DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 OR EASILY OFFENDED BY SEXUAL MATERIAL, BONDAGE, DISCIPLINE, FEMALE SUBMISSION OR OTHER SEXUAL SITUATIONS. OR PROCRASTINATION-PRONE AUTHORS.

HEY, FOLKS – IT'S BEEN AWHILE, HASN’T IT? YOU CAN PROBABLY GUESS BY THE TITLE ALONE WHEN THIS THING WAS SUPPOSED TO COME OUT, BUT, WELL, BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW IS THAT ME AND MY LOYAL EDITOR ARE STILL IN THIS GAME, AND WE'RE NOT DROPPING OUT ANYTIME SOON.

Sara Kraft, Brenda Wade/Ms Americana, Wade Manor, and Delta City are the creations of Mr. X. A couple of the other names, too. But the dastardly plot that follows is all our own.

Please direct all comments and feedback to dark_one@live.com. Put Sara Kraft, the story’s title or Story feedback in subject line, otherwise it might get labeled spam and deleted. Or head down to the source at: http://writer-dark-one.livejournal.com.

‘Tis the Season To Be Krafty

By Dark One

The sleek black Land Rover slowly turned onto the long driveway. Sara Kraft hit the brake to study Wade Manor. The drive was long and curved, ending with a large paved parking circle, complete with a marble fountain in the middle. Wade Manor itself reminded her a little of her own ancestral home back in England, large and imposing. It was lit up like a Christmas tree for Brenda Wade's annual Christmas bash.

It wasn't easy getting an invitation, either. Despite being fabulously rich herself, and a noblewoman to boot, Sara had had to call in some favors from local socialites.

Seems my bad-girl reputation precedes me, Sara thought with a smirk. How lovely.

She continued up to the valet station. A young man opened her door, took her keys, and handed her a ticket. Yeah, he snuck a peek down her deep cleavage when she slipped out of the luxury SUV. A knowing smile tugged at the corners of her full lips. The gown she'd chosen was a clingy, bright red number that left virtually nothing to the imagination. For once, her long brown hair was loose to cascade across her shoulders, down her back. Diamonds and rubies glittered at her ears, neck, and left wrist.

The gorgeous noblewoman struck a sassy strut toward the main door. There, a pair of tuxedoed doormen greeted guests. Their accents placed them as born-and-bred Brits – Essex, if she wasn't mistaken.

"Greetings, lads," she purred. "Sara Kraft."

The man on the right checked a list, and nodded. "Welcome to Wade Manor and Ms Wade's Christmas party, Lady Kraft."

"Thank you."

Sara swept past them in a manner only a woman of great breeding could pull off. Yes, she'd made a very good impression. At least with the staff. Now to turn her charm on Brenda Wade.

Pausing in the middle of the vast entry foyer, Sara admired the fine workmanship and décor. Highly refined taste was evident in every detail, from the marble to the Christmas décor. It wasn't quite as old, large, or reeking of wealth and privilege as Kraft Manor, but impressive in its own way.

The other guests were all exquisitely dressed in tuxedoes and evening gowns. She guessed there was at least fifty million pounds being worn to that party just in jewelry. Still, the only thing she really cared about was her recent failure and need to overcome a certain bubble-titted sorceress.

Sara hadn't flown all the way to Delta City just to attend a holiday bash. No, she came after a powerful arcane object: Hexanna's Skull Staff. It was spoken of in a dozen different tomes, some older than the discovery of America, but the bullheaded Brazilian sorceress had refused all of Sara's offers to borrow or purchase it. The one time they'd met face-to-face, Hexanna had actually threatened to put a CURSE on her.

I WILL have that Skull Staff, one way or another, the Englishwoman thought, brown eyes narrowing.

Sara had done her research, and then some. Brenda Wade was well-known as a close friend of Delta City's super heroine corps, not to mention their chief financial backer – two standings that surely wielded great influence over them. Somehow, she had to convince Brenda to intercede, and convince Hexanna to "loan" the Skull Staff. All in the name of advancing knowledge, of course.

For a fraction of a second, a wicked little smirk spread across her beautiful face. Not my fault if it's STOLEN while researchers in London study it.

A small commotion caught her attention. Some dirty old man had positioned himself between the foyer and the Great Room. A sprig of mistletoe conveniently hung above him. Sara shook her head as she watched him trying to convince every pretty young thing that passed by to kiss him. More often than not, he got a peck on the cheek.

"It's a man's world," she muttered. "For now."

Still, he was kind of cute in his own way. The guy must be filthy rich to even get considered for the guest list – rich enough to have most women with a snap of the finger. But he wanted young rich women, and really, who didn't?

His eyes locked on Sara's jostling boobs as she approached. Yeah, that gown was too tight, too thin, to wear a bra. She felt her nipples tauten and swell under his intense scrutiny.

"Well, hello, Miss…?"

"Kraft," she purred. "Call me Sara."

"Oh, you're English," he said, face lighting up. "I love a sexy English accent. Would you be so kind as to call me a naughty lad?"

She laughed, clapping her hands together. "Oh, I've been watching you, sir. And you are a very naughty lad, indeed."

He laughed with her, and then looked up with a practiced nonchalance. "Oh, my, is that mistletoe?"

"It is," Sara purred, not even bothering to look before pressing up close and kissing him on the lips. His mustache tickled ever so slightly. "Happy Christmas."

Sara was quick to dart away, mostly because the old guy's eyes dropped straight to her cleavage, and his hands started to rise. On top of that, old men always seemed obsessed with pinching her bum, too.

