had two more glasses anyway because it was so expensive.

You probably just knocked back one of Walt’s paychecks in each glass.

Sipping the tangy bubbly, she yawned and thought back to last night. The way the patrol ended made her especially glad to get out of town for awhile. At least the champagne washed away the last of the aftertaste of that old bastard’s piss. The third glass put her to long-delayed sleep and ended the fantasy newscast that always replayed her most humiliating defeats over and over in her head:

For some reason it was always that wise-ass from “The Nightly Show” which Paige wished now she’d never started watching. He said, “And finally folks, our Moment of Now and Zen: everyone’s favorite Amazon punching bag with everyone’s favorite outsized punching bags, getting it done to her yet again. We used to call this ‘Stop us if you’ve heard this one’ but no one ever has. Stopped us, that is. We do get a lot of calls for reruns, and unedited copies ….”

Cut to a close-up of Savage Fury sprawled on the ground, cowled face wincing at a stream of piss that plays all over the World’s Strongest Woman’s face and mountainous chest. A spikeheeled foot steps on her chin levering her plush battered mouth open so the stream can go right in and down her throat ….

---8---

“Miss? Excuse me—miss?”

Paige awoke and stared up at the stewardess.

“We’re about to land, Miss Powers.”

“What?? Oh … thank you. Thanks.”

The girl moved off to the rear. Paige discovered she’d covered her with a blanket while she slept. She also found that while asleep she’d been rubbing her pussy under the blanket, and the mounded crotch of her skintight satin pants was stained with cum.

With a small cry the humongous-hootered housewife jumped up and, standing to take a skirt from a suitcase in the overhead storage, fled to the bathroom, ignoring the stew’s protests about landing safety. In that narrow little phone booth skinning those pants down her lavish hips (could’ve used paint remover), swabbing her still-oozing pussy out with a fistful of toilet paper, then hitching the skirt (almost as tight) up onto her swelling haunches seemed to take just forever.

And when she came out again and heard the stewardess tell the captain over the intercom phone that “now we can land” she was all too aware of the way the skirt clung to each separate bursting cheek of her awesome swaying ass. Funny how the pants had clung to her outsized butt like shimmering paint but that hadn’t bothered her.

It wasn’t until she was getting off and thanking the attendant that the thought hit her: Maybe she covered me because I was stroking myself off in my sleep! How embarrassing!

So she tipped her with the spending money Walt had given her for the three weeks: $70.

---9---

But all this was forgotten the instant she stepped out of the plane into dazzling sunlight and a cool breeze off the Bay. The airport before her was almost a mirror image of the one she’d left behind. Except for the biggest stretch limo she’d ever seen (also the first up close) parked about 50 yards away. From the rear compartment (apartment was more like it) now erupted the biggest pair of snugly and expensively bloused tits she’d ever seen on such a slender woman with such incredibly long legs. As Krystin got out and straightened, those blimps of hers came up so fast they looked like they’d float her away into the sky or tip her over backwards.

And with a skinny ass like hers, Paige thought enviously, she’d sit down hard.

From this distance Krystin looked to be nothing but boobs and legs in skintight leather pants, draped in a gorgeous full-length mink, with a much smaller head on top halo’d by a golden froth of hair. When she saw Paige coming down the ramp stairs the gorgeous blonde waved and came running toward her, gargantuan milkbags bounding and leaping about.

Those special bras might do wonders for support, Paige thought, but they don’t do a thing about jiggle, except maybe turn it into joggle.

No, make that JOGGLE!

Her own Titanic Twins flopping heavily, she almost leaped down the steps and met Krystin at the bottom. As Jake described it later, “Every guy in the area held his breath when your two sets of airbags collided. If they’d burst the whole airport could have been destroyed.”

“Kim!” Paige cried.

“Rita!” Krystin exclaimed.

The two monster-mammed milkmaids didn’t know it at the time, but about $100 in bets changed hands a moment later, when against all seeming laws of physics they managed to hug, both pairs of ponderous pontoons meshing and mashing massively between them.

Krystin’s immense tits felt so good against hers (and she could barely tell she was wearing a bra) that Paige had to push herself away. So, she noticed, did Krys.

“God it’s good to see you!” Krystin said. “Did you enjoy the flight? Did they take good care of you?”

“The best. I slept most of the way.”

Krystin’s green eyes glinted. “What do you think of my toy?”

Paige was on the verge of exploding with—she didn’t know what. Not envy for sure, a thing like the jet was beyond envy. Not to mention this block-long limousine. So she managed—barely—to affect nonchalance. “Well, like they say: if you’ve seen one private jet, you’ve seen them all.”

Krystin stared at her. Paige smiled back. Then they both burst into chestblimp-shaking laughter. Jake, who’d been standing off to one side, came up and took Paige’s hand. He was a big handsome virile man in his early 60’s with iron-gray hair and intense blue eyes, older than she’d have picked for Krystin, but there were other factors.

“Nice to see you again, Paige,” he said. “Sorry your husband couldn’t come along.”

“I am too,” Paige lied.

“What was that about ‘Rita’ and ‘Kim’?” he asked as they walked to the waiting limo.

“In high school they called us Rita Hayworth and Kim Novak because we looked like them.”

“‘Looked’? Still do, even better if you ask me.”

Paige smiled. She could see what Krystin saw in him, beyond his m—no, billions.

The chauffeur loaded her luggage into the limo’s trunk and Jake helped the two hulkingly top-heavy bombshells in.

“This is a nice toy too,” Paige commented seating herself and the Twins in the spacious compartment across from Krystin and Jake—about eight feet across. She felt like she should have a megaphone or something.

Jake opened a small refrigerator and retrieved a bottle of the same champagne she’d had on the plane, poured three glasses.

“We don’t use it very much,” Krystin said.

She settled the mink coat around her own gigantic tautly silk-bloused jiggle-hulks, the diamond necklace lying in the canyon between their mega-melony slopes and the rings on her fingers gleaming as she sipped the bubbly.

“Why not?” Paige asked, momentarily blinded by the dazzle of that awesome rock.

“Too flashy.”

---10---

Which were the very words Savage Fury thought that night from the top of Voit Tower, as she surveyed the Bay Area’s unfamiliar glittering skyline.

And you thought the private airliner and the limo were incredible!

The first things Krystin had shown her before they even went inside (offhandedly saying “your maids will take care of your luggage” like it was the most normal thing in the world and it had been a couple of minutes before Paige had heard the ‘s’ at the end of ‘maid’) were her cars. She’d always been car-happy, and now she could be car-ecstatic with her three “current faves”—a BMW roadster, Humvee, and an old restored Rolls Silver Shadow that she called Her Nibs. It looked like it had been bought from the Queen of England. The block-long garages held a dozen more but these were her “pets” of the moment.

Jake had another dozen, of course, including the limo. All Paige could think of while admiring all this expensive gleaming steel was the hole in her station wagon’s firewall where she’d put her foot through while driving as Savage Fury, and how badly poor Esmeralda needed a wash and a tune-up. Oh, and new shocks ….

Then there was the mansion, which was closer to a castle, it had more servants than she could count let alone rooms. Dozens of rooms including a private movie theater that seated 20, indoor and outdoor swimming pools, two libraries, a grand ballroom, and so many more carpeted caverns she was afraid of getting lost. She didn’t know what any of them were for but all were huge and furnished to the gills.

In back were acres of grounds and gardens and lawns with guest houses, stables, four tennis courts and a private lake with boat house and several boats. It would take longer than three weeks just to learn to find her way around.

They’d eaten lunch in the informal dining room which seated only eight (Krystin called it the breakfast nook), instead of the formal banquet room which could seat anywhere from two to four dozen. And apparently had to—from all the messages Krystin’s two (!) secretaries gave her when she showed Paige her offices (!), the humongous-hootered housewife took her giant-jugged friend to be the social lioness of the Bay Area elite.

As the grand finale to the tour Krystin showed Paige to her suite—lavish bedroom with sitting room, bathroom the size of her living room at home with a tub that probably required swimming lessons, a closet that was more jog-around-in than walk-in (and there were two others). Her few bags looked shabby and cheap amidst all this and she knew how they felt.

Then she met her personal (!!) maids: Alma for dressing and such and Trudi for serving at meals and running errands. Their uniforms were considerably more expensive and stylish than any of Paige’s clothes. But Krystin wouldn’t take “no thanks I can take care of myself” for an answer. And Paige appreciated the way Alma managed to keep a straight face while hanging her Sears and Walmart-bought things up in the huge main closet. Her shoes looked even more pathetic and lonely in the shoe closet. And she only wished she had something to put in the air conditioned humidity-controlled fur closet.

Krystin and Jake themselves had three separate suites: the one they shared that was a little smaller than her home in the Valley—unless you figured in the bathrooms (one for each) and walk-in closets. Krystin’s offices were part of her own private suite in a separate wing with more closets crammed with shoes and boots and furs and hats and purses and lingerie, not to mention the latest fashions, all custom redesigned for her enormous chest by the designers themselves.

It was like being in a museum, Savage Fury reflected in lingering amazement. They’d even dressed for dinner—black tie for Jake (at least she knew what that meant) and evening gowns for Krystin and her. All Paige brought with her was the Gilda gown (she couldn’t even pretend to have others) which Krystin said (as kindly as possible) wasn’t appropriate for dinner but she had to wear it at the party tomorrow night because nothing was funnier than watching the eyeballs of the Bay Area’s power elite roll around on the floor. Paige got the impression Krystin caused that regularly and would appreciate some pumpkin-sized distraction.

When she objected she had nothing else to wear, Krystin pulled her master stroke, opening a closet in Paige’s suite she hadn’t even noticed to reveal a dozen gowns, from Armani and Givenchy and Dior and others she’d never heard of! And as busy as she was with appointments and phone calls and letters to write, her best friend took the whole afternoon to help Paige try them on, oohing and aahing at each daring and elegant design—and they all fit perfectly, even her gigantic tits which never fit anything!

Fury thought, you have to remember to ask her how she did that!

Krystin was so casual and offhand about it all that she’d tried to be that way too. Didn’t think she succeeded very well. Her friend had changed so much—so elegant and sophisticated and graceful that you’d never guess she came from the Valley.

Wearing a gorgeous green gown that covered everything from neck to wrists to ankles but clung to each separate jiggling monster-milkbag and its big thrusting nipple so sheerly it might as well have been painted on, Krystin spent dinner regaling Jake with stories of their adventures in high school: the times they’d dressed as hookers in the tightest lowest-cut sluttiest dresses and spikiest heels they could find and went down to the far end of Valley Blvd and been propositioned by sailors and soldiers and all sorts of men.

“Even a few women!” Krystin laughed. “If we’d wanted to we could’ve made a lot of money. And a lot of guys.”

Paige had blushed at the memory. Jake grinned at her. “How did my darling wife talk you into going along with all these hare-brained schemes?”

Krystin gave her a shrewd affectionate glance. “Oh, don’t let Miss ‘Butter Wouldn’t Melt’ fool you—they were her ideas. I just got ‘em carried out. She comes on shy and demure but there’s a devil inside all that body.”

“There’s certainly plenty of room.” Jake lifted his wine glass. “To the most beautiful pair in the Bay Area.”

“Which one of us?” Krystin asked blandly.

Paige smiled. “In high school we were known as the Titanic Two.”

“Together and separately,” Krystin added.

Jake laughed.

---11---

Savage Fury didn’t feel especially like laughing as she surveyed the strange city at her spikeheeled feet. What she felt like was going back to the mansion and climbing into bed. Despite the lavished kindness she’d been overwhelmed by all the luxury and wealth.

Like some country girl from the sticks visiting your super-rich mega-classy and ultra-refined city friend.

So uncomfortable that when at 10 pm Jake (to her surprise) announced it was bed time, she’d just had to climb into the costume and get out into the night. Knocking a few crooks’ heads together was a guaranteed cure for whatever bothered her. Plus the Bay Area had superheroines of its own, a couple rumored to be as stupendously stacked as she was, and one big reason for this trip (and for not bringing Walt along) was that she wanted to meet them and compare notes.

Just then her super-ears picked up the siren song of action—a police siren, to be exact, not too far away and moving fast, probably in pursuit. She hopped lightly to the street far below, gloved hands as always pressing her gigantic tits down to minimize their perpetual jiggle when she landed. Not to mention their nasty and embarrassing habit of leaping up into her masked face and giving her a meaty one-two punch.

The street was dark and deserted at this midnight hour, but not for long. As Fury straightened a sedan flashed around the corner two blocks away and barreled down toward her with the siren not far behind. She had just enough time to scope the area out and decide the best way to stop the racing car without causing damage. The Cowled Crusader stooped and snatched up a manhole cover and shied it at the oncoming headlights like a Frisbee. The massive steel discus slammed into the car’s radiator like an artillery shell and tore through to the engine block. The car did a 360 in the middle of the street and skidded to a steaming smoking stop right where Savage Fury waited.

“Now that’s what I call service,” she smiled, and, tearing the right door off like a pull-tab, plucked the dazed passenger out.

The driver all but fell out of his side and took a few staggering steps up the street. With a contemptuous fly-flick of her gloved wrist Fury tossed his partner at him and they went down in a heap.

The gargantuan-globed gladiatrix picked them up with two gloved fingers each, like smelly garbage. “Scum is the same in any sewer, I guess.”

The driver was conscious enough to gape at her, especially at the naked pinkly-jiggling watermelon right in his face.

