A story by Ceramic: ceramic762@yahoo.com
In our previous episode: “The Spoils of Victory”
The Legion of Terror versus the Midknights! Or is it versus the Strange Defenders? Or perhaps both! And a hero collects his spoils.
Who Are You
The superheroine folded her arms. "Stop right there!" she cried to the villain in the green lizard mask. He was a tall fellow, with a long tail and a cheap looking lime-green bodysuit that might have been tailored from a clown-costume at one point in time. He had, however, a sharp set of very real looking claws protruding from his rubber dishwashing-gloved fists.
The faux-lizard man glanced guiltily over to the costumed woman from the smashed storefront. The superheroine sighed and shook her head. Ever since the Helsing Prison's mass escape, she had been working overtime to clear the streets, from two-bit hoods to bizarre freaks such as this guy. Her long-lashed eyes fluttered half-way closed as she gazed at the lizard man. "Who are you supposed to be, anyways?" she said.
The faux-lizard growled and clenched his fist, shaking it dramatically, "I am The Monitor!"
The superheroine shook her head, her long blonde hair swishing about her shoulders. "Aren't monitors supposed to be brownish and desert-looking, rather than lime green?" the heroine asked innocently. Low and husky, her voice practically reached across the street to caress the villain's face as she spoke.
The Monitor shivered, the polyester of his lime-green costume shimmering slightly as he shook. In contrast, the superheroine wore a blazing red bodysuit and a yellow belt that accented her narrow waist. Above her ample bosom, a small star was cut, dipping down to expose the curved valley of her cleavage. She placed her fists upon her hips and stood straight as she gazed at lizard-man. Even with her yellow stiletto boots, and her general height, she barely stood to the faux-creature's breastbone.
"Shut up!" grumped The Monitor, "I don't have to answer to a girl who dresses up as a... a... whatever you are."
"You don't know who I am?"
"No. Why should I? Who are you?"
The heroine pouted, "No... you really have no clue?" She waited a beat later. "I'm Syrenade!"
"Who?"
"Of the Strange Defenders?"
"Oh! Yes... I've heard of them! Are you that rookie heroine that everyone back in prison bragged they were going to line up and fuck and leave in a lake of cum?" He paused and frowned, "You're pretty, I admit. But the way the fellas talked, the street melted behind you as you walked."
Syrenade's cheeks flushed hotly. "What? No! I'm not that fucking tramp, Allure! I'm Syrenade! Get it straight!"
The Monitor looked away guiltily, "Oh... well, damn... sorry. I thought maybe I was going to get lucky."
Syrenade glared. "No, buddy. Not today." Clenching her fists, she dropped them to her sides and advanced on the villain.
Startled by her abrupt hostility, The Monitor backed away, holding up his hands, "Wait now... no need to get all unfriendly-like. You see this broken window? I found it like this see?" He began to back away quicker. "And these jewels? I was just putting them back... being neighborly-like, yeah?"
"Keep talking, jackass, while I make a new pair of lizard-skin boots out of you."
The Monitor's eyes widened, and he shouted, "Oh, shit!" Dropping whatever loot he had in his hands, he turned about and made a mad dash for a nearby alleyway.
Syrenade lifted her voice into a single note, and what was left of the shattered store window exploded into a fine mist of glass. The Monitor shrieked and covered his ears as he ran, but the force of her note lifted him off of his feet and threw him a dozen paces into the brick wall of the alley. Syrenade smiled and stalked forward quickly, her boots clicking along the pavement as she moved. "Get up," she ordered, her voice as soft as velvet.
The Monitor yelped and scrambled to his feet, only to be knocked down the alleyway once again. He skidded bodily through the muck and the water of the drainage ditch that ran down the alley's center. Grabbing a garbage can, the villain climbed slowly to his knees, only to hear that beautifully pure note one last time. And then he, and all the slimy contents of the can, exploded and flew back into a heap at the end of the alley.
Syrenade smiled in satisfaction as she walked slowly towards the unconscious villain, heaped beneath the garbage. Pausing, she admired the distance she had thrown him. In three notes, she had knocked him fifty feet. No doubt, Praetorian will be impressed. She's getting stronger. Suddenly, her pretty lips turned to a frown. Maybe he'll stop pay more attention to her, rather than that little teacher's pet Allure.
She's so perfect! So brave! So sexy! Fucking Lightbeam... She should cut him off. He's no better than a dog, going on and on about that rookie in public. No more sex until he wises up to the fact that Allure is nothing more than a flash in the pan. Once she gets fucked up for the first time, she'll cry and quit the superheroine business.