The busty noblewoman found the Great Room packed with well-heeled partygoers. She spotted another socialite, media mogul Axanna Morgan, chatting with an African-American woman. Ms Morgan wore a gorgeous emerald green Versace gown, with a plunging neckline and a hip-high slit up her left leg; meanwhile, the busty African-American beauty was decked out in a lavender bandage dress that hugged her spectacular curves like a second skin.

"And there she is," Sara whispered, spotting Brenda Wade.

Brenda stood with a small group of middle-aged men, all looking utterly mesmerized by her. Her laughter was frequent and infectious. Indeed, her rich voice called to something primal even in Sara's psyche. What surprised her was how sultry and sexy Brenda was with the men, since she had a rather chaste reputation. Her every comment and joke was filled with a sassy innuendo, or a double entendre. Some were practically single entendres.

The men surrounding Brenda shifted as Sara approached, giving the Englishwoman a head-to-toe view of the legendary beauty. Brenda stood with her long, raven-wing hair piled atop her head, while her tall, statuesque body was sheathed in a skintight, strapless gown that displayed every dangerous curve with perfection. She accessorized with what looked like a million pounds worth of diamonds. The American billionaire was the first woman to make Sara feel just a little inadequate, a little less than the brightest star in the room.

Sara stopped short. She couldn't talk 'business' with Brenda in front of all those men. What she was about to say, the world didn't need to know. Fortunately, Brenda came to her. The beautiful billionaire was quick to spot her, even quicker to excuse herself and head Sara's way.

"Sara Kraft, I presume?"

Brenda hugged her. Did she purposely press her large boobs against Sara's? Maybe a little rub, too? Then Sara realized their bellies, too, were pressed together in a very intimate kind of embrace.

"You presume correctly," Sara said, carefully extracting herself from Brenda's arms. "It's an honor and pleasure to finally meet you, Ms Wade."

Brenda proved even more beautiful up close. Indeed, perfection was the first word that came to Sara's mind. Though, Brenda was quite tall for a woman. Easily six foot, and that wasn't counting her sky-high stilettos. So on top of everything else, Brenda was more than a little physically intimidating.

"Please, I get 'Ms Wade' at the office all day. We're all friends here. Call me Brenda," she said. "So, I heard you came to America just to attend my little party. Even my ego won't allow me to believe I'm that interesting, so what do you want?"

Sara smiled. She liked Brenda. Direct, to the point, and all business. She could work with a woman like that. So she smiled and nodded. No reason to hold anything back now.

"I've been asked by the Oxford Archeology Department, my alma mater, to acquire, or even borrow, a powerful arcane object so they can study it," she said, watching Brenda's face intently. Its expression stayed open and friendly, so Sara continued. "Specifically, Hexanna's Skull Staff."

Brenda looked surprised at that. "Oh my. I wouldn't ask Hexanna to surrender that staff if I was you. She might turn you into a newt or something," she cried, and then laughed.

"She actually did threaten to put a curse on me," Sara admitted. "She wasn't terribly specific beyond that. Still, I did promise the lads back at Oxford that I'd put my best effort into acquiring the Skull Staff. They are very keen on studying it."

"Good luck with that," Brenda said, giving her an unreadable look. "First, Hexanna would never give, sell, or lend her magic staff. And knowing your reputation, I highly advise against you trying to acquire it, let us say, without permission."

"I understand, which is why I am here," Sara said. "Could you speak with Hexanna in my behalf? I don't think she's terribly fond of me."

That seemed to amuse Brenda. She grinned and shook her head.

"I can well imagine Hexanna's reaction to your request," she said. "That staff is the sorceress's most prized possession, which has been passed down from mother to daughter for untold generations. You're not going to get that staff."

"You won't speak on my behalf?"

"No! I don't want to be turned into a newt, either," Brenda said. "Hexanna has a temper."

Sara bit her lip. She knew about Hexanna's hair-trigger temper all too well. But it was Brenda's refusal to even consider helping her that astonished Sara. But there was still another angle to exploit. One way or another, she needed Brenda's help to acquire the Skull Staff.

"Very well," Sara replied. "But what about one of the local superwomen?" A hopeful gleam reentered her eye. "Ms Americana, Green Specter… and I understand Omega Woman has become more prominent as late. Could you use your influence to convince one of them to speak on my behalf?"

Brenda looked honestly surprised. "Wow. You really don't know how things operate around here. This is America, where everyone is uber independent. The local superwomen, as you call them, are a very loose group who occasionally cooperate, but are strictly solo players otherwise. I help where I can, mostly financially, maybe give a speech or two when they need the PR. But I don't command them. No one does."

"Could you at least ask them…"

"Afraid not. Honestly, that might get me in hot water," Brenda said. "You know, that whole 'tomb rapist' reputation you've got, and all. Besides, Hexanna left the country three days ago. Wolf Woman wanted her help on a case down south."

"South? As in Texas, or–"

"As in South America," Brenda said, looking around as if she was suddenly through with the conversation. "Some drug lord or other jumped bail. He's supposed to be heading for his estate in Argentina." She tilted her head. "Or maybe it was Brazil. You might want to try down there. Enjoy the party, Sara, hope you'll come to the New Year's gala next week too."

Brenda spun on a heel and moved away with a sultry strut. Sara could only stare after the swishing gown. That bubble-titted Yank never even considered helping her.

One fist slowly clenching, Sara gave Brenda's retreating form a determined look. You WILL help me, Brenda. I just need to find some leverage. Something to put you under my thumb.

The busty noblewoman determinedly mingled with the other partygoers, engaging in friendly banter and flirting wherever she went. She spent the better part of an hour being festive and friendly, before working her way to the back of the mansion. Slipping away, she dove into the back rooms; a few minutes of exploration easily found Brenda's home office. Slipping inside, she closed and locked the door.