And he actually squalled, “S-someone call a c-cop!”

And as though someone had, the pursuit unit pulled up at just that moment and two officers jumped out with guns drawn. The Cowled Crusader decided she liked the way this town did things.

But she changed her mind almost immediately.

The first cop yelled “Put ‘em down!”

And the second cop yelled “Put ‘em up!”

“Thank God you arrived, officers!” the driver said. “This overblown vigilante cunt—”

Fury shook him to silence. Unable to believe her ears.

“You heard me!” the first cop barked, pointing his gun squarely at her gigantic left jug. “Put ‘em down!”

The second cop, whose gun was aimed at Fury’s right milk-blimp, said “We got one, Jim! Which one is it? I mean, lookit them tits! Like fuckin’ pumpkins!”

“She’s one of the super-economy sizes all right Morty,” Jim replied. “Must be Juggernaut.”

“Nah, she’s big enough alright—maybe bigger if you can believe it—but Juggy is a brunette, and she wears metal anyway.”

“Well she sure as fuck ain’t Golden Goddess, that bitch is a blonde.”

Morty snickered. “A real blonde. It ain’t like she don’t flaunt it. But hey! That means—”

“We got us a new one!”

“Shields for sure!”

Still holding her captives, Fury listened to this exchange with mounting bewilderment. The two creeps dangling from her gloved fists began to struggle and yell and Jim barked, “Hey SuperTits, I told you to put those citizens down!”

And he shot her right in her left nipple, Morty following suit an instant later, his bullet hitting high on her right chest-mountain and ricocheting into the sky, making that monumental milkbag joggle vastly about. With an astonished squeak she dropped the two creeps who took off as fast as their wobbly legs (and tented crotches) would allow.

---12---

“Hey!” The Cowled Crusader made a grab for them, almost ran after them but at a snick! sound turned back to the two cops (who couldn’t be real).

To find the two uniforms pointing strange-looking guns at her. No, not guns, they were more like gas station nozzles and she saw now there were tanks strapped to their backs.

“What the hell is going on here?” she demanded indignantly, massaging her massive throbbing tits.

It wasn’t that they hurt so much—the loads had only been 38’s and her chest mountains had taken artillery shells squarely on their nipples. But any distraction could help here, till she found out what the (very strange) deal was. And these blubber-blimps of hers were major distractions ….

“Shouldn’t we wait for the SHIRTs?” Morty asked.

“If we bring her in by ourselves we’ll get decorations. And don’t forget the perqs.”

Morty licked his lips. “OH yeah.”

Suddenly Fury didn’t care about what was going on, she just wanted to get back to the mansion and to bed. And to hell with these two crazy … whatever they were. She couldn’t believe they were really cops.

But as she hunkered down to leap away, they pressed triggers and thick gooey foam belched from the hoses, spraying Fury’s scantclad awesomely-overblown body around her waist

And hardening almost instantly, trapping her glove-sheathed arms at her sides!

“I don’t know what you two jerks think this will accomplish,” the Masked Mammazon gritted, “but all I have to do—”

She tried to lift her arms but to her astonishment felt the foam give a little, but not much. “You—bastards ….”

“Jesus Christ,” Morty said. “She’s gonna break—”

“Relax,” Jim smiled, way too calm and confident. “This muscle-bound bitch’ll just get more of it sooner.”

What the hell does he mean by that?

And I’m NOT muscle-bound!

Trim super-powerful muscle rippled across her bare shoulders and bulged the leather gloves sheer over her upper arms as the boulder-busted battler strained at the foam—and it gave a little more, stretched like rubber, she knew she could break free with another effort.

Teeth clenched, sweat popping out under her cowl: “Ggggghhhhhh!!”

What … is this stuff??

Now Fury learned what the cop meant by ‘more of it sooner,’ as the foam, heated by her struggles, began releasing a thick noxious vapor that blurred her eyes and set her cowled head to spinning. She staggered back on her spikeheels

Not more goddam gas??? Nooooooooo ….

It felt like the same stuff as the night before, though it didn’t cling to her and burn. But again super-strength drained like water from her towering titan-titted body. At least it didn’t take all her power like last night’s gas had, she could still stand if shakily.

But when the dizzy double-dirigibled dominatrix tried once more to tear her gloved arms free of the foam she got another faceful of gas that dropped her to her boot-sheathed knees with a moan, muscular shoulders slumped.

“Now?” Morty said.

“Now,” Jim replied.

Grinning and licking their lips, the two cops produced aluminum baseball bats and came at her.

“Batter up!”

Having learned the hard way, again and again (hard fists, hard feet, hard cocks) when it was best (if most humiliating) to retreat, Savage Fury struggled to her feet, teetering precariously on her 6-inch heels, and turned to flee. But, dazed and seriously weakened, she was slow and the cops were fast. She hadn’t staggered two steps before they slammed their bats into her overblown nakedly-shimmying buttcheeks wringing an astonished squeak of embarrassment from the Cowled Crusader.

It felt like she’d been spanked with steel girders!

“It’s a double!” Morty gloated.

Fury went to her boot-sheathed knees again. This was a position the stunned stupendous-titted superheroine had a nasty feeling she was going to spend a lot of time in soon and she couldn’t help licking her ripe lips, moistening them in shuddering anticipation.

Because now the bats were laid across her broad bare back. They hit her like red-hot pokers and the armbound Masked Mammazon screamed at the unbelievable pain and collapsed on her face, levering her great naked ass up on her knees.

Pain … incredible … too much … you’re not that weak, and Lord knows you’ve been spanked by worse than bats …. What’s—

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

As the bats slammed into her nethercheeks again with twin meaty smacks. Fury threw her head back and bawled from the explosive agony and indignation. Leather-sheathed arms more glued to her sides than ever ….

“I don’t think this elephant-uddered bitch gets it!” Morty chuckled.

“She’s never been Foamed before!” Jim said.

As, groaning, the agonized awesome-bodied Amazon Avenger tried to totter to her feet, he smashed his bat into her cowled head and Morty ripped his Louisville Slugger straight up under her jiggling buttocks into her bulging barely-covered snatch. That was almost did it for the Thighbooted Thunderbolt right there. She collapsed face down with a gassy almost inaudible shriek.

---13---

Contemptuously, Jim kicked her over onto her back. Fury could only croak thickly.

“Guess maybe we was wrong,” he sneered. “She just dresses like a superslut.”

“Undresses, you mean,” Morty laughed.

He leered at the gargantuan milkbags that sagged ponderously naked out of their narrow straps almost to the pavement at her sides. Nudged one of them with the toe of his shoe. It sloshed heavily about and the sprawled super-bombshell moaned.

“But she’s suuure built like one of ‘em!”

And swinging his bat like a sledgehammer he buried it deep into one of those heaving jello-pumpkins. Fury’s masked eyes popped wiiide open as did her plush drooling mouth and her head jerked up, only to be knocked back down again when Jim, using his bat like a golf club, smashed her other monster mountain up into her face (“uHNf!!”).

“Man, these things are definitely bigger than Golden Goddess’s whoppers, even Juggs-ernaut!”

Fury was trying not to struggle, hoping to avoid yet another dose of the terrible gas, but couldn’t help it. The wrenching pain of the two cops’ tit and pussy blows was only now starting to fade.

Taking much too long, you’ve been kicked in the twat before and it didn’t—

“D-damn y-you ….” The Savage Sensation managed to mutter through her torment, writhing about, but didn’t sound very convincing even to her own madly-ringing ears.

“Shut up, Tits!” Jim barked, jamming the head of his bat down onto her mouth, twisting and turning it. “C’mon, bitch, open up!”

“Allow me,” Morty said, and brutally speared the helpless heroine’s mounded crimson-thatched pussy, now naked since it had long since sucked her V-thong deep between its swollen pink lips.

Fury’s howl of impossible pain was choked off almost instantly by Jim’s bat forcing its way between her luscious ragged lips, behind her teeth all the way to the back of her throat (“GLLLGGHHH!”). The cop stood back and watched the prone ponderous-pontooned powergirl thrash about, the bat projecting from her wide-stretched mouth swaying crazily in the air.

“Wow, she must suck some big ones!”

“She’ll be sucking two more pretty soon,” Morty said. “Stand her up.”

And all Savage Fury could do as Jim took two handsful of her scarlet topknot and dragged her to her feet was groan around the mouth-crammed bat.

The cop groaned too. “Jesus H Kee-rist, she weighs a ton!”

“Half of it tits, I bet.”

So they threw the foam-bound boulder-titted bombshell against the patrol car to slump over its hood with a bat-gagged grunt. She shook her cowled head from side to side frantically but couldn’t dislodge the aluminum cylinder (“Mmmpppff! Glrffff!!”), only waved it about like a fat beslobbered baton.

Then from her haze of pain and shame (They’re just two guys! Two normal men!) she heard them talking as they approached her from behind.

“Five bucks.”

“You’re on.”

“One push. All the way in.”

“Hey, who knows how far ‘all the way’ is? If she’s anything like our supercunts, she takes it up the ass big-time.”

Helpless Fury burned at the answering chuckle (it didn’t help that the SOB was right). “Yeah. Ain’t it great? Which reminds me, you still got that vid of Juggernaut gettin’ gangraped by the Beastly Boys?”

“I’ll have to check. I might’ve traded it to Charlie for his DVD of the time we raided Doc Demento’s hide-out and found Leather Rampage and Pink Panther hangin’ from the rafters like slabs of meat. Too bad you weren’t along—they hadn’t been raped yet so the four of us took care of that. Man, when we finally let ‘em go ‘cause we had to report in—and because there wasn’t a drop of jizz left in any of us—those two big-titted bitches crawled out of there whimpering, they left trails of cum all the way to the street.”

“Crap, I miss all the good stuff.”

“Not this time, boyo.”

Both pigs laughed.

My God, Fury thought hazily, these ARE real police! What kind of a town is this??

Enraged, she tried to lift herself off the patrol car’s hood but only got another whiff of gas for her effort and slumped back. The baseball bat projecting from her widestretched lips rapped the hood with a bong.

“Hey, shouldn’t she be way unconscious by now? She’s taken enough gas to put even Juggs-ernaut down and out!”

“As long as she stays where she is, who cares? … Okay, remember—one shove.”

Her thighbooted legs were kicked apart and Fury felt the blunt metal head of the other bat nudge her pussy. N-no, I won’t let you fuck my cunt with a baseball bat! Chewing on the lip-stretching bat, tasting the sour cold aluminum, she reared back but what felt like a low-flying plane slammed into her cowled head and she sagged over the hood again, stunned.

“Fuckin’ super-cow doesn’t know when she’s licked.”

“I’ll hold her down.”

The patrol car shifted beneath her, suspension groaning, and she saw the shadow of someone climbing onto the hood. Groaned around the bat louder than the suspension when he stood over her and stepped into the vast side-ballooning masses of her stupendous milkbags, then plopped his fat ass down on the back of her head.

Given the punishment your poor tits have taken, it’s just lucky they didn’t squirt milk.

“You may fire when ready.”

An instant later Fury discovered the two uniformed thugs’ bet did not concern her much-plowed pussy after all, when the bat slammed up her asshole and buried six freezing inches of metal between her lavish bare cheeks in one explosively-agonizing shove.

The cops might as well have set off a stick of dynamite up her awesome naked ass, the way the terrible pain galvanized her body and, for a precious adrenalin-blasting moment, blew the gas’s soporific effects away. The Mammazon Manhunter screamed into her mouth-stuffed bat and jerked up, the bat taking the cop sitting in the monumental masses of her tits on the balls and knocking him over her to tumble into his partner who was twisting the bat around in her gaping asshole.

At the same time the bound and hugely-buggered Gorgeous Glamazon spasmed back and, jerking the anally-drilling club from the cop’s grip, rammed it into his gut. Both uniforms went down in a single heap behind her. The Savage Sensation straightened but yelped at the flash of pain from her massively impaled ass—and cried out again when she turned and smacked the bat’s handle into the patrol car’s fender.

M-my ass … on fire …. Bat’s too big even for me ….

The pain cleared away some of her dizziness but she was still weak. She gave each of the moaning cops a kick in the head (wishing she was strong enough to smash their skulls like melons) that shot fresh hot pain from deep within her lavish butt. Then, bleating pitifully with each pain-blasting movement, the Thighbooted Thunderbolt hobbled off, wanting only to get away and find a quiet private spot to try to free her glove-sheathed arms. Her gapingly-crammed jaw was starting to hurt almost as much as her asshole.

---14---

Foam’s almost … out of gas … I think ….

But the doubly-impaled Savage Fury’s head was still rocking and rolling as she lurched into a dark alleyway up the block. She couldn’t go much farther—each spikeheeled step shot fire up her spine from the bat projecting like a tail from between her overblown buttcheeks, till it felt like it was red-hot and incinerating her deeply reamed bowels.

In the alley’s dank reeking darkness the super-stacked super-bombshell stumbled over a toppled trashcan and went to her boot-sheathed knees with a gagged grunt—and somehow managed to finally finally FINALLY shatter the now-brittle foam that glued her gloved arms to her sides.

It was still giving off enough gas to make her faint though, so she skootched away from the pile of pieces before resting on all fours, gasping hoarsely for breath, aching glove-sheathed arms almost too weak to support her and these gargantuan weights. She was about to get that fucking baseball bat out of her mouth then try to remove the telephone pole jammed up her butt without pulling her intestines out with it.