The end of the alleyway, where The Monitor lay, was actually a t-intersection connecting to an even longer alley. And she laughed as she realized he must have thought he was going to somehow lose her back here. Crouching down, Syrenade patted the villain's cheeks, "Oh... you thought you were going to escape, didn't you? Well... no. I think not."
Leaning forward, she pulled the cheap plastic mask from his face, snapping the string that tied it behind his head. "Jeesh. You really are pathetic, aren't you?" she murmured, tossing it aside, "Well that's what you get for messing with Syrenade of the Strange Defenders." Straightening, she moved to turn the villain over to cuff him.
And it was then, that she heard the splashing of feet all around her. She was no longer alone.
Behind her, as if she had been followed, Syrenade heard a rough growl, "Heroine! Step away from that... lizard!"
Syrenade froze, her breath caught in her chest. Slowly, she rose and turned, her eyes narrowing. There, standing fifteen feet away from her was a tall black man dressed in some sort of yellow flight-suit, complete with grey gloves and boots, and a helmet that had an odd dorsal fin that ran down the center. Clearing her throat, she asked, "It seems like this is the day for introductions. Who are you? I'm sure The Rocketeer would like his costume back."
Suddenly, there was movement from either side of the t-intersection in the alley, and two more uniformed men in yellow and grey appeared. They too wore jet-packs on their back. "We're the Suicide Soldiers," the one to her left said, a reedy, almost whiny voice. "Are you with the Strange Defenders?"
Syrenade turned and folded her arms, "If you were following me, you must have heard me say so. What of it? What do you want?"
A third Suicide Soldier chuckled. This one was a woman by the sound of her voice, and the slenderness of her uniform. She blocked the third exit out of the alleyway. "Good. We've been commanded to bring you in, Strange Defender."
"What?! Who are you with again?" Syrenade frowned and backed up against the wall. If these Suicide Soldiers were representatives of Bureau 9, then she wouldn't have much choice... unless she wanted to go rogue and have the whole damn government chasing her down.
The first Suicide Soldier that spoke, the black man laughed, "You mean you've never heard of us? We're the Suicide Soldiers! And we're taking you in."
"Why?" she demanded, her back against the brick wall of a very tall building. She had to make a decision fast...
"Because..." replied the woman Suicide Soldier. "You have something..."
"Which is?"
"Knowledge. Now, will you surrender peacefully? Or will we have to take action?" As the woman said this, Syrenade saw two more soldiers in yellow and grey alight on the edge of the rooftops above her.
Syrenade frowned, "Let me see..." The three Suicide Soldiers began to close in, their boots splashing through puddles of water. "Okay... no. I don't think so."
The black Suicide Soldier smiled and grabbed his breathing mask to flip it into place. "I thought you'd say that... Suicide Soldiers... Atta-!!!" But before he could finish his command, a high-pitched note cut through the air and he was sent flying.
Syrenade smiled in satisfaction as the Soldier ricocheted off of the alley wall... but her exultation was short-lived as just as quickly, the Suicide Soldier activated his jet-pack and righted himself in mid-air. What th-? More jet-packs flared and suddenly, Syrenade was struck hard in the side as the woman Soldier knocked her down with a jet-pack assisted body-tackle. "Get off me!" Syrenade shouted and the woman was knocked high in the air. The Strange Defender rolled quickly to her feet as soon as the Suicide Soldier was thrown clear. Just like her leader had done, however, the female Soldier performed a mid-air jet-assist to right herself. Flipping around in the narrow alleyway, she fired her jet-pack and dove once more towards Syrenade.
Who were these people? Syrenade had heard of the Suicide Soldiers at one point in time. She recalled they were always getting disbanded and reformed, but always as a heroes. If that was the case, why were they attacking her?! As the woman Soldier dove with her fist extended, Syrenade snorted. Did these Suicide Soldiers think they were the only ones that could fly?
Syrenade let loose with another burst of ultra-sound... this time, however, she angled it towards her feet. With a sonic burst, she flew into the air. Behind her, she heard a cry of dismay as the Soldier undershot the heroine and slammed painfully into the concrete ground. Her smile widened as she continued her flight, shooting straight up between the buildings.