Sara quickly and expertly rifled through the main desk. She found nothing. Nothing incriminating. Nothing that would even be embarrassing if it got out to the public. Just receipts from a dozen different high-end fashion designers, utility bills, and some letters from friends and associates. So she turned to the laptop on the desk. Unfortunately, the password system proved a little too much for her rudimentary hacking skills; after fifteen minutes, the Englishwoman gave up in frustration.

Returning to the party, Sara worked her way toward the grand staircase in the foyer. Somehow, she had to get upstairs and find Brenda's bedroom. If there was any incriminating material, it would be there.

"Did it hurt much?" a thirty-something man asked, sweeping out of the blue. He was tall, dark, and handsome in his jet-black tux. But there was a roguish glint in his blue eyes.

Sara blinked. "Did what hurt?"

"When you fell from Heaven, my angel," he said.

Her jaw dropped, then she rolled her eyes. "Oh dear God. Really?"

The man laughed, then combed a hand through his hair. "So it's kinda corny, but you truly are angelic in grace and beauty. And that accent is amazing."

He might've been friendly and flirty, but the Yank's eyes devoured her body. She had to give him credit for at least trying to look her in the eyes, even if his gaze kept dropping every two seconds.

"I don't have an accent," Sara said. "I'm English. This is what it's meant to sound like. You're the one with the barbaric accent."

He surprised her by looking straight up. "Well, look at that. You're standing under mistletoe. It's bad luck to stand under mistletoe and not be kissed." He pressed up to her, hands slipping around to hold her against him. "I wouldn't want anything untoward to happen to you, so…"

Sara prepared to fend him off, but then, he hadn't just claimed her lips. He'd waited for permission. That surprised her. A little chivalry in this cold, cruel century? And, his hands did feel good on her body. On top of that, it'd been almost six weeks since she'd last been with a man…

Her head tilted to the side, mirrored by him. Sara's glossy red lips parted slightly, before she lifted her chin and offered her lips to him.

"Poor form to kiss a man before proper introductions," she whispered. "I'm Sara."

"I'm Colin," he said just as softly. Their lips were just half an inch apart now. "Merry Christmas, Sara."

Colin claimed her lips. She pressed into the kiss, groaning with pleasure. Then he arms encircled her, squeezing so wonderfully tight. She felt her carefully constructed emotional walls start to crumble. Yes, it had been way too long since she'd been with a man.

Thoughts of taking him back to her hotel entered Sara's mind as the kissing lingered. Lord, they could have a grand time. But then she remembered why she was under this roof in the first place. No fun for her tonight, not before business was taken care of.

"Mmm, that was nice," Sara whispered, after breaking away from the kiss. "Happy Christmas, Colin. Now, I have to…"

"Don't go. You're the best thing to happen to me this Christmas. Maybe we can go somewhere and, um…"

"And um?" she laughed. "Is that what they're calling it now?"

A young woman descending the grand stairs caught her attention. Were partygoers allowed upstairs? Could she just walk upstairs without raising questions? She didn't want to take any chances if she didn't have to. There had to be another way to the upper floor.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Colin asked, follow her gaze to the stairs.

"If you're thinking a threesome with that redhead coming down the stairs, then no."

He laughed. "At least your head is in the right place. I was thinking about how luxurious Brenda's guest rooms are, and how much I'd like to take you upstairs and give you something special for Christmas."

Sara looked around quickly. No staff in sight. Brenda was over by the Great Room's fireplace, backed up against the wall by a pair of lusty-looking men. No one was guarding the stairs – and then a young man came down those stairs, a dazed grin on his face. Had he just gotten his own Christmas gift? Maybe from the redhead who'd preceded him?

"Well, what are you waiting for, Colin? Get me upstairs and unwrap your Christmas present."

"Merry Christmas to me!" he cried. Colin grabbed her hand, but led her past the stairs. "Come on, we should take the back stairs."

"The servants' stairs?"

"I know, so scandalous!"

She giggled to encourage him. Colin had obvious had illicit trysts in Wade Manor before. He knew exactly where to go, leading her to the back stairs off the kitchen. They had to time it carefully, but in the end they snuck into the narrow, closed-in stairwell without being spotted by the busy kitchen staff. The upper floor was an opulent, vaulted affair, tastefully decorated. What seemed like a thousand closed doors lined the long hallway.

"Which one's Brenda's bedroom?" Sara asked.

"No. We can't do it in her bed," Colin said. "She doesn't really care if we use a guest room to go all bow-chicka-bow-wow, but I'd be banned for life if I got caught in her room."

"Well, all right," Sara said. "But I would like to shag as close to her room as possible. Adjacent to greatness, and all that."

He kissed her, and then led her down the hallway. He stopped in front of a door two-thirds of the way to the main stairs. Colin pointed to the closed door across the hall.

"That's the master bedroom. I've never been inside, but I got a peek once. It's huge."

Colin opened the door across from Brenda's bedroom, and pulled Sara inside. The guest bedroom was quite luxurious, with antique furnishings and a chandelier. The bed was king-sized and already rumbled from recent use. The redhead? Sara moved over and checked it out, while Colin started stripping. The previous couple had probably done the deed atop the covers. Sara found two wet spots, both slick and sticky to the touch. A sniff confirmed it.

Oh yes, they shagged.

Sara pulled the covers back, found the sheets underneath absolutely pristine. Better. So she undid a single fastener, and her silky red gown flowed down her curvaceous body like water and pooled around her stiletto-heeled feet.