When a super-strong hand took her cowled head up by the ponytail, yanked the bat out and crammed a handful of the foam pieces into her mouth!

---15---

“You’ll like the taste of it even better than the smell,” a female voice gritted.

Fury’s mind went swimming again, away from her body even worse than before (and the taste was awful). She felt but could do nothing about the steelclad hands that jerked her gloved wrists behind her and quickly and expertly wrapped heavy cable around them, then pulled her spikebooted ankles up to complete the hogtie—and incidentally support the baseball bat still projecting up from her outsized bare ass.

(“And it’s a new record, rodeo fans! Savage Fury buttfucked, gagged and hogtied in less than 30 seconds!”)

But who the hell was doing this to her??

“The rape was a nice bit,” the hard voice went on, “but you must think we’re pretty stupid to fall for this trick again.”

What trick? What’s this bitch blathering on ab—“UNFHH!!”

As a heavy metal boot slammed a vicious kick to her cowled head, then another (“gggh!!”) that added stars to the fog filling her mind.

“You’ll quit before we do,” the now-distant echoey voice grated.

Stunned, Fury lay there and moaned. One of the head kicks had crushed the mouthful of foam pieces and released another lungful of gas so she still couldn’t snap the wires binding her gloved wrists to her booted ankles.

Too weak even to struggle against her bonds (always good fleshy entertainment for her captors anyway), the hogtied heroine slumped miserably. The dank pavement was freezing against her massively mashed milkbags and dripping pussy. And the aluminum baseball bat had become a huge icicle up her throbbing reamed-out asshole.

Welcome to the Bay Area Boobazon!

A line from an old Paul Simon song ran through her head: “It’s the same old story, yeah …. Everywhere I go-o-o ….”

Silence from overhead. Then a rope dropped down and two female forms slid to the ground. After a moment they approached her, high heels clicking. Fury’s eyes finally started to clear and she saw two beautiful strikingly-costumed masked women.

One was a magnificent black Amazon in skintight leather (thighboots with pants snug as an oil slick, gauntlets, monstermelon-crammed jacket), the other a stunning blonde whose costume was styled after Marilyn Monroe in “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes”—strapless pink evening gown with matching shoulder-length gloves, diamonds at wrists, ears and neck, and a high-pointed cat-mask. Of course, the pumpkin-sized milkbags swaying and jiggling in the gown’s overloaded bodice spoiled the Monroe look-alike but Fury wasn’t complaining.

Finally! The local superheroines! But what happened to the villainess with the voice?

They just stood there, didn’t make a move to free her. She flopped about urgently, turned her broad back to show them the wires tying wrists to ankles. “Mppfff!!”

“Don’t touch her!” the voice commanded behind the prone ponderous-pontooned powergirl. “You were stupid to even show yourselves.”

“We weren’t going to touch her,” said the pinkclad blonde.

Oh great, these must be more bad guys. All I fucking need ….

“We checked around first,” added the African-American Amazon, playing impatiently with a bullwhip and pulling up the tops of her thighboots. “There’s no one else.”

“She could still be a decoy,” the third voice said. “Or another plant.”

“Not the way those two creeps rocked and socked her,” the mammoth-mammed blonde replied. “They beat her every way from Sunday. I mean, look at the bat sticking out of her ass! Couldn’t we—”

“No. Leave it in. Let her get the kind of treatment we always get.”

“If she’s got super-powers,” the big black beauty added, “I’m Lady Luscious.”

Fury burned with humiliation. What the hell now?? First cops who act like crooks and now superheroines who won’t ….

“Fffmmmpppff!!” she tried to scream into her mouthful of that awful foam.

A spikeheeled boot stepped down on the back of her cowled head, pushed her face into the pavement and held it there. “Shut up, bitch!”

If I had my strength back ….

“Maybe she knows where Teen Supreme is.”

“Goldie’s on her way,” the pink-gowned bombshell said. “Then we’ll decide.”

“She’s not the leader of this group!” the contemptuous voice declared.

“Fuck you, Juggernaut, neither are you!”

But Fury felt her strength final-fucking-ly returning. Guess that last mouthful was the foam’s last gasp. It was almost yours.

She waited though, lying there under that metal boot-heel. She wasn’t sure who these women were but she had to be ready for anything when she made her move. Friend or foe, this Juggernaut especially was a nasty bitch.

And you better not wait too long, Supertits—four of these cunts will be that much tougher to take down!

“Keep an eye out for Shirts,” the third voice said.

The Cowled Crusader was too sick and tired of this whole scene to wonder who or what these ‘Shirts’ were. Except articles of clothing totally not worn by anyone present. So when Juggernaut stepped off her head for a moment she

Exploded!

Snapped the wires at her wrists and ankles like thread and leaped to her feet. When a freight train slammed into her from behind and sent her smashing through a wall into a dark shop of some sort. She got a quick flash of plants and greenery before the metallic overblown form jumped on her and sank what felt like steel teeth into a gargantuan soft milkbag. Fury screamed and kicked Juggernaut off, caught a quick moonlit gleam of gleaming metal and opulent flesh as she jumped back through the hole.

But a whip lashed out across both her joggling chest-boulders and sent a lightning bolt through her awesomely-overblown superbody. Fury clenched her teeth against a groan of pain but grabbed the whip and threw its thighbooted mistress to one side as she charged the masked Monroe-clone who reached up and plucked off her earrings, hurled them unerringly into the Mammazon Manhunter’s nipples, impaling those sensitive ducts on razor-sharp points. The Savage Sensation screamed and staggered back, clutching her wounded watermelons—

Suddenly the alleyway was bathed in a dazzling golden glow that seemed to make everything move in slow motion. Fury got a faint glimpse of an incredible incredibly-female form in the midst of that brilliance, floating down so lightly she seemed a dream.

The first things the Mammazon Manhunter made out as the light began to fade were a titanic pair of tits (not just par for this course, but a double-eagle!), then a costume of gold sheathing a body far more slender than her own, clad in (“painted with” would be closer) a skintight golden evening gown cut in a deep V that concealed only a minute part of those double whoppers.

The gown flared out at the hips as she descended baring long lithe legs in golden nylons and garters and 6-inch spikeheels with a gold mesh G-string hung low from her waist that barely contained a bulging thick-furred pussy. The dazzling skirt settled when she alit but clung to her willowy thighs and as the glow faded further Fury saw it had a front leg slit that met the neckline at a big gleaming jewel over the dazzling Amazon’s trim gut.

Take that jewel away and the whole thing will just fall open and drop off. Wonder how many have tried? And succeeded?

The G-string gleamed between her sleek silken legs as the tall lissome blonde bombshell strode forward toward the others, monumental mammaries swaying and shimmying heavily, their big dark nipples peering out around the gown’s plunging V. Shoulder-length wide-flaring gold gloves and a sparling diamond tiara completed the outrageous teasingly sexy outfit.

It covers a lot but barely conceals anything. Verry arousing.

The light was still too bright to make out her face except for its mask, a translucent sash tied behind her great-maned head that gave her a swashbuckling look. Funny how the glow seemed to emanate from her mountainous chest. Fury had never seen such colossal tits on such a slender frame, they looked like they were trying to crowd each other off her narrow ribcage, and when she turned away their outer hemispheres were clearly visible beyond her upper arms ….

The dazzling apparition’s radiance died away. The other three shook themselves as though from a trance.

That’s some light she’s got there, that’s ….

“What the hell is going on here?” the new arrival demanded in a weird echoey voice, crossing her gold-sheathed arms under those stupendous jugs.

Then blinding light exploded in the alley and a voice called “Freeze, all you bitches!”

“I knew it was a trap!” Juggernaut yelled behind Fury.

A foot slammed into the dazed and blinded Cowled Crusader’s still-sensitive cunt and as she bent over howling and clutching at her furry mound, two hands took her by the ponytail and swung her screaming around like the Olympic hammer throw, till they released her to sail to the far end of the alley and crash into a dumpster. The lid clanged shut over her.

It was dark inside but unconsciousness was darker. And it smelled better.

---16---

She awoke to smothering clammy blackness and an awful stench. She was lying in the dumpster amidst stinking garbage and the lid was down and it stank horribly.

When I get my hands on that Juggernaut bitch ….

But that light, that voice ….

Her stomach finally rebelled against the awful taste of the foam and the horrid smell and suffocating closeness of this dumpster. The Cowled Crusader was barely able to lift the lid and hoist herself up into the clean cold air to hang half over the side, cold wet metal frigid against her gargantuan dangling tits, before she she threw up.

Another one for the scrapbook, Boobazon! First you—

“NOOOOO!!”

As she leaned forward too far and the weight of her monumental mammaries overbalanced her and she dropped to the ground, right into the disgusting mess she’d just hurled.

Oh Jesus ….

She leaped to her spikeheeled feet, dizzy with nausea.

Gotta get this off me and clean my mouth out before I hurl again, what a night!

Little knowing how far it was from being over.

She remembered the glimpse she’d gotten of the shop Juggernaut had knocked her into and raced through that hole. Her masked eyes had gotten just enough of their “super” back to show it was a garden shop. Fury quickly found a hose and rinsed the foul taste from her mouth (even the metallic tang of that baseball bat) then turned the water on herself and washed as much of the vomit from her mostly-naked awesomely-overblown body as she could.

Thank God everything just washes off the costume—cum, blood, even vomit!

But forget a bath—me for a long hot shower!

As soon as I power up again of course. Can’t exactly call a cab in this outfit.

She found a bathroom with lots of towels and began using them industriously. There was so much jiggling swelling flesh to dry off and it was all soaking wet.

Shivering in the predawn chill, powerless but not giving a damn, the Thighbooted Thunderbolt stepped back into the alley. She ached all over, worse than that time those two punks had caught her right after a sudden rainstorm, beat and raped the crap out of her then dragged their whimpering powerless masked fuck-toy to a nearby laundromat and stuffed her into a dryer, and when she struggled knocked her around some more and made her suck their cocks again till they’d covered her masked face and massive mamms with still more of their sticky gooey jism.

Fortunately for her—not them—they hung around to watch this titanically top-heavy leather-bitch with the magic lips and bottomless throat get tumbled and spun-dry like crazy. The dryer had done its work quickly, though not as quickly as Fury when she exploded from it and caught them literally with their pants down. They’d been masturbating to her cries and screams and the occasional glimpses of her gigantic jugs and wide-eyed masked face mashed against the glass door! She’d made sure they could never do that again.

Let’s just hope THIS dry cycle doesn’t take too long!

As she toweled her monstrous milkbags off Fury began wondering what had happened to those, those whatever-they-were after she’d been knocked into the dumpster.

(Heroines? They sure didn’t act like it).

She didn’t really give a damn but couldn’t help examining the alleyway for signs of battle.

No blood, no cum, nothing smashed chipped or even bent. Another mystery. Fuck it, Savage Fury has seen more than enough Bay Area action, let’s get back to—

That was when something hard and metallic clocked her solidly on the back of her cowled head and dropped the still-wet and therefore still-powerless Fury to her thighbooted knees with a cry.

“Bullseye!” a voice yelled.

“See?” another voice said. “I toldja the cops missed her.”

“Tits like those, didn’t think it was possible. Even with Golden Globes and Juggs-ernaut.”

Kneeling, Fury moaned and held her head. Can’t clear the stars away, alley keeps tilting and blurring ….

She started up but a boot kicked her great naked ass and sent her stumbling headfirst into the wall with a grunt. She went down on all fours.

“Two points!”

“Huh, couldn’t miss a pair of beachballs like those in the dark.”

The stunned stupendous superwoman groaned and tried to lift herself again but a heavy boot stepped down on her gloved hand.

Wincing, she looked up

into the mean little eyes and wide mocking sneer of one of the two car-creeps she’d tried to bust what seemed like a week before.

“You missed a helluva show,” he said, grinding her fingers beneath his boot making her cringe.

“But we’re real glad,” the other one, the driver, added, and kicked her brutally in the belly.

“GLLLGHHHH!!” She collapsed on her side at their feet.

The passenger hauled the groaning gargantuan-globed Glamazon up by her ponytail (“nnnfff!”) and used it to slam her cowled head into the wall (“ughh!!”) and again (“aggghh!!”) and a third time (“OOOOH!!”), so hard each skull-crack resounded in the narrow space. Fury slumped to her booted knees, only to have him haul her up again and smash his open palm across her beautiful masked face, back and forth, giggling at each helpless yelp of humiliation and pain. He finished with a roundhouse right to the jaw (“unhh!!”) that sent her reeling back into the wall.

Gotta g-get away, g-gotta dry off ….

Desperately, the Cowled Crusader feinted to the left then tried to dive between the two creeps but they weren’t fooled. Each took a broad bare shoulder and muscular gloved arm and, using her own momentum, slammed Fury into the side of the dumpster she’d just crawled out of (“aaah!!”).

Dazed, the double-dirigibled dominatrix couldn’t stop them from pulling her back again, twisting her leather-sheathed arms up behind her back (“nngggh!”) and bouncing her cowled head off the dumpster again and again making it ring like a bell. Then they stood back and let her crumple to the ground against it, hands clutching her aching ringing head, great naked buttcheeks propped up on her spikeheels.

“Now I ask ya, is that an ass or is that an ass?”

S-still too w-wet…. Have to p-play for t-time….