To her left, another Suicide Soldier jetted into the sky. Letting herself hover, Syrenade turned and sent a sonic blast into his chest, knocking him back to the building tops. She had no time to savor the success, however, as over her shoulder another Solider appeared. And then another, jetting up from the alleyway.
"Where the heck are they all coming from?!" Pitching her scream again, Syrenade sped through the sky with four Suicide Soldiers hot on her tail. As she flew, she scrabbled for her beacon, quickly lighting it up and calling for aid. "Strange Defenders... this is Syrenade! Are any of you out there? I'm in trouble!"
Getting no response, Syrenade dipped and dove, desperately trying to shake the four on her tail. But they were too good. They were trained for this sort of thing.
Unexpectedly, her beacon crackled to life. "....ade! This is Troll! I can hear you but... ly com-... rough!"
Syrenade's eyes widened as she glanced back to her pursuers. Was she being jammed?!
Suddenly, an impact to her midsection knocked the breath from her.
* * *
"Thank you again, Praetorian," she said from across her executive table. They were in the Mayor's office, a huge room richly decorated in deep greens and mahogany wood. "You and the Strange Defenders have once again saved our beloved city. Who knows what the Legion of Terror... or any of those other escaped convicts would do if they ran unchecked."
Praetorian folded his arms. "Just doing what we do best, Your Honor."
Westhale laughed and rose from her chair. She wore a dark business suit that day over a blouse with a neckline that dipped a little bit low to frame her deep cleavage. Westhale, before she went into politics, had been a former Miss New Albion. And while that may have been many years ago, she still had the long, athletic body that won her the swimsuit contest and then the title. That she had glittering, mischievous eyes and long, luxurious red hair didn't hurt either. Circling her desk, she placed a hand upon his arm, "No, not just what you do best... but also what the city needs. We need superheroes like you, Praetorian. Ones we can trust."
The leader of the Strange Defenders chuckled. "You can't trust the others? What about the Invincibles, or... the MidKnights?"
"Vigilantes..."
Praetorian turned slightly, the massive black-clad hero's lips turning to a frown, "As are we. Granted, we receive more acknowledgement then the other groups, but we are not employed by the city..."
Mayor Westhale's hands fluttered upon his arm, feeling the powerful muscles shift beneath his combat suit. "No... Praaetorian, that is not what I meant. The city looks up to the Strange Defenders, because you and your team are the only ones that publicly come to our defense. The others, they hide in the shadows. I'm sure they do good... but..."
"What you can't see, makes you suspicious."
"Yes, exactly."
Praetorian shakes his head, "They have their reasons. There are a lot of good people protecting this city, Your Honor."
Mayor Westhale smiled, her sensuous red lips spreading broad. "That's what I like about you, Praetorian. Always sticking up for your meta-human comrades."
"It isn't about that--"
The Mayor leaned into Praetorian, lifting her finger to cover his lips and silence him. "Shhh... now, about your reward."
Praetorian grew quiet and sighed, "Damn... Cynthia, I didn't come here for that today."
Mayor Westhale's slender eyebrow arched, "You didn't? You don't strike me as a rookie hero, Praetorian." She leaned into the powerful warrior, her tall willowy frame fitting up against his body. "Why not take me this time, Praetorian? I know how big you are... Bend me over my desk and see how far that huge pipe will slide into me."
Praetorian could feel the heat rise in his mask. It wasn't the first time that the Mayor had offered her body to him. In fact, every time he's met her in her office like this, she'd practically thrown herself at him. And every time, he'd declined. Politics was dangerous. His father had a saying, that once you started fucking a politician, or a celebrity, you were in deep shit. He promised that they would yank you so hard by the short hairs, by the end of it all you wouldn't know which way you were facing.
Dad would know a lot about that.
But today, Praetorian felt himself respond. He could feel her firm body press through his combat suit against him, and her sweet breath upon his cheek as she whispered up to him. She was tall and quite athletic herself, but Praetorian was nearly seven feet in height and a mountain of super-powered muscle. Against him, she was fragile and tiny.
And god if he wanted to do just as she said. Grab her, slam her down across her own desk, and nail her good. It had been just that long since he'd last had a good fuck. And that didn't include the sex-bots he rented out during his off-hours in Underside when he couldn't stand it anymore.
But, he couldn't. First of all, Mayor Westhale was a civilian. Another bit of wisdom his father had passed down to him was always to be careful in letting your guard down with the same people you're guarding. You grow attachments with them, and it could be used against you by nearly any joe-blow thug or idiot with a grudge. Once that happens, it didn't matter if you were the mightiest super on the planet. You could be taken down, special abilities or not.