Colin gasped. "Holy smoke, Sara. You could shame a super heroine with that bod."

"Thank you for noticing," she purred, while admiring his naked glory. Yeah, his manhood was at full staff, and satisfyingly long and thick. "How lovely."

He quickly wrapped her up in his arms, claiming her lips in another passionate clench. They rubbed their bodies together, moaning and groaning wantonly. Soon, Sara was raking her long nails across his back and his rear, while Colin combed one hand through her silky tresses and kneaded her own butt with the other.

This is just what I needed, Sara thought. This will give me the oomph to do what needs to be done tonight.

Colin kissed his way around to her bejeweled ear, making her squeal and giggle, before kissing and nibbling down her neck, and finding his way to her tits. He really went to town then, smothering her boobs with kisses, nibbling and sucking on her hard nipples. Everything he did sent the most amazing sensations rippling through her overheated body. In no time Sara was gasping, writhing, crying out with pleasure. Then he forced her up into the middle of the bed, and starting kissing his way down, down, down.

"Yes!" she cried, back bowing when he buried his face between her legs. "Happy Christmas to me!"

Her breath caught when he started sucking on her clit, while two fingers penetrated her pussy. Sara's thighs snapped shut around his head, back arched, and head rocking, and she groaned as her trembling body began to rise to the occasion.

"Yes. Yes!"

Finger fucking her, Colin sucked on her sensitive nub with enthusiasm. He drove her crazy. Sara gasped and clutched at his hair, and even started grinding her pussy against him. And then she gasped, eyes huge, as that rush to climax claimed her. And a second later, intense pleasure erupted.

"Aaagggh!  Ooooh," she cried. "Aaaaagggh."

Sara's body went limp the second her orgasm faded. All she wanted to do was bask in the afterglow, and maybe snuggle with her lover. But Colin had other ideas. She felt him force her thighs apart, pushing them very wide. Then he moved up above her.

"You're welcome, Miss Sara," he purred into her ear.

"Actually, it's Lady Kraft," she giggled. "Show some respect while you shag me, you dirty little commoner."

In answer, Colin's big dick pressed up against her nether lips. Her eyes popped open as it pressed harder, forcing her pussy to open up. Did he understand she needed time to recover? Her vagina was still clamped tight after that wonderful orgasm. But he was up against her entrance as her mouth opened to protest. And then it was too late.

"Ugggh! You wanker."

Colin's cock felt even bigger as it thrust into her tight opening. He forced her entrance so wide it hurt. Her body reacted, arms and legs wrapping around him. Sara clutched at him, eyes incredulous as she stared up into his lusty face. That was not a face of a man who cared if she was ready or not. He was ready, and that was that.

"Ugh. Ugh. Ugh."

That thrusting cock drove deeper and deeper, forcing tiny grunts to bubble from her lips with every deep thrust. Her pussy quivered and ached at first, but soon it adjusted to his girth and tightened around him sweetly. Sara raked his back with her nails, no longer being careful to not draw blood. Everyone enjoyed a little pain with the pleasure, right?

Colin kissed, nibbled, and sucked on her neck and shoulders while fucking her. It felt amazing, and soon all of his sexy efforts had her panting, gasping, bucking beneath him. She felt her body change, and that rise to orgasm began. She thrust her hips, desperate to get him even deeper inside her. Her needs soon consumed the English beauty.

"Just. Like. That!" Sara cried, and then her body exploded again with all-consuming pleasure. Her body pulsed with orgasmic glory. "Aaaaaggggh!"

Sara pulled Colin's face down to hers with both hands, just as he began to peak. The poor fellow was mindless with pleasure, at the very brink. She kissed him, and then watched his face intently.

"Ugh," he grunted, and she felt his hot seed filling her all the way up.

A deep sense of accomplishment filled the busty beauty. Then she shifted her hand so that her diamond-and-ruby bracelet was just below his nose. One touch of the stud beside the smallest ruby released a tiny puff of odorless gas, which made Colin's eyes roll up. As soon as he'd passed out. Sara rolled his limp body over to the side.

"Well played, sir," she said, looking his nakedness over. Due to the nature of the sleepy gas from her ring, Colin lay there with a massive hard-on. She leaned over and kissed the wet, sticky head. "Mmmm, I taste good on you."

Sara rolled out of bed, went into the adjoining loo, and squeezed as much of his cum out of her as possible. Then she cleaned up, fixed her hair and face, and finally redressed. Colin remained unconscious, and would for the next hour. Then he'd wake and think he'd passed out from all the fun, but all alone. Shame. He had an amazing cock, which was still fully erect.

"Maybe I should've gotten your name and number down. I could ring you up next time I visited Delta City," she whispered.

Cracking the door open, Sara looked left and right. The corridor was clear. She hurried over to Brenda's bedroom door. The sounds of feminine grunts came through that door before Sara could even touch the knob. Then she heard something banging against the wall. Was someone actually shagging in Brenda Wade's very own bed? Who had the audacity to do such a thing?

Sara quietly, slowly turned the knob. The door wasn't locked, so she slowly pushed it open a crack. Peeking inside, she found the bed first thing. A couple lay atop it. He was on his back, with his raven-haired lover riding him like a wild and wanton cowgirl. It only took Sara a second to recognize who that lover was.

Brenda Wade? I thought she was worse about all the virtuous-and-chaste stuff than a super heroine?

Well, there the woman was herself, having a grand time with a young lad. Sara didn't recognize his face, but he had a fit body. She did see a bit of gray at his temple. He looked late thirties, early forties.