She was going to hate this, Fury just knew it. That it was her only chance meant little. Somehow she always ended up sucking cocks to keep from sucking more. Did that make sense? Her cowled head hurt so badly, her mind was so fogged, she couldn’t tell….

“You know who she is?” the driver asked.

“Nope, must be a new one,” the passenger said. “She’s sure got the qualifications, though.”

His foot nudged one of the pumpkin-sized jellobags ballooning out from her sides.

“Let’s give her a real Bay Area welcome!”

“N-no,” Fury moaned pitifully, “n-no fucking way—AKKHHH!!”

The passenger stomped down on the back of her head, ground her masked face into the filthy pavement with the heel of his boot till it felt like her nose would be scraped off. “Shaddap, bitch!”

In a burst of anger she pushed herself up and mule-kicked back at the driver, her thighboot driving into his gut and doubling him over with a grunt. But he held onto its spikeheel with both hands and pulled her back with him and her masked face went into the mud again, titanic tits flattening massively beneath her (“uggh!!”). His partner took her other booted foot and they dragged the wailing struggling woman wonder backwards over the rough freezing filthy pavement on the colossal cushions of her boobs.

“Nooooooooooooooooo!!”

“She wants kicks, does she?” the driver gritted.

Hauled her over to a lamp post where they separated spreading her long powerful thighbooted legs apart and slammed her mounded pussy into the iron column between with a damp squish. Fury screamed into the ground. They dropped her legs and the Monumental Mammazon sprawled at their feet whimpering.

“Manoman, didja ever think you’d get to fuck one of these giant-jugged bitches?”

Grunting, Fury hoisted herself up onto all fours (tits weighing a ton each) and began to crawl numbly away from her tormentors.

Time … need time … to dry off …. Pay these assholes back.…

But they followed her jeering. “Man, lookit them cheeks shimmy and shake!”

“And her tits! Hey stooperbitch, straighten them arms, yer watermelons’re draggin’ on the ground!”

Humiliatingly true. Her gargantuan udders had flopped out of the narrow hammocks of their straps and the cold damp pavement was scraping their big nipples raw. But she kept crawling doggedly, praying for a miracle, maybe for one of those superwomen to come back, maybe even for the cops ….

“Hey, lookee what I found!” one of them said behind her. “Still got some moxie, too!”

“Perfect!”

Fury felt some of her strength coming back. Her arms and legs seemed to fill their long gloves and thighboots again.

Suddenly one of them was in front of her, shoving his bulging groin into her masked face. “Where ya goin’, Tits?”

You rotten little—

With an (admittedly weak) snarl, she surged up butting her cowled head into that horny swelling. He screamed and staggered back clutching that tender area.

Once again her outrageously overblown body and outrageously undersized costume were doing their job.

Fury stumbled to her spikeheeled feet growling, “Now to finish what I startedMMMmmppfff!!”

From behind the driver reached around to jerk her head back by its ponytail and cram a big handful of foam chips into her mouth. He held them there with a filthy paw over her lips while twisting a leather-sheathed arm up behind her broad bare back (“nnnggghh!”)

And she couldn’t pull it free of his grip.

---17---

They weren’t the biggest cocks she’d ever had to deal with, not even as large as Dietrich Hughes’s store-bought package (just the night before dammit!) which had left her lips chapped all this morning. But they were right up there with the most humiliating. At least the two slimeballs didn’t fuck her mouth (the one time you want them to!) because after her demonstration of resilience (screwed up and screwed again) they were too smart to take the gaseous foam chips out.

They made up for it into the Cowled Crusader’s safer and more available pussy and asshole after hanging her from a street lamp by her gloved wrists, sandwiched between them like so much magnificent super-meat. She screamed when the passenger grabbed her lavish bare cheeks, spread them apart and slammed his ironhard hogleg up her anus. Even though it had already been loosened and bored out by the baseball bat God I hate getting buttfucked!

The usual way wasn’t much better. The Savage Sensation bleated pitifully while the driver, grinning right into her sweaty beautiful face, plowed her dripping pussy and squeezed up big painful handfuls of her mammoth super-sensitive mammaries. As she was double-penetrated all the Monumental Mammazon could do was squawk and sob into her cheek-bulging mouthful of that awful foam. And every time she almost managed to spit some of it out, the driver mashed his foul lips to hers and kissed it right back in again.

“You should … be glad … it’s us, bitch!” he grunted as, holding her by her titanic bare tits, he balled the groaning foam-gagged Fury deep and wet. “You could be getting the business from the cops!”

“Yeah,” the passenger said, stirring his rigid tool around in her throbbing asshole making her whimper. “They don’t fool around!”

“Especially now that they’ve got all four of ‘em!”

“This is the first time they’ve captured Golden Goddess, the chief himself will prob’ly join in.”

“Oh yeah, when they dragged her to the van there was an extra-fat foam ballgag crammed in that overblown superbitch’s mouth. They’ll have something special for her.”

“A lot of special somethings!”

They guffawed, and went at her with renewed enthusiasm. Brutally fucked fore and aft, Savage Fury hung between them and squalled helplessly around her mouthful of foam.

It seemed to take the grinning drooling bastards’ hard demanding dicks an eternity of plunging and reaming her aching raw holes to empty their gooey wads into her bowels and cunt. She bawled and they stood back and let her sprawl mega-voluptuously on the cold clammy pavement at their feet. Contemptuously, the driver kicked her over onto her back so they could squirt the rest of their disgusting jism all over her fabulously flopping watermelons.

She lay there afraid they’d piss on her next, but instead they kicked her over onto her belly again and hogtied her with some wire from the flower shop. Fury couldn’t help struggling and grunting and flopping around which gave them no end of amusement. She stopped when she saw her efforts were getting them hard again.

They stood over her, one with a foot in the crack between her lavish asscheeks and the other on the back of her cowled head, like hunters over downed prey, and debated:

“What do we do with her now?”

“Manoman, I never blew my rocks up anyone’s ass the way I did hers, even with tits like these it’s gonna be awhile yet.”

“Yeah, I think I used up a week’s supply into her snatch.”

“Let’s take her with us.”

“And keep her where? Your place?”

And once again, lying beaten and raped at her foes’ feet, Savage Fury thought of ….

“Mmmpppfff!” She began to struggle again, thrashing about, watermelon-sized tits flopping massively. “Hmmppppf!”

“Shaddup, cow!”

The driver booted her viciously in the head, hard enough to spew the foam pieces out of her mouth. The passenger kicked her in the side making the awesomely-overblown Amazon writhe groaning.

“You got something to say, Tits?” he asked.

“Only one thing I want comin’ outa her mouth,” the driver grinned, “and it’ll be goin’ in!”

He grabbed Fury’s crimson ponytail and jerked her head up till she stared at the stars. Cranked back a big fist so the beaten boulder-busted bombshell had to speak fast.

“Please, I’ll do anything you want, only please don’t turn me over to the cops.” Did that sound afraid enough? It was more real than she liked.

The driver smashed that fist across her masked face flattening the fabulous Fury again with a grunt. More stars, her jaw felt loose and wobbly and three times its size.

“Isn’t there some kinda reward for information leading to the capture of a superbitch?” he asked.

“Wonder what they’d give for bringin’ in a whole new one, even if she doesn’t have any powers?”

“For one built like this cow? A lot.”

“C’mon, I know where they took the others.”

“Maybe they’ll let us watch.”

What followed was in a way the most humiliating part of the whole ordeal: even though her strength and powers were coming back, Fury had to let each creep take a fistful of outrageously overblown chest-boulder and drag her on her back groaning wretchedly, out of the alley over to a blue sedan.

As the driver opened the trunk, the passenger said “Y’know, we haven’t thanked our pet bitch for smashing my truck.”

“You’re right. And look—my new set of brass knucks! I thought I’d lost ‘em!”

“Definitely a sign from above.”

Fury knew that if they tried to hit her they’d discover she did have powers (not many), and she’d never find out where the cops had taken the other superheroines.

Why do you care? They treated you like shit!

She wasn’t sure, maybe rescuing them was all she could think of to salvage this horrible night. And all she could think of to salvage this current situation was ….

“P-please,” she whimpered, “d-don’t hit me again. Oh please ….”

“Why not?”

Of course they fell for it, you’ve had plenty of practice when you really meant it.

“Let me s-suck your … your cocks.”

They looked at one another, then down at her. “Together.”

---18---

So she unzipped their bulging crotches and reached in and with gloved hands that could punch through concrete pulled out their big rigid organs and fingers that had twisted iron bars like taffy stroked them bigger and harder and she didn’t bother not to sniffle miserably as she cowered there before them so abjectly they wouldn’t dream of hitting her and break their hands—though how that would be a bad thing eluded her just now.

They made her lick and suck on their balls till she almost threw up again, then when the two dicks were as throbbingly hard as they could be and bigger than she’d expected, fairly pulsating in her groping leatherclad grasp—and, both admitted, harder than they’d ever been in their lives which was something at least—she leaned in and fitted her plush lips around both bloated crimson heads.

Remember: relax, relaaaax, get your tongue out of the way, open your throat, they might just do a couple of spurts but it could be a double-bellyful.

But try as she might, the Savage Sensation could only get a couple inches of each curving manshaft into her wide-stretched mouth. It was a problem other villains had had with her—they just couldn’t get close enough together in front of her because of her colossal tits.

The only two who’d ever managed were those two creeps from the Nerd Herd who were so skinny they could stand close enough together to pull her plush battered mouth almost all the way onto their long skinny cocks. And after all that, all the grunting and sucking and tit-fucking, they hadn’t even been able to get off into her mouth.

Which had been both an insult and her victory in a weird kind of way. The two nerds had been so depressed at not even being able to get off after beating the incredible Savage Fury to a whimpering pulp with their computerized toys that they let her go and shuffled away.

So now she switched back and forth between the two creeps, first impaling her mouth on one straining cock (the one that tasted of her pussy) for a few strokes then moving to the other and might as well have been licking her own asshole.

At first the two scumbags just stood there grinning down at her cowled head bobbing in and out of their crotches, making nasty suggestions and degrading insults but within a couple of minutes (she was in a hurry) Fury had them sweating and shaking and silent except for grunts and curses.

How many foes have you brought to their knees on your knees?

The driver came quickly and spattered his cream all over her masked face but the passenger took longer and finally she had to mash her gigantic milkbags together around his still-upstanding stalk, burying that erect member in sweaty cum-smeared blubber—and that did it. His sudden spurt caught her right in the eye and made the Cowled Crusader jerk back with a squeak. Both thugs laughed and it was all she could do to keep from splattering them like bloody cum all over the street.

Those girls better be plenty grateful for this, goddammit!!

Then she had to let them tie her armgloved hands behind her (giving her great naked ass a few pinches and slaps in the bargain) and load her into the car’s trunk like so much luggage. Groping her gargantuan udders and slack-lipped pussy of course and making the usual coarse stupid cracks about pumpkins and bowling balls. Sometimes the insults and remarks she had to endure after being bound and gagged were worse than the bondage. Not worse than the gangrapes though. Nothing was worse than those.

At least Fury hadn’t thought so till she was bouncing over bad pavement crammed into this stuffy trunk that stank of gasoline and oil. Knowing full well that by now she could break out and tear this car and its occupants to pieces without chipping a nail. She’d always thought it was a nice extra that her armlength gloves not only gave her super-strength but kept her nails from breaking. This superheroine gig was expensive enough without having to have her nails done all the time too.

But by the time they finally FINALLY stopped and she heard two doors open and close the Cowled Crusader was not only nauseous from the gasoline fumes and the residue of the foam but boiling mad as well. Staying tied up and faking having no powers was much more difficult and much more humiliating than being tied up without powers. Plus the car’s shocks were shot to hell and every time it bounced over a rut she was slammed against the trunk lid. But it was the loose crowbar that kept banging against her leatherclad skull that snapped the camel’s back.

So when the two laughing jokers opened the lid she moved without even thinking—snapped the rope like thread and reached up and slammed their heads together with a very satisfying crack, then unfolded her towering awesomely overblown body from the trunk and stretched. Kept her stomach down this time which was a nice bonus, she hated throwing up in front of scumbags, even unconscious ones.

The Cowled Crusader looked about and realized she didn’t have the slightest idea where she was. All about this intersection were dark dilapidated buildings that could’ve been warehouses or machine shops or what-all. One single street lamp glimmered in the distance. It looked like the west end of Valley Blvd. She nudged the unconscious creeps with a booted foot.

They’ll be out for hours at least. You really put your spikeheeled foot in it this time, Boobazon! Up to its knee!

Then her super-ears caught the familiar sound of a female scream, right nearby.

---19---

My God! They’re really beating the crap out of that poor woman! Or maybe I should say the milk!

Savage Fury had followed the screams to a filthy ground-level window looking down into a brightly-lit basement. Now, hunkered down, gargantuan milkbags spreading doughily over her muscular booted thighs, she watched two cops in dark glasses whip the titanic tits of the heroine called Golden Goddess, who they’d hung from a hook in the ceiling by her glove-sheathed arms like a magnificent side of super-stacked Amazonian beef.

Fury could sympathize. Been there, did that, had that done to me. But not by cops.

Blindfolded and gagged too, Fury noted. What’s that all about? So she won’t recognize them? So they won’t have to listen to her screams?

Whenever scumbags torture me they always want to hear my screams! Especially when I break down and bawl and plead with them and they pull down their zippers!