And then there was the matter of his own powers. Sure, Praetorian was tough and strong... very strong, but he could control that. Trick was not to crush anyone when you shot your load, and unless you were Tsunami-Boy with the power to pressurize fluid... any fluid... to dangerous speeds, most people would survive an encounter with you. But, in Praetorian's case he had one little problem: his super-healing. Combined with his super-strength, not only did his seed live ten times as long as the common man, it was ten times as potent.
In other words, he had to be really careful who he filled.
But he needed it... he needed it bad. Sitting back into the office's sofa, he dragged the mayor's willing body over to him by the waist. As she leaned into him, smelling her spicy scent curl about him, his eyes darkened, and a massive hand slid up through her hair.
Smiling now, Westhale's hands lowered and expertly made their way through the clasps that surrounded Praetorian's protective cup. She'd been there before and hadn't forgotten where the secret releases were, and in moments, Praetorian's massive cock was free and rising proudly before her, as thick as a wine bottle and twice as long. Westhale licked her lips and smiled deviously up at Praetorian. She barely had enough time to remove her jacket and blouse, before the hero had her bra torn off and hurled across the room.
Lowering herself over his huge rod, Westhale pressed her pillowy, volleyball sized beasts together and forced the torpedo-shaped head of Praetorian's cock between them slowly, rubbing up and down its length. Mayor Westhale's beautiful thick lips slid over the tip of his cock and sank the first quarter of Praetorian's shaft deep into the back of her throat. In response, he reflexively grabbed the mass of long red hair that ran down her back in curly ringlets and began to guide her head up and down. As the speed of her oral adjustments increased, so did the sucking, gurgling noise that emanated from her throat.
Closing his eyes, Praetorian let the Mayor thank him the only way she knew how.
* * *
She gurgled and tried to scream again and again and again. Her mind was a whirl, and her thoughts were a kaleidoscope of fracturing dreams and overloaded sensations. She didn't know where she was, or how long she'd been there. All she knew that she could barely breath, and that her innards were being churned into butter.
Thick gloves crushed her tits together as she hung, suspended from the ceiling, her forearms tied behind her back, and her legs spread wide at the ankles. Her face hung towards the floor, and her pert, round ass and dripping pussy were raised high in the air for easy access. What remained of her red costume hung from her body, shredded, stuck to her skin as if plastered there by cement. And everything was sore... so very sore.
The log in her ass rammed deep into her, and she gurgled a scream again. About her throat was a thick leather choker that cut off her voice and slowed its destructive sonic force. She could feel each penetration painfully as the thick member rubbed her insides raw.
"Who are you?" a disembodied, electronically masked voice asked her. The lights shined brightly in her eyes.
"Syrenade..." she gasped out weekly.
"More..." commanded the voice.
More? Her mind gabbled. It had asked her a simple question, and she gave the answer. What more did they want? Her real name? She had tried to give it to them the last few times they asked but apparently Priscilla Harris wasn't what they wanted to hear. Before she could complain, however, the hands about her tits tightened and the thrusting into her ass became harder... deeper. She screamed... she couldn't take it anymore.
"Please..." she begged.
"More!" This time the command reverberated about the room. The thrusting into her body became frantic, and quickly her assaulter stiffened. She arched helplessly as thick fluid fill her intestines.
Syrenade screamed again, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as the gloves released her breasts. For a moment, she managed to catch her breath, shuddering as she felt her anus relax as the thick rod drew from her body. Globules of his seed fountained from the gaping orifice and poured over the lips of her pussy to puddle to the ground. She didn't have much chance to recuperate, however, for immediately another pair of hands wrapped around her. The dark skin was ungloved, and the palms massive as they filled themselves with her tender tit-flesh.
A deep voice leaned into her ear. It was vaguely familiar. "How are you doing, heroine? Remember me?"
Syrenade panted... no... she didn't... but it was familiar. She could hear his voice elsewhere. Was he that Suicide Soldier Captain? Maybe? She couldn't think...
Voices laughed behind her. "I think she does, sir," she heard another male reply.
"Good," the voice dripped with chocolate, "Because this is the third time I'm going to take her, and I'm going to use her up until my balls ache." More laughing, and Syrenade shuddered as she felt the broad head of a cock press against the puffy, stretched lips of her pussy.
"N-no..." she begged, whined, through her choker. "M-mercy... too much..." She clenched her eyes shut as the hands tightened about her breasts, using them as hand holds.