Well, well, seems we share a taste for older, seasoned men, she thought with a wry smile. But, bullocks, their tryst just ruined all my plans for tonight.

Sara carefully closed the door and turned toward the stairs. Nothing more to do, except go back to her hotel and plan her next move. Brenda Wade was not off the hook. She would bend to Sara's will. Brenda would give her a way to that Skull Staff.

~**~**~

Delta City, New Year's Eve…

Sara Kraft strode purposefully toward her hotel room. A white strapless gown clung to every dangerous curve, while the silver Jimmy Choo stilettos on her feet accentuated her hips’ swing enticingly. Her long dark hair was braided and twisted into a bun.

Unlocking the door, the English noblewoman started unzipping before she was even past the threshold. She glanced at the bedside clock. It was just after eleven. Aggravating. Brenda Wade's New Year's soirée would probably break up a little after midnight.

"Stupid mayor," she muttered. "He must've touched my bum a hundred times. That sot needs a nanny."

Delta City's three-term mayor, Frank Fulcrum, had gotten so pissed – or shitfaced, as Americans would call it – that she doubted he'd even remember the joy he had molesting her. Of course, she'd kind of asked for it. Sara wanted as many witnesses as possible remembering her partying the whole night away, just in case something went wrong at Wade Manor and awkward questions arose. So she'd flirted with everyone, made sure the TV cameras got her a few times, and may have lingered next to the mayor a little too long, especially with the man in full camera-hog mode.

"The silly tit got the wrong idea, I guess," she muttered, but grinned. The besotted man had lost his balance at least twice, and fell face-first into her chest while speaking to her. "Oh, well. Still better than the lads at Oxford."

As soon as it was unzipped, the gown flowed down her body to pool around her feet. She wasn't wearing anything underneath. The Englishwoman removed her jewelry, placing it in the room's safe, before sitting on the end of the bed and removing her strappy stilettos. And then she got deadly serious.

"Time to put that uppity Yank in her place," Sara muttered, picking up a pair of brown denim shorts. "I will find some dirt on Brenda Wade tonight, and bend her to my will."

After the shorts were nice and snug around her hips, Sara pulled on her custom-made Appleton boots. Then she slipped into a brown midriff-baring tank top. She released her braid from its bun as she returned to the safe. Her brown leather knapsack waited inside.

Placing it on the bed, she quickly opened the knapsack and pulled out the double holster with her Heckler & Koch UPS Match pistols. They were custom-made, jet-black, each with a silvery stainless steel slider. Sara quickly popped the magazines out to make sure they were full, then double-checked the spare magazine pouches on the belt. All was in order.

After stuffing the holster back inside, she secured a few other necessities, and headed out. Sara made good use of the hotel’s emergency stairs, since she didn't want anyone spotting her. She'd specifically avoided a ground-floor room with that in mind. A blast of cold air greeted her when she passed through the emergency exit and out into the parking lot. She wasn't exactly dressed for winter, but American winters were always more bark than bite.

Flipping her braid back over her shoulder, Sara wagged her brows. "The cold never bothered me anyway." She giggled. "Lord, am I really quoting Elsa? No more champagne after ten."

Within minutes she was unlocking her Land Rover rental and slipping behind the wheel. She pulled on a pair of black driving gloves – fingerless, just the way she liked them -- and hit the road, heading back to Wade Manor. It was just a ten-minute drive from her hotel. The drive was uneventful, and soon she was parked in a dark stretch of road at the edge of Brenda Wade's estate. She could see the brightly lit mansion from her position.

Sara slipped out and studied Wade Manor through state-of-the-art night-vision binoculars. No security guards, no dogs. Brenda's security hadn't changed. In fact, with a house full of drunken revelers, Brenda would probably have had to disable her electronic security, just like she had during the Christmas party. Wade Manor was a flower begging to be plucked.

She quickly buckled the double holster around her flaring hips, before doing the same around her thighs. With her weapons secure, Sara pulled the knapsack across her shoulders, a strap across her upper chest to keep it nice and secure on her body. Sara was ready.

In a flash, the legendary tomb raider vanished into the night shadows. She moved quickly and stealthily up to the ten-foot stone wall encircling the great house. That "barrier" was laughable, not even enough to check her speed. Leaping high, she caught the top edge, and vaulted over into a perfect three-point landing. Then, more cautiously, she continued toward the house.

As expected, she found the back kitchen door unlocked. But she didn't go in immediately, instead peeking in the nearest window.

Got to time this right. I need the perfect moment to slip into the servant's stair unseen.

Unfortunately, it looked like she had arrived just a little too late to catch them at the really important dishes, and a little too early for the cleanup dash. There looked to be at least two dozen cooks in there, all laughing and joking and sharing leftovers and spare champagne.

Sara frowned. She'd planned a few alternative routes of entry, but the kitchen had been her first choice for a reason. After a few quick calculations, she resolved to wait ten minutes or so before trying one of the backups. And in the meantime…

Let's see if there's anything juicy on the menu tonight.

Smoothly, carefully, she moved away from the window and into the shadow of a nearby oak. Then, she trained her binoculars on the window, and focused on the couple of cooks who seemed to be holding court with the rest. To her delight, their lips were perfectly clear for reading.

It was an obscure skill, even for her line, but it had saved her life (not to mention her checkbook) more times than she cared to count. Very quickly, she picked up on the quirks and inflections each cook spoke with.

'—Christmas AND New Year's, I swear to God, only Wade could’ve pulled–'

'So what? The pay's fuckin' aces–'

'Better than the Vanderholm's–'

A round of snickers broke out among many of the cooks. At that, Sara quirked a brow.