The whips knocked those gigantic milkpails about like saggy pumpkins of pink jello, each crack drawing a scream from the suspended ballgagged superwoman that drowned out what the cops were saying to each other. Fury’s super-ears could only make out:

“… mask off?”

“Chief wants to be here for that. I mean, it ain’t every day we blow the cover off supertits like these!”

“These supertits ain’t got no cover to blow!”

Raucous laughter. The whips sang out, splatted meatily into the hung heroine’s humongous hooters, and she screamed again.

“Maybe not, but she’s gonna blow us all before long.”

The Cowled Crusader’s first impulse was to smash right in but she checked herself. Where were the others? How many cops were there and did they have that awful foam?

Another crack of whip into outrageously overblown titmeat brought another jarring shriek.

And how were they all captured in the first place? Had to have been the foam.

Then Fury froze. The two cops had begun lashing the whimpering watermelon-titted woman wonder sideways to make her spin about. Head hanging down between upstretched glove-sheathed arms, she turned in Fury’s direction.

The cops lashed her supple naked asscheeks making the suspended blonde bombshell bleat into her fat mouthball and writhe.

The Mammazon Manhunter couldn’t make out the face behind the blindfold. But Fury knew those awesomely naked tits! The way they sagged ponderously almost to her waist, the one nipple slightly larger with its thumb-sized teat off center ….

My God! It’s Krystin!!

The Savage Sensation was so stunned by this revelation that she didn’t hear the massive hulk behind her till suddenly she was jerked into the air by her ponytail! Before she could even yelp she was swung around and slammed into a heavy steel door, so hard the door rang like a gong and her monumentally-voluptuous body left a Fury-shaped dent!

“AAAAHHHHH!!”

Not again—please!

She sure seemed to please her mysterious attacker. He chuckled merrily as he swung the screaming stupendous-titted superwoman around and around overhead by her topknot then hurled her through a stone wall with a crash.

Dazed, Fury climbed to her feet amidst the rubble, went to one boot-sheathed knee when a 5-inch spike turned, was still struggling up again when something that looked like a human tank—metal arms and legs but a human face in a helmet on top—came clumping toward her still laughing.

H-he’s strong but slow, I think I can—“GLLGGGHHH!!”

As the huge man-machine lifted his arms and steel cables leaped out of his chest, snaked around her neck and mammoth jiggle-boulders and jerked her toward him

Right into a steel knee smashed squarely onto the mound of her cunt! Fury let out a gassy whinny at the explosion of agony from that sensitive hillock and the last thing she felt below her cowl for some time was her V-bottom being driven deep into its gaping gash.

Choking and numbed from the neck down, the Monumental Mammazon could only dangle from those throat-throttling watermelon-wrapped wires, gloved arms hanging useless, while the monstrous machine’s monstrous fists smashed her gorgeous masked face this way and that (“unh-uKh-guKhh!!”) mercilessly beating the strength and consciousness from her.

Then grabbed her cowled head and jerked it forward for a stunning head-butt into the iron helmet that dented the steel bucket and took care of everything above Fury’s neck. The life nearly strangled from her, the Cowled Crusader sagged, only dimly aware of the extra pain of agonizingly strangled chest-whoppers being stretched out by her substantial limply suspended weight.

But the man-machine wasn’t finished, he was having way too much fun with his near-naked super-toy and her gargantuan globes. Giggling girlishly, he suddenly withdrew the cables into his chest allowing Fury to drop to her boot-sheathed knees at his feet. She kneeled there beaten, would have fallen forward flat on her masked face (which she always hated because it stuck her big ass and barely-covered pussy in the air giving scumbags big hard-ons and the wrong ideas)

except for his huge hands which sank cruel steel fingers into her elephantine milkbags and hoisted her up again groaning wretchedly, groans becoming squeals when her spikeheeled feet left the ground.

“Mmmmm, biiiig tits,” he giggled.

“Who’s in there?” she managed to gasp.

Don’t say it! Don’t say it!

But she had to, not just because it was the only defiance left in her but it was also the only (faint) chance as well: “Micheal Jackson?”

But instead of going berserk and maybe giving her a painfully-earned opening to get the crap beat out of her some more (the bad) and escape (the good), the dim face in the helmet frowned.

“Not smart. Why are all you giant-jugged bitches so stupid??”

His fingers sank agonizingly into her monstrous doughy dirigibles. “Let’s see if this smartens you up any.”

He pulled those humongous hooters away from each other, stretching them out like massive pink (soon red then purple) sausages, and Savage Fury hung limply from her distended double dirigibles, whimpering pathetically.

“Over two feet each,” the man-machine chuckled. “Even better than Golden Goddess.”

Tiny whirring drills popped out of his brutal milkblimp-crushing fingers and tore into her stupendously stretched monstertits. They couldn’t penetrate her invulnerable skin but Fury’s whimpers rose to howls of agony.

“Don’t tear them off, Tank,” a cultured female voice said. “I want to play with them too.”

“Aw hell, Cleo, these won’t come off. Can’t even make a dent. Except for tits bigger’n pumpkins, her only power seems to be she can take a lickin’ and keep on tickin’.”

“Well, we’ll have to put that to the test, won’t we.” A veddy proper English accent filled with gloating and sly insinuation. “And by ‘we’, of course, I mean me.”

Suddenly chastened: “Yes, Miss Divine.”

The helpless heroine was promptly dropped to the ground like a pile of awesomely voluptuous leather laundry. Where she lay in the same way, titanic abused tits pounding like great drums. She moaned, rolled over onto her belly, got glove-sheathed arms under her to lever her super-stacked super-body up despite the fact it weighed about a hundred tons.

“Like I said,” the man called Tank muttered. “Keeps on tickin’.”

“And not too bright,” the genteel voice agreed. “You may continue for a bit longer. Don’t worry about being inventive, it isn’t your forte. Just kick the crap out of the overstuffed hog.”

“Yes ma’am!”

He kicked the prone ponderous-pontooned powergirl in the side (“uggghh!!”) flipping her over onto her back again and buried a steel-shod foot deep into her gut (“ooolfff!!”) then stomped it onto her mounded pussy (“aaaaaah!!”) jerking the Battling Bombshell up, drooling mouth agape, masked eyes bulging. A final brutal kick to the cowled head (“unh!!”) slammed her back down again.

“Very efficient, if lacking in finesse. Bring her in here.”

Dimly Fury felt her ponytail taken up, her awesomely-overblown body dragged over rough filthy pavement. A door opened and her great naked ass was hauled over a threshold into a brighter warmer space with a rough wooden floor. Then she was released, cowled head thudding down.

“Thank you, Tank. That will be all.”

“I was … kinda hoping we could, you know, do her together. Or I could just, you know, watch? You might need me—”

“If I find myself in need of an accompanist or an audience I’ll call. Join the others, we’ll be with you directly.”

Dimly, head spinning and jangling from the vicious farewell kick, Fury saw a very female form in some kind of bizarre costume kneel down to her. A gloved hand groped one of her enormous side-sagging milkblimps, pulled its narrow strap away to tweak a thumb-sized teat.

“Well, maybe indirectly.”

The Savage Sensation heard Tank’s grumble all the way outside, even after the door closed behind him.

---20---

The satinclad fingers continued to pinch and pull at Fury’s big action-hardened nipple, so gently and sensuously that Fury’s monumental battered body, desperate for any pleasurable relief, began to respond despite itself. She was able to fight down a moan of pleasure but couldn’t keep from squirming.

“Mmmmm, verrry niiiice.”

A blurry face filled her view and soft lips pressed to hers. “Tasty too. l like that.

She clenched her teeth against the tongue that pushed against them.

“And stubborn. I like that even more.”

The gloved fingers gave her big rubbery teat a vicious twist and zapped it with an electrical jolt, surprising a squeak out of the sumptuously-sprawled Savage Fury.

Electrified gloves! This could hurt ….

A finger played with Fury’s luscious pouting lips. “I’m always glad to welcome visitors from the south, Fury. I thought Catwoman was exaggerating when she told me about these whoppers of yours, but I see now she has an unexpected gift for understatement.”

A gloved finger found its way between her booted thighs, pushed aside the minute V-bottom that didn’t quite cover everything (frequently it didn’t cover anything) and found Fury’s clit—like her nipples, still stiff from the night’s action.

“Oh my. She didn’t exaggerate about this either. You are the large economy size in every way, aren’t you?”

The Cowled Crusader’s masked eyes finally cleared of the swarming lights and stars. She stared up at a gorgeous brunette wearing an Egyptian-looking outfit with the kind of tall cylindrical hat she’d seen on pictures of pharoahs and their queens and in “The 10 Commandments” on TV last month.

The woman’s voluptuous body (nothing like hers of course but still spectacular) was draped in a glittery black gown with a shoulder-wide collar that left a big pair of jiggling boobs bare except for sparkling pasties over her nipples, and shimmering black shoulder-length gloves. The gown was slit up the front almost to the woman’s crotch revealing long lovely legs in 5-inch spike heels.

“Oh, we haven’t been introduced, have we?” the woman smiled. “Where are my manners?”

She stood astride the prostrate super-Amazon planting her spikeheels on either side of Fury’s ribcage, close enough that the Monumental Mammazon’s side-flopping watermelons brushed her ankles.

“I’m Cleopatra Divine, your evening meal.”

One thing was obvious as the beautiful brunette lowered herself toward Fury’s masked face pulling the gown aside: her costume didn’t include panties. And the pussy that settled onto the Thighbooted Thunderbolt’s mouth was as full as her boobs, and a lot wetter.

“Funny—Catwoman seemed to think you were tougher than this. She did say you aren’t much of a fighter, which was true enough. What do you do—tire your enemies out by letting them beat you up?

“Well, she also said you have a tongue that won’t quit. Show me how right she was.”

Gloved fingers wiggled her big sensitive teats, pulled them out making Fury groan into the hot swollen snatch smothering her face, its thick bush tickling her cheeks and chin. Then she gave a muffled yip at a small zap to her titanic tits.

“Tongue only now, darling. Anything more and I’ll boil every gallon of milk in these pails.”

As though to underline this threat, her elephantine udders finally responded to the evening’s abuse in their most humiliating way, and began to drip.

“Well now!” Cleopatra Divine gloated. “She said nothing about this! Maybe you should change your name to Savage Guernsey?”

She sucked on a milky satinclad finger and sneered, “Sweet, too. I can see we’re going to be exchanging fluids in more ways than one. I always have an after-dinner drink.”

Then without the slightest hint of playfulness: “Get to it, bitch. And please don’t pretend you don’t know how. The number of pussies you’ve been forced to stick your tongue in would fill a chain of pet shops.”

So, with no other choice, battered boulder-busted Savage Fury got to lickin’. The fact that Cleopatra Divine was right provided no comfort at all.

She rolled out a tongue all too often compared to a red carpet and touched the stiff little clit right before her nose, sending a shiver up Cleopatra Divine’s opulent body. Gloved fists grabbed Fury’s leatherclad head and pushed her face into that gaping sopping crevice as though trying to fuck herself with the Savage Sensation’s entire head.

And the heavy labia into which she plunged her tongue opened so wide and loose that the smothering superwoman wondered dizzily if it might not happen.

“Oh God yes, lick me, you elephant-uddered bitch!” Cleopatra Divine groaned, rubbing Fury’s masked face into her boiling cunt. “Fuck me with your tongue!”

“Mmmffff! Glggggghh!”

She hasn’t even bothered to tie me up! Talk about arrogance!

But Fury decided not to take advantage of this. Her decision had nothing to do with the aching tenderness of her mammoth mammaries and their sensitivity to electrical blasts. Or the memory of having just last month been relentlessly herded around a Wal-Mart by the Shock Troupe and their mega-cattle prods blasting her gargantuan globes, both top and bottom, again and again, even jamming one of them a full foot up her ass before blasting her. Till for all her strength and power they had the Monumental Mammzon huddled in a corner of the groceries section between meat and dairy sobbing and trying futilely to shield these immense milkbags of hers as they were jolted and shocked again and again.

She’d tried to leap out of the store but by then was so weakened by the zaps that instead of smashing through the roof like a missile to the open air and freedom, she’d merely imbedded her cowled head in the ceiling to her broad bare shoulders. To the astonishment of the patrons far below and the amusement of the cops, Fury had hung there like a near-naked lighting fixture, struggling and long thighbooted legs kicking, till she’d managed to pull herself up and out. By then of course the Shock Troupe was long gone.

But this resolve had nothing to do with that. Nothing at all. She wanted to beat this bitch at her own game.

If you won’t be humiliated, you can’t be humiliated!

That’s what Justice Juggs had told her—of course, Fury and Scarlet Dragon had just rescued the colossal-titted cowgirl from an extended torture and gangbang session with the Hammer Brothers, Jack and Sledge, that had left JJ’s gigantic tits stretched down past her waist and her asshole excavated so big Dragon had been able to reach right in with two gloved fingers and extract the golf ball they’d left there as a butt plug. About a pint of creamy gooey cum had slopped out after it.

So Savage Fury lay there with Cleopatra Divine squatting deliciously on her masked face and licked that swollen burning cunt for all she was worth. The voluptuous villainess groaned and squealed and squirmed on Fury’s opulent mouth, gloved hands pumping the helpless heroine’s pumpkin-sized udders till milk flowed from them like lava from twin volcanoes.

“Oh yes!” Cleopatra Divine cried as the Cowled Crusader’s tongue wriggled and writhed in her juicy pink grotto. “Oh yessss!”