"No..." laughed the Soldier behind her, "Not nearly enough, Syrenade." And he thrust into her completely with one, brutal penetration.
Syrenade's body shuddered with the impact of his huge, thick cock head, imbedding itself within her womb and she cried out helplessly. Stretching her inner flesh, the rock-hard black cock displaced the moat of cum that filled her, forcing it out passed his tool and exploding all over his balls. Syrenade shrieked as he began his deep rape of her senses, feeling his hard shaft probe her pussy again and again and again, in a pounding unrelenting rhythm.
N-no... please... can't think... can't...
As the thick piece of meat stretched her innards again and again, pumping and gushing the gallons of jizz that the rape train had flooded her sex all over her thighs, her body stiffened and she convulsed through a series of mind numbing multiple orgasms that left her gasping and drooling from the ordeal.
The deep voice of the Captain laughed in her ear, "Oh... I think you're beginning to crack after all, my little cum dumpster. Let's see if this'll make you curl your toes." Even as the thick cock continued to pound her yawning slit into a cream fountain, he released one of her sore breasts and dragged a pair of fingers down her spine towards the curve of her buttocks.
Please... please... please...
Dipping two black fingers into the thick, potently pale seed that seeped from her ass, he slid the fingers in deep. "Now... lets see what I can find in here."
Please... please... plea-- "Nnnnh.... Nooooo! NOOOO! NAHHHHHHH!!!!" Syrenade screamed as the thick fingers began to pump in time with the cock. The senselessly fucked superheroine writhed and shrieked as her nerves overloaded her into a stack of orgasmic seizures. Spittle and mucus poured from her lips and nose as her big black rapist leaned into her body, his heavy balls swaying and thumping against her body like a hydraulic pump.
"Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhhh!" she whimpered and wheezed with each filling thrust. Her body was losing, unable to slow another mounting orgasm from growing between her legs. While her body continued to fight, however, her mind was lost.
So very lost.
Please... please... please...
Cum... please...
Time passed and the mechanical voice echoed in the room again. "Who are you?"
Syrenade couldn't hear the question, however. The ample black cock that reamed her overly tender sheath was unrelenting, forcing squeals and gasping cries with every penetration. And even if she could hear it, there was nothing left in her fractured ego that would have allowed an answer.
The voice continued to insist. "Who are you?"
"Aaaaah! Aaaaahhh! AAAAAHHHH!!" Her pussy gobbled the cock that mashed her sex into a gaping crater. The clock turned and the Suicide Soldier Captain's tempo increased, multiplying in speed and power, and turning her wordless screams into a long, continuous wail. It felt like each double-thrust opened up her insides into new caverns, new paths to extend her pain and pleasure, until her eyes bulged from the overwhelming intensity of sensation.
It was then that a shadow fell across her face, but her eyes barely registered it's arrival. Nor did her ears register the sound of a zipper descending, and the intake of breath as a thick organ dropped to her face... her lips.
Her eyes rose then, looking up at the slender man before her. He wore a black ski-mask with dark green tinted goggles, and loose fitting motorcycle leathers, as if he might have been heavier at one time, but had slimmed down since. The cock in his hands was thin and long, and he played it across her lips as they dripped with long strands of saliva.
"Hello, Syrenade," he said in a low voice, barely audible over her incessant screams. She didn't respond, only gagged and drooled through another acute orgasm. A hand caressed her chin and lifted it up slightly to line it up to the thin, hard cock. "I am called The MindMole. I'm sorry about the reception that you've received. Really, we wanted the other girl... the new one, Allure? But, apparently no one has seen her in a while, so I guess you'll just have to do. I've been hired to ask you some questions."
Almost gently, the masked villain slid the tip of his cock passed Syrenade's slack lips, pushing unhindered towards the back of her mouth and muffling her screams in a bush of dark pubic hair. As the head of his dick pressed into her throat, she began to choke, but hands tangled through her hair to hold her head in place. As she swallowed uncontrollably, the villain known as MindMole closed his eyes and let the swaying from the violent penetrations of her pussy glide him in and out, in and out. He could tell that the Captain was losing himself to his rut, and soon his subject would be flooded with potent seed. From experience he knew it would be then that she would be at her weakest.
The unrepentant pounding continued until the massive black Suicide Soldier grunted, and then shouted, "Fuck... fuck! FUCK!"