'High schools pay better than old man Vanderholm–'

'Now now, boys, we need to be understanding–'

'Yeah, how else was he supposed to afford that triple bypass?'

The snickers were full-on laughs now. Sara shook her head, but couldn't keep a smile from spreading across her face; she'd crossed paths with Amon "Big Daddy" Vanderholm on a few prior visits to Delta City, and found the old billionaire one of the most repulsive creatures alive. On any continent.

'—Fulcrum's gonna do, now that his sugar daddy's out–'

'Why d'ya think he's been kissin' up to Wade?'

'He's gonna need every pal he can find. Word says Hansen's gonna run–'

'Record like his, he'd be bugfuck not to–'

Sara mulled that over. According to her own research, Brenda usually stayed out of politics unless there was some big feminist cause involved. But if there was the slightest sliver of truth in what they were saying…

Damn it all, I should've gotten the mayor alone while I had the chance.

Without warning, a shapely little Asian in a striking blue maid uniform barged into the kitchen. She spoke sharply to the cooks – too fast for Sara to decipher – and ducked back out. Whatever it was, though, got everyone in the kitchen frantic with work.

Sara actually felt a pang of dismay, until she remembered it was exactly what she'd been waiting for. Gossip was a start, but what she needed to seal the deal, she had to take with her own two hands.

Returning the binoculars to her knapsack, she carefully timed her opening and sprinted back to the kitchen door. As she'd hoped, they were all too busy to notice her. Not a single cry was raised as she slipped in, circled the path Colin had shown her, and hurried up the servant's stair with a grin.

The gold goes to the bold.

Once she'd returned to that long, opulent hallway, Sara slowed and listened intently. The Christmas party had taught her that Brenda didn't police guests very hard, which allowed them to slip upstairs for quick little trysts. That brought a smile to her face. And hell, even the famously chaste and virtuous Brenda Wade had wound up enjoying a wild romp with one of those guests.

The busty baroness moved close to the master bedroom door and pressed her ear to it. No sounds. So she very carefully opened the door and cracked it just enough to see the bed. Empty, and still no sound, no cry of alarm. Sara pushed the door all the way open, and stepped inside the dark room. The only light came from a half-open door on the far side, which she recognized as the closet.

Closing the bedroom door as gently as possible, Sara meticulously combed the room, looking for papers, letters, anything that could be used against Brenda. Anything that smelled of politics, especially. But the bedroom proved immaculately clean of just about everything, documents included. No safe to be found, either.

You're good, Wade. But I'm better.

There had to be something incriminating; political favors or not, no one rose to such wealth, power, and prominence without dirtying their hands somewhere. And even if Brenda did have every angle covered, there was always that ditzy little ward of hers, Lydia or whatever. She was supposed to be taking a gap year somewhere in France – perfect for a little "investigation" from Sara's Continental contacts.

But Sara didn't care to play that particular card until all the others were spent. So she headed for the closet, hoping to find a safe with most personal papers within.

"Oh my, this is magnificent," she whispered upon entering. "So much larger than mine."

Yes, that was irritating. Sara took great pride in her extensive wardrobe, and she never liked being second in anything. But Brenda's closet was larger than most American bedrooms, perhaps even the average British home. She saw gorgeous gowns, in a rainbow of colors and twice as many fabrics. Rack upon rack of business wear. And then she spotted Brenda's adjoining shoe closet. Took. Her. Breath. Away.

But, even dazzled by Brenda's fabulous wardrobe, Sara's trained eye noticed something ordinary people would never have. A wall of knickknacks. It sat opposite the closet door, and she saw the telltale signs of a secret door. So she began studying it, pushing and pulling over every little item until she found the right one. As soon as that hidden lever went over, the wall of built-in shelves slid aside with the hiss of hydraulics.

"Ha. You bloody bimbo, you can't fool… me…?"

What Sara had expected was a saferoom, somewhere for Brenda to hide from kidnappers or terrorists or disgruntled employees. What she'd found was just that – and so, so much more. A positive bonanza.

"God in Heaven," the beautiful tomb raider whispered, eyes wide with wonder.

A look of wicked glee quickly spread across her face as she wandered through the hidden rooms, running her fingertips over all the red patent thigh boots, all the star-spangled blue masks, all the stars-and-stripes bikini costumes.

Standing in front of the vanity, she pressed a mask to her face and admired the look. Then she picked up a red-white-and-blue bikini top, pressing it over her boobs.

"I do look rather heroic," she said, and laughed as she put them back.

Sara looked around, half-wondering if she should pinch herself just to be sure. She didn't need anything more incriminating. Brenda would surely do anything to keep a secret like this. Finding this secret room was the gift that would keep on giving, for years and years and years.

"I own you, Ms Americana!" Sara grinned. "The Skull Staff is practically mine."

Spotting a set of doors that could only have been the lift, Sara pushed the call button. It immediately opened. So she rode it down, barely able to contain herself through that minute-long trip. She was absolutely giddy to see what else Brenda was hiding.

"Dear God, I forgot about the mythical Americana Cave," she said, stepping out of car as soon as it dinged open. She looked around in total awe. "I want one of these."

Everywhere she looked, she saw red, white, and blue. Mostly in stars and stripes motifs. Those colors gave her a patriotic little tingle too, even if they weren't quite arranged like the Union Jack. She spotted a pair of computer terminals to her left, with lots of large HDTVs on the cave walls, and other equipment she couldn't even name. All for fighting crime, probably. Straight ahead awaited several high-end vehicles, all painted in Ms Americana's patriotic theme. But the area to the right was what really surprised her.