And did some wriggling herself, spreading her gravid fucklips around Fury’s nose as she began to flow.

Silk Stalker always said Savage Fury thought better with her mammoth tits and often-plumbed twat than her head. Fury herself had never been able to decide if that was a compliment or not. But after lapping at Cleopatra Divine’s gaping hot pussy for what seemed like hours driving the brunette bitch squatting on her face crazy, she began to wonder if maybe JJ was wrong, and—well, she was beginning to feel kind of humiliated.

That was when the Savage Sensation’s strategy (if it can be called that) paid off: her reluctant but expert cunnilingus brought the yelping bucking Cleopatra to such a pitch of ecstasy that she came in an explosion so extreme her gloved fingers pulling on the Thighbooted Thunderbolt’s big hard nipples sent a maximum charge of electricity into Fury’s watermelon-sized blubberbags—which thanks to the milk dribbling from their raw open ducts was conducted through Fury’s body and tongue right back into Cleopatra Divine’s erupting snatch, giving her the full benefit of her own weapon.

If Fury had been as powerless as the Tank and this armgloved dominatrix thought, she’d have been knocked unconscious instantly. But the blast only numbed her while it all but launched her Amazonian tongue-plugged enemy skyward like a screaming missile. With a shriek Cleopatra spasmed off Fury’s cum-smeared masked face to sprawl sexily unconscious (Fury had to admit) on the floor, long legs spread wide around her gaping slack and still-oozing (and, Fury also had to admit, delicious) snatch.

That was the good news. The bad news (there was always bad news in situations like this) was that Cleo was a squirter, and in her electrically-charged convulsion had blinded Fury with a gooey orgasmic double-eyeful. The Thighbooted Thunderbolt staggered to her feet—even super-vision was no good if her eyes were covered with cum. Gloved hands scrubbing her face, she stumbled toward a blurrily seen door that opened with a push

To where Tank waited by the door where he’d been beating off to the sounds of Fury’s humiliation and Cleopatra Divine’s pleasures. She got just one quick glance at him and a cock that projected like a bowsprit from his naked crotch before he slammed a half gallon of fist down on the back of her neck smashing her down and bouncing her cowled head off the pavement. Stunned, she heard more than felt the ironshod boots that used her head as a trampoline and stomped her deep into blackness.

---21---

Fury awoke to total numbness throughout her glove-sheathed arms and thighbooted legs. As her senses returned she found this wasn’t because she’d been foamed again. Instead they’d hung her as a near-naked monster-busted chandelier from the ceiling of a big echoing space. Her arms and legs were twisted farther back than she thought possible, wrists and ankles bound together bending her monumentally-voluptuous body out like an archery bow about to loose an arrow.

As her masked eyes cleared she saw she was in a large arena, suspended 20 or 30 feet above a run-down boxing or wrestling ring surrounded by rows of torn up seats.

Maybe a dozen uniformed cops and a few plainclothesmen stood on the apron avidly watching—what?

It was right below her. They were, rather: the awesome-bodied gowned and gloved blonde called Pink Panther and the leatherclad black Amazon who had to be Leather Rampage, and they were beating the crap out of Krystin/Golden Goddess. Or Leather Rampage was, anyway—while Pink Panther held her monster-titted masked (super!) friend in a hammerlock, Rampage slammed short brutal hooks into Golden Goddess’s gut, convulsing the titan-titted bombshell till her gargantuan milkbags avalanched out of their deep-V bodice to joggle and quake massively naked bringing cheers from the cop audience.

Why are they beating up their leader?

A shout from the sidelines answered her question: “Hey, if you two don’t start doin’ some serious damage to that elephant-uddered cow, Teen Supreme here is gonna start really hurtin’!”

The helplessly hanging humongous-hootered heroine followed the raucous voice to where a pair of uniformed cops stood flanking a bound and gagged teenaged supergirl. Fury could tell she was super because not only was she wearing a mask and not much else but she had tits the size of bowling balls and was hanging from a wire lasso drawn tightly around those monstrous mamms’ bases, masked eyes staring in silent agony at the ceiling, drool waterfalling from a mouth-crammed ballgag.

Only a supergirl could survive such torment—or would have to suffer it in the first place.

A bucket was suspended from the gorgeous teen’s booted feet and as he spoke the cop dropped a heavy brick into the bucket with a clank. The dangling super-beauty dropped another inch and screamed into her ballgag as her mammoth noosed mammaries stretched another inch, till they looked like huge crimson teardrops.

Pink Panther reacted instantly, jerking Golden Goddess’s gloved arms up to her neck wringing a groan from the battered watermelon-titted heroine which a belly-smash from Leather Rampage turned into a wrenching grunt and waterfall of drool from the blonde beauty’s bloodied mouth.

“Sorry GG,” Fury heard the gowned Pink Paladin whisper.

“It’s ... all—rrRUNHHH!!”

As Leather Rampage slammed a straight shot wrist-deep into one of the Auric Amazon’s monumental boobs making her squeal shrilly.

“Yeah!” a couple of the cops shouted. “Lots more of that!”

“Pound them pumpkins!”

“Bounce those basketballs!”

“Double-dribble dem dere dirigibles!”

“Hey, good alliteration Chuck.”

“Been working on it just in case.”

“You always believed in hope.”

“Hey, you gotta dream, y’know?”

Pink Panther reached around and sank gloved fingers deep into Golden Goddess’s massive battered milkblimps and those gigantic jugs out and around Goddess’s side, wringing them like fat soft washrags, making the gorgeous blonde Amazon throw her head back with a bleat of agony. The cops all applauded.

Then a voice yelled from the back, “No! I want the big one down! Now!”

And Cleopatra Divine stalked in, all rage and revenge.

“What the fuck, Cleo?” one of the cops said. “She can’t do shit! Only power she’s got is to get us all harder ‘n rocks!”

Another chimed in, “Yeah, and she looks great hangin’ up there with those watermelon-sized tits hangin’ down.”

The raging brunette beauty ignored them and walked over to where Juggernaut lay in a corner, hogtied with thick gleaming chains and a mouth stuffed so full of foam it bulged her cheeks out.

“Would you care to do the honors, Juggs?” she asked with soft venom, wiping a gloved finger across the masked Mammazon’s cheek. “And spare poor Teen Supreme a little more pain?”

Juggernaut’s smile was visible even around all the mouth-crammed foam. Fury didn’t think she needed the extra incentive.

---22---

The next thing Savage Fury knew her arms and legs were free and she was falling ...

And falling ...

And falling ...

It seemed to take forever but only an instant later the Cowled Crusader slammed into what proved to be a concrete floor, not canvas ….

---23---

Then the stunned stupendous-titted superwoman was being dragged across the cold hard floor by her ponytail, numb glove-sheathed arms hanging uselessly beneath her, thighbooted legs trailing behind equally deadened by their tortuous bondage. The only parts of her monumental near-nude body she could feel were parts that hurt: her ponderously sagging meatblimps, her back, her big quaking ass (which throbbed horribly).

She got a quick glimpse of the other superheroines hogtied or hanging from manacles hammered into the wall. They were all gagged with bottles or hammers shoved up their cunts, and had been beaten badly.

“Hey!” a voice shouted. “Her nips ain’t touchin’ the floor! Drag ‘er lower!”

The hand holding her limp overblown body up by her ponytail dropped Fury’s cowled head to the concrete with a thud. All the numbed Savage Sensation could do was stare at the floor till the hand took her ponytail again and began to haul her toward the corner post, this time barely raising her so her titanic doughy tits, ballooning out to her sides, dragged along over the cold concrete like massive bags of pink jello.

“Now that’s more like it!” several cops yelled.

Only to be hoisted up at the corner for a quick glimpse of Juggernaut’s cheerful grin before her cowled head was slammed down onto the corner post (“ughh!!”) then jerked back and smashed down again (“unh!!”).

“Slam dunk!” yelled a cop.

“You got one hard head, bitch,” Juggernaut hissed. “Let’s try to soften it up, okay?”

“F-fuck you,” Fury muttered, but didn’t sound convincing even to her own ears.

“Not me, toots.” The giant-titted metal-clad Mammazon got a good grip on Fury’s crimson topknot and slammed her forehead down onto the corner post so hard it splintered all the way to the floor.

After that things got really bad.

Juggernaut wound the stunned Fury’s crimson topknot around her fist and, jamming a two-foot-long (at least) spikeheel up the prone ponderous-pontoon paladin’s lavish ass, pulled back

And back ….

And still further back!

Till the agonized weakly struggling Avenging Amazon stared with bulging masked eyes up at the lighting fixture she’d dangled from just moments before.

Fury screamed when her backbone cracked, and again when Juggernaut slammed a steel knee down onto the base of that spine, at the same time ripping her bootheel out of the Savage Sensation’s swollen anus.

“Music to my ears,” Juggernaut gritted, standing.

“Piss on you,” Fury muttered.

And was immediately sorry.

“Now that’s an idea!”

Contemptuously, she kicked Savage Fury over onto her back. Armgloved fists clenched but impotent, Fury could only stare dazedly up at the monumental metalclad Mammazon as she stepped astraddle the stupendously sprawled superheroine.

“N-no,” she heard herself whimper. “Please …. ”

“Your suggestion, stupid.”

In the background Fury heard the other superheroines protesting loudly into their gags. Said protests were silenced immediately by a series of loud smacks and thuds and replaced by groans and sobs. This didn’t stop the meaty smacks and thuds, only seemed to encourage them.

Juggernaut squatted over Fury’s masked face, her thicketed pussy gaping open from its steel g-string.

“Open your mouth, bitch.”

Hating it, Fury obeyed.

“Now. Drink up.”

The monster-titted brunette concentrated and a stream of yellow urine squirted from her swollen slit into Fury’s mouth.

“Bulls-eye!”

Too late, the still-dazed gagging Cowled Crusader clamped her mouth shut. But the foul fluid just spattered over her beautiful grimacing face. And of course she had to swallow what Juggernaut had already peed down her throat. It wasn’t the first piss she’d ever been forced to drink (she sure as hell wouldn’t do it voluntarily!) but, watched by cops and Kristin and the other supergirls and Cleopatra Divine, it was easily the most humiliating.

She turned her head to one side and retched up Juggernaut’s urine as more of it splashed over her ears and masked eyes.

Juggernaut backed up a bit and began peeing on Fury’s titanic side-sagging tits.

“Mmmm, so much territory to cover, I hope I have—GGH!!”

Suddenly a melon-sized glob of foam hit her squarely in her gloating face, knocking the metalclad Mammazon off her giant-busted super-toilet. She rolled away on the canvas humpty-bumpty on her gigantic breasts to sprawl globbed face down. Actually struggled a bit before going limp.

“Sorry, that was going a bit too far,” Cleopatra Divine said behind Fury, and handed one of the foam guns to a cop as she was helped into the ring. “I’m the only one who gets to play with our toys like that.”

The aristocratic beauty turned to Tank. “Get her cleaned up. She smells awful.”

The big man-machine climbed into the ring and went over to Juggernaut. He bent down and, hoisting her up by a fistful of her lavish ebon mane, tore the glop of foam off her masked face. The giant-jugged bombshell took a deep gasping breath.

Tank leaned in to whisper something in her ear. She shook her head violently so he pulled a big hard nipple out of its steel brassiere and gave it a vicious twist. Juggernaut squealed through clenched teeth. He pulled on that massive doughy mountain till it stretched out almost two feet and had turned a deep crimson. Finally, sweating, face twisted in pain, the agonized Amazon nodded.

Tank dragged her over to where Savage Fury lay stinking of piss and, twisting a metal-sheathed arm up behind Juggernaut’s back, lifted her groaning to her knees.

“Do it,” he commanded.

Grimacing, Juggernaut leaned down and to Fury’s astonishment began licking her own pee off the Cowled Crusader’s face! Gagging and turning a deep red, as much from mortification as rage, she laved Fury’s cheeks and jaw, but every time she slowed down Tank twisted her metal-sheathed arm a little higher.

“I’ll break this thing off,” he warned. “And you know as long as you’re foamed I can do it. Want me to try?”

Juggernaut shook her head frantically (which gave Fury a tiny island of satisfaction in this sea of pain and humiliation) and went back to licking her urine off Fury’s face. The eyes that stared into the prone Savage Sensation’s were filled with hatred.

“Very good, Tank.” Cleopatra Divine came up and kicked Juggernaut off the prone ponderous-pontooned paladin.

At a gesture from the statuesque brunette Tank took Juggernaut up by her hair and dragged her to the edge of the ring where he lifted her, bounced her off the ropes a few times with his fists, then tossed the whimpering monster-titted superwoman to the floor outside the ring. Fury could still hear the metalclad mammazon’s moans from below till a half dozen cops went over to where she lay with sledgehammers. For a few moments they might have been pounding a huge tent spike into the ground, and when they stepped back (with a few meaty farewell kicks to be sure) the moans were no more.

---24---

SMACK!!

“OWWWW!!”

WHACK!!

“AAAAAAAHH!!”

Savage Fury kicked long powerful boot-sheathed legs and howled for all she was worth, hating the tears that streamed down her face. She tried not to clench her overblown naked asscheeks against the next blow, but couldn’t help it. The gloved palm that slammed down on that soft bulbous bowl jolted her entire awesomely voluptuous body like a lightning bolt. Her gargantuan tits joggled massively beneath her.

“GGGGGHHHH!!”