When the last cry left the Captain's lips, Syrenade's eyes rolled to the back of her head as her womb was flooded with load after load of dense cum. She could feel it, gushing and spraying into her body, jet after jet of thick semen. At each burst within her body, her thighs quivered and she pulled her knees towards her body just enough to give the impression that she was pulling each wad of cum deeper and deeper into her core.
The MindMole's eyes rolled back as well, but this time feeling the tremors of Syrenade's fierce orgasm run up and down his cock, from the back of her throat to her lips. The pressure in her body changed as her vaginal cavity filled and bloated with the Captain's burning sap.
Finally, he asked the first question he had been given, "Where is the clay bull?"
Syrenade's body jerked, and her mind caved to the inquiry. Images of a red clay bull about the size of his fist, resting on a lab table flitted to MindMole's inner eye. And then an image of the Strange Defender's tower appeared.
"Yes..." he whispered softly, "It is there. Now, tell me about the Strange Defender's tower. What is their security layout?"
Syrenade whimpered and resisted, but the Suicide Soldier Captain was gone, and another well hung Soldier had taken his place. She shuddered as the Soldier rubbed his broad, vein covered cock over her cum pouring orifices, and then choosing her ass, plunged it right in.
MindMole's hands curled through her sweaty, blonde hair and began to pump his own cock deep into the bound heroine in time with the Soldier's brutal thrusts. He didn't worry that she hadn't answered his second question. She would in time. He looked up to the lengthy line of Suicide Soldiers waiting to take another turn at the defiled superheroine, the hulking black Captain having already returned to the queue. By the end of the long weekend, the broken Syrenade would hold no more secrets.
* * *
She tried to gulp down the cum as it hosed the back of her throat, but it was too much and she gagged. Her natural instinct was to pull away, but the hands that ran through her long red hair kept her pinned, and all she could do was endure and swallow as much of the burst dam as she could. If she weren't a veteran she might have panicked, but she'd had her mouth used by Praetorian like this before, and if this was the only way to get him to fill her with his jizz, then so be it.
Besides Mayor Westhale loved the way he tasted.
It took forever for the streaming cum to subside, and when Westhale had more than her fill his vice-like grip unclenched, and she was free to fall backwards into the seed-sodden carpet. For a time, she lay there, bleary eyed, listening to his labored breathing and wondered to herself if his incredible regenerative turn-around time would give her enough time to crawl to her private bathroom and empty her belly for more.
But she didn't get a chance to find out. For as she turned to her belly to crawl across the room, her gaze fell upon a pair of shiny black shoes standing but a few feet away. Westhale levered herself up. There was someone else in her office.
Two someones in fact. A pair of clean-cut agency men in dark suits gazed at Westhale and the reclining Praetorian. Neither one seemed to notice their state of dress, or the thick scent of man that hung heavily in the room.
"Mayor Westhale." The lead agent, a clean-shaven young man that had a military bearing, nodded his head respectfully to the prone Mayor. His gaze turned towards the hero on the couch, "Praetorian."
Praetorian didn't bother with a greeting. Instead, he rose to his feet, and the temperature in the room dropped several degrees. "You should have knocked."
"We did," the agent replied dryly. From his coat, he flipped open a badge and then put it away quickly, "Agent Sanford, Bureau 9. We have need of your unique services, sir. Will you please come with us?"
"No."
Agent
"Not with me."
"With your mother."
"It doesn't extend to this. I'm not a mercenary."
Agent
Praetorian stared at the agents, then finally nodding to Mayor Westhale, he suited up and followed them out the door.
* * *
Satyrn watched as Syrenade was used again and again and again through the one-way mirror. He would have preferred for the stupid cunt to have been that bitch Nike, or even the rookie heroine Allure, but she was enough. Glancing to his right, he asked, "What'tre we do 'en she's givin' us 'vrethin'?" His nose was still busted, and sometimes it was hard to communicate properly.
Baphotaur grunted. The massive minotaur folded his arms and shrugged. "How much longer until the vehicles are ready?"
"Few days? Mebbe?"
"Then, we give the woman to the rest of the men to enjoy as they please." The bull-head rotated to give Satyrn an eye, "And yes, that means you too."
Satyrn turned back to what was left of the superheroine and smiled with pleasure.
MindMole fucked Syrenade's mouth over and over. As he did so, he asked the broken heroine, "Who are you?"
Syrenade moaned around his engorged pole.
"What? Who are you?"
Nothing.
"Good. Because I don't care."
End Chapter