"Bondage furniture? Racks? Three St. Andrew's Crosses?" she muttered, taking a step closer. "This is the best stocked BDSM dungeon I've ever seen. Who knew Brenda…"

Click.

"Oh, rot. That can't be good."

Sara froze as soon as she heard that telltale sound, but it was still too late. Looking down, she just made out the laser beaming across the entry. She'd tripped an alarm!

Cursing, the Englishwoman turned back to the lift, nothing but escape on her mind. But the doors slammed shut when she was just an inch away. Even as she desperately banged on them, she heard the lift resetting itself to the secret room above.

Then she heard the hissing. Saw the jets of white gas.

"Bloody Hell!"

Sara spat out all her breath, just in case, and rushed away from the lift. Only when she got to the center of the cave did she stop, relax, and take another breath. Turning, she was relieved to confirm the gas-jets only sprayed around the lift itself.

Arms crossed, she stuck her chin out arrogantly. "What do I have to worry about? I know Brenda Wade's deepest secret. I'm in control here."

Brenda had to be afraid. All she had to do was wait for Brenda to come down and investigate the alarm. Sara was confident the woman herself would come alone, since the cave was a big secret. The identity it hid – even bigger.

Then a side chamber hissed open, and something inside made a thud that echoed through the cave.

"Uh-oh."

~**~**~

Some ninety feet above, a silver-black smartphone went vrrr-vrrr-vrrrrr, its screen flashing a bright, urgent red.

A long, slender finger tapped the screen, and the vibrations immediately stopped. The red was replaced by a live security feed, showing an empty spot on a cave floor and the bottom half of a set of elevator doors. That brought out a sharp little breath, almost a hiss.

Got past the prelim security, have you?

That finger swiped at the screen, bringing up another camera, another angle. Two new figures came into view: one huge and hulking, the other much smaller yet proudly, almost ridiculously defiant. But then, who'd ever heard of a tomb raider short on spine?

Slowly, softly, the phone's owner began to chuckle.

"All right, Ms. Kraft… let's see what you can do."

~**~**~

Sara grimaced as she looked her opponent over. Almost a foot taller than her, with arms and legs like tree trunks, connected to a barrel-like torso, smattered red-white-and-blue all over. Her first thought was that it looked like one of those Japanese tinker-toys that turned into jets or dinosaurs, the ones that ten-year-old children (and forty-year-old collectors) could never shut up about. But somehow, it also looked much more sinister, much more capable.

And then a second one followed it out. Then a third.

"Halt, intruder," the three of them said in unison, their cold, electronic drone seeming to fill the whole cave. "Intruder. Capture and secure. Intruder. Capture and secure."

"So sorry. I'm afraid you aren't the 'droids I was looking for," she quipped, pulling both her pistols with practiced ease.

Pap-pap-pap-pap!

The bullets flew, sparked, and promptly vanished, leaving their targets none the worse for wear. Her eyes widened.

"Bloody hell! I hate it when this happens."

Sara vaguely recalled that Wade Industries R&D had military and police contracts. The sentry-bots might have been made for them. Of course, that little nicety wouldn't help her one bit in fighting them, except maybe reassuring her that Brenda would never program them to kill. Super heroines, especially American ones, had a taboo against that sort of thing.

"And that gives me the advantage," she muttered with a grim smile. "I don't mind shooting man or metal."

The busty beauty kept up her return fire, while attempting to circle around them. Any plans she might've had about confronting Brenda in the cave were long gone. No, she needed to pick a new time and place to contact Brenda, preferably without seven-foot security robots. So getting out through the tunnel was imperative.

"You tinker-toys better stay away from me," she growled, aiming for the closest robot's glowing red eyes. Her next shot shattered its right eye, causing the sentry-bot to stumble and stop. "Ha! And that's just a taste of what I–"

"Intruder. Capture and secure," they droned again.

"Bugger me bloody," she growled. "What's it going to take to stop your tin-plated arses?"

"Arse," one of them suddenly droned. "Archaic term for butt, bum, anal."

"Anal?!" Sara scowled. "What kind of programming did Wade give you?"

In answer, the offending robot stood straight, and a long, thick, phallic protrusion slowly slid out of its bright red crotch-plate. Sara's jaw dropped, as she stared incredulously. What kind of deviant gave a robot a dick? Now she couldn't get the mechanical monster's anal comment out of her head.

"Wade, you are a sick wanker," she muttered, and then stood tall. "Come on, you stupid steel monkeys. Let's dance."

~**~**~

Some ninety feet above, Wade Manor's traditional not-quite-Midnight Waltz was just starting to wind down.

As expected, it was Brenda who took the lead, whipping and whirling partner after partner with zero visible strain. And as expected, some walked away dazzled, others galled and swearing to put her "in her place" come next year. Only a few wondered, at any length, how the beautiful billionaire could stay that fit with such a cushy life behind her.

Fools, if only you knew what lies beneath your feet…

Plenty of the guests looked either exhausted or punch-drunk – Mayor Fulcrum most of all – but not a lot looked ready to leave just yet. Instead, most of them were filing back toward the Great Room, no doubt for the big cross-city broadcast Brenda had set up. A dozen different Countdown ceremonies, from New York's to Star City's, would be relayed through the biggest, most cutting-edge HDTVs that money could buy.

Can't have the mistress of the house missing that. Miss Kraft will just have to keep.

Guns or no guns, there was no way that stupid little Englishwoman was getting past three Armored Patriots. Those things were some of the toughest robots any villain had hit Delta City with, hence Ms Americana's long, quiet, and ultimately successful efforts to impound them for research and reprogramming. With time, she had meant to turn them into the ultimate crime-fighting aides.