It felt like she was being spanked by a steel girder!

“You’d better stop being so brave, I want to hear some begging,” Cleopatra Divine whispered in her ear, a satinclad hand squeezing one of Fury’s ponderously dangling milkblimps. “And it better be loud begging, or that teenaged superbitch over there will have tits that hang to her knees.”

A brick clanked into a bucket and a shrill teenaged super-scream echoed through the big room.

Blindfolded and ballgag, Golden Goddess surged forward against her shackles, but was pounded back into the wall by three huge cops, who seemed intent on battering those gigantic jugs of hers to the back of her body. Soon she hung from her manacles, stunned and bloody.

The hand gave the Savage Sensation’s big nipple a cruel twist. “And your tits will be polishing your shoes with every step.”

Another palm exploded into a lavish naked buttglobe.

“Noooooo!!” Fury squealed. “Pleeeeeease!!”

In her long painfully-checkered career as a defender of justice, Savage Fury had learned to hate being turned over a supervillain’s knee and given a brutal spanking almost as much as being gangraped. And this was the worst of all—not only was she being beaten in front of ogling laughing cops, by a woman so much smaller than she, but in full view of her fellow superheroines.

And there wasn’t a thing she could do about it except writhe and whimper and beg as she was ordered. Being pissed on by Juggernaut had been humiliating in the extreme but had only diminished her powers a little (she wasn’t sure why that was since urine is mostly water but it was the same with sweat and cum, which was a very good thing). But the bucket of water they’d thrown over her to wash her off before Cleopatra Divine would come near had finished the job.

SMACK!!!

“Ahhhhhhh!! Please stopppppp!!”

At least they don’t know it was the water! Fury thought.

A whispered “Apologize.”

“I’m sorryyyyyyy!!”

But next butt-whack was even harder. Without having to be told to, Fury squealed at the top of her lungs, like a pig.

At least she didn’t have to pretend not to have any strength. And she didn’t have to pretend that her outsized ass hurt like hell.

Suddenly Cleopatra Divine stood dumping her hapless super-stacked super-toy to the canvas. She lay whimpering at the sadistic bombshell’s spikeheeled feet.

“Mmmm, nothing I like better than beating the crap out of a musclebound watermelon-chested do-gooder.”

“I’m ... not ... musclebound,” Fury muttered, and for her words received a vicious kick to her cowled head that rolled her over onto her back.

Through tear-blurred eyes the stunned stupendously sprawled Savage Sensation numbly watched Cleopatra Divine strap on the biggest curvingest rubber hogleg she’d ever seen—and she’d had the misfortune to see (and feel) a few. It was easily the size and length of her forearm, with a fist-sized knob.

“I haven’t had a good fuck in awhile,” the brunette bombshell gritted, tightening the last buckle over her slim powerful hips.

“Uh ... Cleo—Ms. Divine?” one of the cops spoke up from the ring apron. “Y’know, the Chief wants us to wait on him for ... this kind of thing.”

“I’ve never waited for any man,” Divine proclaimed. “They wait for me! He can have Golden Goddess if he wants her.”

And siezing Savage Fury’s crimson topknot jerked her up onto leather-sheathed knees and crammed that massive log into the outsized Mammazon’s plush pulped mouth (“Glggghhh!!”)

“Ooookay,” the cop managed to reply. “No, uh, problem here.”

The other cops—those that could speak and drool at the same time—murmured agreement. Sounded like they were gargling.

“Hey!” Fury heard one whisper to another whose hands were busy below the ring. “Not now! The best is yet to come!”

Taking Fury’s cowled head in both armgloved hands, Cleopatra Divine began to brutally fuck the hapless humongous-hootered heroine’s face (“gukhh—glghh—glrff!!”), slamming that curving forearm-sized horn as deep into Fury’s mouth as hard as she could.

Choking madly, head spinning, the stunned superwoman thought, Feels like ... she’s trying to ... fuck my tonsils with ... that thing!!

“You might want to help a little,” Cleopatra said. “It could make the next part a little easier.”

Fury knew what that meant. The only question was which of her oft-stuffed netherholes would get this reaming.

At least your asshole’s been loosened enough that it shouldn’t hurt too much ….

So she took the brunette bitch’s hint and (blushing a deep red because she knew how this looked to her fellow heroines) began licking and mouthing the mighty curved shaft as avidly as if she was enjoying this degradation.

And didn’t resist when Cleo’s armgloved hands pulled her masked face into the huge dildo’s balls for some groveling slurping kissing and tongue work.

If Cleopatra Divine thinks I’m beaten, the ponderous-pontooned paladin reflected as she lapped and sucked at the dildo’s apple-sized rubber gonads, she might go easy when she fucks me. And if I do her good enough, maybe she won’t give me to those cops.

Which wasn’t the kind of thoughts superheroines should be having, she knew. The beaten degraded super-Mammazon just wanted this endless agonizing night to be over.

But Savage Fury frequently had thoughts like that at times like these, which frequently turned out to be in vain.

Like this time.

Because after what seemed like hours of sucking that enormous hogleg till it dripped with her saliva, feeling it stretch her plush chapped lips, tasting its wrist-thick rubber shaft, all the while trying to ignore Cleopatra Divine’s cruel contemptuous smile and her derisive chuckles, the vicious vixen suddenly jerked the massive spit-soaked log out of her mouth, slapped it across Fury’s masked face a few times making the thoroughly cowed superheroine squeak.

Then slammed a nylonned knee into her face that toppled the titan-titted super-bombshell back with a yelp, to sprawl whimpering at Divine’s feet, gargantuan blubber-boulders flopping massively about. And unable to struggle when she lifted Fury’s thighbooted legs and bent them back over the Cowled Crusader’s monumental near-naked body till her leather-sheathed knees almost touched the canvas by her head and her much-used cunt yawned at the ceiling.

And slammed the huge dildo all the way into her gaping sopping honeypot in one agonizing plunge that felt like it would split her from crotch to head.

Fury howled.

“This reminds me of that old joke,” Cleopatra smiled down into the agonized Cowled Crusader’s masked face, stirring that mammoth rubber log around in her molten depths making her groan and build toward a climax. “What do superheroines wear at their ears?”

“What?” one of the avidly watching cops rejoined.

“Their knees!”

Her entire spectacular body clenched against what was to come, Fury burned at the raucous laughter from all sides. She’d never had the best relations with cops (they all wanted to thank her for her hard work on justice’s behalf by groping her gigantic tits and feeling her up and fucking her brains out) but they’d never stood around just watching her get raped.

All that was forgotten when Cleopatra sloowly withdrew the huge schlong from her overstuffed cunt, drawing with it a racking grunt from Fury’s slack lips. Then a shrill squeal when the brunette bombshell rammed the great horn in again, plumbed the depths of the Savage Sensation’s throbbing pussy

hauled it out with a loud humiliating slurp that brought applause from all corners

Then slammed it home again (“AAAAGHHHH!”)

And out ... (“nnnhhhhhhhh!”)

And in ... (“GGGKKHHHH!”) Teeth clenched so tightly they felt welded together.

“Go Cleo!” one cop yelled, and the rest took up the cheer.

“Go! Go! Go! GOOO!!”

Holding Fury’s spikebooted ankles, Cleopatra Divine went, deep and hard, faster and faster, grunting now with each pussy-blasting stroke. Savage Fury lay helpless beneath her, every ounce of the little strength she had left directed at not being forced into an especially degrading orgasm.

“Damn you,” she gritted into Cleopatra Divine’s smiling sweaty face as she plowed her. “You won’t make meeeeee—!!”

“Bets?” And the beautiful bitch leaned down and mashed her lips to Fury’s in a vicious but powerful kiss that filled the hapless heroine’s mouth with hot squirming tongue.

The Cowled Crusader’s climax exploded from her overstuffed pussy! Cleopatra Divine enormous dildo met it with a bigger blast of electricity that stiffened every muscle in the Monumental Mammazon’s fabulous body and arched her broad bare back and threw her monumental mammaries up like they were real dirigibles smacking Cleopatra Divine in the face. A thumb-sized nipple poked her in the eye and she jerked upright.

Fury went the other direction, down down down into darkness. On nights like these, it tended to be the only comfortable place.

For awhile, anyway.

---25---

“For God’s sake, Krystin,” Fury called, “hurry up!”

“Juust another minute,” came the lightly teasing voice from the bathroom.

“You said that at least an hour ago,” Fury replied.

“Only five minutes. Tell me you’re as horny as a fiddler’s bitch and I’ve got the fiddle, and I’ll be out. And it’s Golden Goddess, remember? We agreed.”

The light went out and the massive-titted blonde bombshell appeared in the bathroom door, adjusting her mask. The way both her gigantic goldclad milkblimps hove into view first, like pink blimps from a hangar, ignited a fire in Fury’s belly that she couldn’t put out.

“Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“N-no. It’s just that ... I’ve ... never made love with a woman as Paige.”

Concentrating on pulling her long golden gloves up to the narrow shoulders that made her gargantuan tits look even bigger, the spectacular superwoman replied, “Well, neither have I as Krystin. Golden Goddess is another story, and from her performance tonight so is Savage Fury. So you’re right, let’s keep the masks on, okay? For awhile, anyway.”

Fury blushed deeply, remembering how she came and came in front of everyone as Cleopatra Divine plunged that massive dildo into her.

Goddess noticed. “So tonight wasn’t an isolated happening.”

Ruefully: “Far from it. The only thing different was the size of that strap-on.”

Golden Goddess stilted toward the bed, the spikeheels of her thighboots rapping on the bedroom’s hardwood floor. “That was one humongous hogleg, wasn’t it? Much bigger than the ones that bitch usually uses on us. I thought she was going to tear this magnificent pussy of yours to shreds.”

The sympathetic humor in her old friend’s voice was like salve on that continuing humiliation. The beautiful monster-titted blonde leaned over, massive mammaries sagging past her glove-sheathed elbows. When she reached down to tilt Fury’s face up the Cowled Crusader didn’t resist but met her friend’s exquisite lips with her own in a gentle warm kiss that was in no way tentative.

“When did you know it was me?” Fury asked.

“When you tore the blindfold from my eyes. I mean, no one has monsters like yours. The way they sag around these straps kind of makes that obvious.”

Fury took her titanic tits out of their straps and offered them with gloved hands to her friend.

“I want your lips at these monsters,” she hissed, a part of her astonished at her words. “I want your tongue in my pussy.”

“One thing at a time, darling,” her best friend in the world cooed.

What seemed like hours and moments later, they finished again. The two monumental masked Mammazons had sucked so much cum off each other’s tongues and licked so much more out of their pussies and off their bodies that neither could tell whose was whose any more, and both pairs of gigantic jugs were thoroughly smeared with lipstick and saliva—and Goddess had even gotten off by squatting down on one of Fury’s massive mamms and fucking herself on the Cowled Crusader’s big thumb-sized teat. They lay blissfully and exhaustedly in each others’ shoulder-gloved arms with their lips mashed passionately together.

“I’ve never cum that much,” Goddess murmured, licking Fury’s ear. “Even being gangraped.”

“So you have been—”

“Gangbanged?” Goddess shrugged. “A few times. But they never captured me till tonight.”

“How did that happen??”

The blonde bombshell smiled. “That’s right, you were in that dumpster weren’t you? Good thing for us, I guess.”

She sighed. “It was this new creep, this Tank. Even Juggernaut couldn’t stand up to him. And my golden light was totally ineffective.”

“What is that?” Fury asked, nuzzline one of the giant-jugged beauty’s immense milkbags. “How does it work?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you all about it later. Basically I can make people do what I want them to as long as they can see me.”

“As long as you’re not blindfolded?”

Goddess nodded. They kissed some more.

Fury murmured, “Now why haven’t we done this before?”

“I don’t know, lover. Remember all those times we practiced kissing with each other?”

“As if we needed the practice.”

“We were so clueless back then.”

Fury smiled. “Not like now.”

Goddess sighed, lay her blonde head on Fury’s broad bare shoulder. “I’ll admit that after a night like this one, I don’t feel especially clueful.”

“So what is it with the cops in this town? They’re no treat down south either, but—”

Her Amazon lover smothered her words with a burning open-mouthed kiss. Fury had no choice but to respond, glove-sheathed arm going around the Goddess’s neck and pulling her closer till their teeth touched and their tongues were one writhing wet serpent that burned and burned….

And somewhat later again, as Fury nursed at one of her friend’s monumental milkbags, the blonde bombshell stroked her long scarlet ponytail and asked, “So that really was your whole strategy?”

Fury looked up. She’d hoped Goddess would just let that drop, she was sorry she’d brought it up in the first place. But hell, if you couldn’t admit how dumb you are to your best friend, who can you?

So she nodded. “I knew if they found out I have real super powers, they’d hit me with that foam and that’d be that, for all of us. So I had to convince them I was just some stupid superheroine wannabe whose only qualifications were a huge pair of tits and an ability to take punishment. Then they wouldn’t foam me.”

“Pretty smart.”

Fury flushed with pleasure. No one had ever used those words to her.

“And your weakness really is just plain old water.”

The Cowled Crusader nodded. “It made it easier to fake it because a lot of the time I didn’t have to. That was really why it took me so long to free us all. Whatever Juggernaut says.”

“She’s just jealous because you rescued us. But be careful of her, lover—she’s dangerous. And very jealous of Teen Supreme.”

Who’d been all over Savage Fury after she kicked down the locked steel door and surprised the hell out of the cops raping the hell out of the giant-jugged masked superteen—two cocks in her mouth and another up her ass while another who couldn’t fit in the sweaty fleshy jumble pumped a nightstick into her pussy and jerked off. Fury left them scattered to each corner of the room, bloodied and blackened and blued. But not dead, though wishing it.

“She was just grateful.”

Goddess smiled. “That tongue she jammed into your mouth looked more than grateful. And the way you mashed these whoppers of yours into hers looked like more than ‘aw shucks, ‘tweren’t nothin’, ma’am.’”

Fury squirmed fleshily. “She’s ... a good kisser.”

“And a hot commodity, don’t think we all haven’t taken a hack at that. But she’s Juggernaut’s—or has been till now.”

Goddess smiled. “What I’ll always remember is the look on Juggs’s face when you just snapped those ropes like thread and jumped up. I thought her eyes would bug right out of her mask. You did it so easily I had to look twice to make sure you’d even been hogtied.”

“That was when I finished drying off. Happens that way a lot—my powers come back suddenly and I’m me again.”

“Well, after the gangbanging those pigs gave you while you were unconscious, I wasn’t sure you’d ever wake up. They hosed enough cum down your throat to drown two superheroines.”

“And splattered the rest all over me. Thanks for letting me shower first.”

“Kiddo, you needed it.”

Fury looked away. “Thanks also for telling me about the dildo they’d left up my ass. It was so numb back there I couldn’t feel it. I wondered why Juggernaut was snickering.”

“Made you look like you had a tail. Something that big, you’d have felt it eventually I’m sure.”

“All I could feel was the cum those bastards had hosed into my mouth and all over my face and tits.”

“Too bad they got away.”

“This time. I’m especially looking forward to a rematch with that Tank. And returning Cleopatra Divine’s little favor.”

She rubbed her still sore ass.

“Here,” Golden Goddess said, “I’ve got just the thing for that. Turn over.”

Fury obeyed and rested her head on the gigantic soft bolsters of her milkbags while Goddess crawled over and pulled her great asscheeks apart and burrowed a tongue that felt like it was a foot long into her throbbing anus.

“OOOOoooooohhhh!! Oh God Krystin, that feels wonderful!”

“Mmmmmmm, your ass is deelish. I take it you don’t get much girl-girl action down south.”

“AAAaaaaaaaaaa …. Not the fun kind too much. There’s a partner of mine, Scarlet Dragon, who I make love with sometimes. She’s pretty good with her tongue but she doesn’t do anal frenching.”

“I’ve heard of her. Well, we’ll have to do a lot of this while you’re here.”

Goddess licked Fury’s buttglobes making her awesomely overdeveloped friend shiver. “Lots and lots.”

Tentatively: “So ... you are staying?”

“I’ve still got a vacation to enjoy. And it looks like I’m going to enjoy it a lot more than I figured.”

“Well, one thing’s for sure: it’s got nowhere to go but up.”

“Mmmm, especially if you keep doing things like that.”

Fury rubbed her booted thighs together around the blonde bombshell’s cunt-groping gloved fingers.

Fury pulled her titan-titted blonde friend to her for a long luxurios tongue-filled kiss. “And we keep doing things like this.”

“Would ... you mind if Jake joined us?”

“Oh Krystin, I’d really rather he didn’t. Nothing against him, I’m sure he’s a good lover with a magnificent cock, but—”

“—But it’d be too much like cheating on what’s-his-name, right?”

Fury nodded. “Yeah.”

“And getting beaten up and raped all the time isn’t.”

Fury squirmed. “That’s all in the line of duty. I never mean for that to happen, it just ... does. Does Jake know about Golden Goddess?”

“Sure. He says it’s good for me to get out of the house occasionally. And he’s always proud when I reel in the bad guys.”

“What about nights like this, when the bad guys reel you in?”

“He understands, and he loves to comfort me. Sometimes when he can’t get it up I tell him about how Cleopatra or Catwoman or a bunch of cops captured and raped Leather Rampage or Pink Panther and me, and that usually does the trick.”

Fury stared at her. “Kinky. But he doesn’t—”

“No. Bondage and that kind of thing stay outside this house. Jake’s a voyeur, not a sadist, and I always feel better after telling him. It’s, I don’t know, kind of like a confessional.”

Fury shuddered at Walt’s reaction if she ever told him even a tenth of the crap she endured. “It’s always nice to be reminded some men aren’t bastards.”

“Like with Walt. See, I didn’t forget his name.”

For awhile they just kissed and fondled and stroked each others’ awesomely voluptuous bodies.

“I love your outfit,” Fury commented. “Modeling it on an evening gown was a great idea.”

“Yours must be a big relief to the bad guys. They don’t have to do much to get at you.”

Fury sighed. “Not much, a lot of times they don’t bother to take it off before raping me. A couple have joked they didn’t even notice it. If I could change it I would but, well, it’s the source of my power and I don’t want to screw around with that. Besides, it gives me a lot of freedom when I move and having all of me jiggling and joggling around can be a major distraction.”

Goddess smiled. “It can be hard for a villain to fight well when he’s hard as a rock.”

“And sometimes I need every edge I can get.”

“Don’t we all?”

Goddess gave her an uncertain almost fearful look, seemed about to ask something.

“What?”

“When ... Cleopatra Divine was ... spanking you back there.”

“I didn’t enjoy it, if that’s what you want to know. I’d almost rather be gangbanged than spanked, especially in front of an audience.”

“That ... isn’t what I meant. When she was spanking you, did you want to ... spank her back?”

Fury snorted. “To start with. That’d be the part she’d remember as pleasant. If she lived to remember anything.”

“So you’d have enjoyed spanking her. Beating her up.”

“It’d be the highlight of my vacation—except for this, lover.”

Goddess was silent for a long moment, masked eyes troubled.

“Would you ... oh, I know I shouldn’t ask this but you’re the only one I can—I mean, Juggernaut would enjoy it too much and I’d lose authority and the others, well, I don’t, I mean they’re not my best friend in the whole world.”

Fury had never seen her friend and now lover like this. “So ask, what’s the big deal?”

“I want—no, I really need for you to ... spank me. Beat me up.”

Fury stared at the gorgeous blonde bombshell. Any notion that this might be a joke of some kind was instantly quashed by the sincerity, the naked need in those exquisite blue eyes.

“... Why, for God’s sake??”

“Oh God, Paige, please don’t ask that. Just—do it, will you? And don’t hold back. I want you to spank me like you’d spank Cleopatra Divine. Slap me around a little. More ... than a little.”

Fury moved away from her, got up off the rumpled sweat-soaked bed. “No way, Krys. No way in hell.”

“Please, darling! I really need this!”

Fury found she was trembling. The thought of spanking her gorgeous lover’s magnificent ass was strangely exciting. But not to hurt her—at least, not only.

Has she become some kind of—what’s that word?—maso-something? With all the beatings and rapes you endure, you’ve always been afraid that’s what you might turn into!

Fury folded her glove-sheathed arms. “Not till you tell me why.”

“All right, all fucking right!” Goddess yelled. “Everything you went through tonight, everything we all went through, is my fault! It happened because of me, I brought it on!! Is that enough??”

She took a deep breath that lifted those stupefying tits of hers like helium-filled blimps. “Look. Just do this for me and I’ll tell you all about it if you really want to hear. It’s ... an ugly story and I need to be punished, and you’re the only one I trust. If ... if it’s too weird and you don’t want to be around me afterward, I’ll understand.”

“Tonight wasn’t punishment enough??”

Goddess just looked at her with those huge liquid eyes. And Fury felt something, something that seemed to seep into her mind from those eyes. They seemed to turn golden and come toward her, without moving.

“Are you ... hypnotizing me?” she managed to mutter, her voice thick and garbled in her ears.

“Not exactly. Just relax, lover, and let it happen ….”

She doesn’t trust me! Fury thought with sudden and growing anger. She’s forcing me to do this when she knows I don’t want to!

She’s always been like that! Ever since high school—

Before she knew it, the furious Fury had Golden Goddess’s armgloved wrists bound behind her and the boulder-busted blonde over her booted thighs and was beating the hell out of the supple bare ass she’d been roto-rootering her tongue in just minutes before.

Goddess screamed and wailed and howled and kicked those long boot-sheathed legs and struggled over the Cowled Crusader’s lap, her ponderous pendant pontoons joggling and slapping together against Fury’s leg.

It was like some wild crazy dream, where Fury finally got to do unto others as they were always doing unto her. And the fact it was a friend—who’d betrayed and used her—only enraged her more!

And the more this gorgeous gargantuan-globed Glamazon bawled and pleaded with her, the harder Fury battered those lithe perfect cheeks, till they were stained a deep tomato red.

She’s always flaunted her slender body and perfect ass and gigantic tits! Let’s see if we can beat this butt till it’s as big as her boobs!

But finally a mere spanking wasn’t enough to channel Fury’s fury. She took Golden Goddess by a gloved fistful of golden hair and stood, jerked the battered sobbing beauty up and smashed an open gloved palm across that beautiful masked face so hard she almost knocked her out of her grip.

Then back-handed her so hard she did knock her free, leaving Fury with a fistful of golden tresses. Golden Goddess went reeling back to slam into the wall so hard her lithe monster-titted body knocked all the pictures down. But before she could get up again (she didn’t even look like she tried very hard), Fury was upon her, hauling her up by a gloved fistful of a gargantuan milkblimp wrenching a pig-like squeal from her elegant drooling mouth.

“Please,” the blonde superbombshell whimpered. “Please ….”

Which only enraged Savage Fury even more! She squeezed that gargantuan blubberbag till Goddess’s beautiful face was twisted in pain, then slammed an armgloved right across that clenched visage, then another, and a third

Till the gorgeous goddess hung stunned and moaning from her leatherclad fist, her long gleaming hair almost touching the ground, glove-sheathed arms dangling loose.

Fury slammed her to the floor and when she just lay there, masked eyes dim with pain, the colossal-chested Cowled Crusader smashed her still-dripping pussy down on the fabulous blonde’s mouth.

“Eat me, you fucking bitch,” she hissed, reaching back to sieze Golden Goddess’s big rubbery nipples and twist them cruelly. “I want to feel your tongue in my womb.”

And the prone ponderous-pontooned superwoman obediently rolled out her tongue and snaked it up into Fury’s slackly open snatch sending a shiver up and down the massive-busted heroine’s body. In moments Fury was riding that beautiful aristocratic face like a bucking bronco, impaled on that amazing wriggling tongue, armgloved hands clutching Goddess’s head as though for dear life.

Till finally a huge orgasm bloomed in her belly and literally poured out of her, all over Golden Goddess’s masked face.

The boiling uncontrollable rage poured out with it, left her shaking and sweaty.

Jesus! What the hell am I DOING?????

Frantically, she scrambled off of her best friend in the whole world’s cum-spattered face and bent to help her up. Goddess’s slender monster-titted body was bruised and her exquisite lips covered in blood.

“Goddess—Krystin—God, I’m so—I don’t know what—”

The blonde bombshell held up a gloved hand and Fury shut up. She couldn’t begin to find the words anyway, didn’t have a clue about what had come over her, it was crazy, wild ….

Then the golden glow she’d seen before appeared in Golden Goddess’s masked eyes and slowly spread over her entire body. In a few moments it was almost blinding and Fury had to look away. When she looked back the fabulous near-naked body at her feet was perfect again—all marks of pain and brutality had been wiped away.

“Wow, that glow is worth its weight—”

“—In gold?” Golden Goddess held out a glove-sheathed arm and Fury helped her up. The Amazonian blonde came right into Fury’s arms for a long delicious tongue-filled kiss.

“I’m sorry lover. It was the only way. I knew there was some old hostility in there I could use. I think one of the reasons we were so close in high school was to keep an eye on each other.”

“And each other’s tits. I still can’t figure out why that was all.”

“All I know is, we have a lot of lost time to make up for. And I don’t want to waste a moment of it.”

By a remarkable coincidence, neither did Savage Fury.

And when they’d finished for the third (or maybe it was the fourth) time and the dawn was burning down the hills in the east, Goddess murmured (as she probed a wet wild tongue into one of Fury’s ears), “So. Who’s going to tell first?”

“Tell what, darling?” Fury whispered back.

“’Tell what,’ she asks. The story, luv. How we got to where we are today. How you got these wonderful powers.”

“Didn’t you say you had a strap-on almost as big as Cleopatra Divine’s?”

“Strap-ons later, story time now. Give, darling, all the dirt.”

“... Okay. But first YOU tell ME what that whole ‘beat me if you love me darling’ bit was about.”

Now her gorgeous blonde lover hesitated. “You really want to know, huh?”

“I think I deserve it.”

“I guess you do. First, kiss me.”

Fury complied with relish and as much tongue as she could push between Goddess’s elegant lips.

“Okay babe, you’ve been kissed. Now ... give.”

“Well …. ”

END OF PART ONE

(Oh no! After all that, he still isn’t finished! What’s with this guy?? Tune in next time, hopefully before next year, when the awesome and awful origin of Savage Fury is finally unveiled! You think this stuff is disgusting?!

(BTW: to see Cleopatra Divine in the flesh, and great flesh it is too, check out www.operagloves.com and go to the Joan Collins subdirectory, then the “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat” sub-sub-directory. That’s right, it’s a kiddies musical and from the Bible at that! Guess someone forgot to tell Joanie, bless them.)