Now, of course, they had been turned to better things.

~**~**~

Sara charged the now one-eyed sentry-bot at a full tilt. Leaping up, she slammed both booted feet square in its (his?) chest. It fell back, arms windmilling, and knocked another back a step. The third sentry-bot tripped over his fallen comrade.

The last sentry-bot standing tried to grab her arm. Sara sent a roundhouse to its blank face, once, twice, three times. That drove the mechanical man back before her onslaught, while she studied him up close, looking for a weakness to exploit.

"Two points in my favor. Speed and skill."

Unfortunately, that didn't change the fact she was staring down three-to-one odds. Where the three were much bigger, and probably much harder to tire. And the clock was ticking. Who knew what Brenda Wade would do when she arrived?

"If she comes at me as super-powered Ms Americana, I've had it," she muttered. Mano-a-mano, she might have decent chances against any super heroine, but the robots would definitely keep the ball in Wade's court. Then she noticed the first two sentry-bots had sorted themselves out, and stood to threaten her again. "Lovely. Seems it's time for Cinderella to leave the ball."

Sara made herself as small as possible, and tried to slip between them, but one of the robots got hold of her left wrist. She almost rabbit punched it, but stopped herself just in time. There was nowhere she could punch that wouldn't leave her with a broken hand. No balls to kick, either. So she twisted around, seized its wrist, and – straining with all her might – tossed it over her shoulder.

Crash!

The other two were on her in a flash, swinging solid steel fists at her. Sara ducked, dodged, and blocked with all she had, but she was still losing ground. Worse, they were forcing her away from the tunnel. She glanced at the lift, dread starting to build.

Pulling both her pistols, the infamous tomb raider began swinging them like steel clubs. Shooting had been useless, but hitting them with cold steel proved surprisingly effective. Dents and dings started appearing on their "faces" and bodies, and she slowly turned the tide of battle. And then, point blank, Sara fired a round into one of those cold, bright eyes.

Its head exploded in a shower of sparks, the body collapsing just a moment later.

"Ha! Got your number now, you–"

"Intruder. Capture and secure," a sentry-bot said as it pressed up behind her. One mechanical arm reached around and seized a tit, squeezing tight as it pulled her back against its wide, unyielding chest. And then the other hand came around to bring a big black palm right over her face. "Intruder. Capture and secure."

A white mist hissed out, straight into her face. Sara gasped, realizing her mistake too late.

Sleep gas! she thought in a panic. Already, she could feel her body relaxing and eyes fluttering shut. Got… to…

~**~**~

Some ninety feet above, some joker in the Great Room decided to bring up the "R" word. Again.

Many of the partygoers chuckled politely. Many more made a pointed effort to ignore him. They were, after all, the cream of Delta City society. The last people in the state, maybe the country, who'd have any reason to care about New Year's Resolutions.

Naturally, in two minutes it was all they were thinking about.

Some thought of profits. Others, of promotions. Others still, of elections. Or reelections. Or wedding silver. Or Oscar gold. Or a new understanding with Commissioner Borden and his staffing choices. Or cleaning out Sugar Town (and the Sambinos, and the Samsons, and the Liras…) once and for all.

Or the complete and utter subjugation of every bubble-titted bimbo in Delta City with an Aphrodite Gene to her name.

~**~**~

Two breaths, and her body was completely limp. Sara couldn't move a muscle to save her life, but she didn't completely black out, either. So it wasn't a sleep gas, but rather some kind of muscle relaxant. Something that incapacitated the intruder without putting them under. But why?

"Intruder captured," the sentry-bot droned. "Secure intruder."

It bent over and swept her legs up in his free arm. Sara found herself being cradle carried, staring up at the cave's shadowy ceiling. She'd never felt so helpless, so useless. She could think of quite a few men (and women!) who'd love to have her like this, here and now.

What the hell? she thought when the sentry-bot carried her to the BDSM dungeon.

"Intruder captured," the sentry-bot said again. "Secure intruder."

In Wade's kinked-out dungeon? Bloody HELL no!

But all her unspoken fears were met, and then some. They stopped in the middle of the dungeon, and her legs were released. The sentry-bot held her upright, while its twin removed first her pistol belt and weapons, and then the knapsack. Then, to her shock, it ripped her tank top off to reveal her lacy bra.

No, no, no… she silently cried. The soulless sentry-bot ripped her bra off. Her large, firm tits dropped and jostled. You miserable marionette, just wait until this drug wears off!

Her breath caught, and she stared incredulously at the sentry-bot, when it then ripped her shorts and thong off. There was no good reason to strip her like that. Unless…

"Intruder prepared," the sentry-bot said. "Secure intruder."

The robot carefully placed her belly down atop a padded piece called a "horse." It was basically a gloried sawhorse, built sturdier and well-padded. The two remaining sentry-bots worked well together, and quickly. Her limp body was draped over the bondage horse, and then carefully position. There was a padded rail for her lower legs to rest upon. Her legs were strapped down on that rail, one strap below her knee, the other across her ankle. Then her arms were locked into place, leaving her bum hanging off the back and her head off the front.

This is so embarrassing.

Hearing a tiny hydraulic hiss, she cut her eyes left and right. Sara's blood ran cold. She hadn't said anything, so why the hell were their mechanical dicks coming out? Surely Wade hadn't programmed them to…

Uh-oh, she thought when one moved around behind her, and the other move straight in front of her. I can't believe this is happening to me.

The once-arrogant noblewoman felt something cold and hard touch her nether lips. Her head began to spin. Yes, it was going to happen. Wade really HAD programmed her sentry-bots to do this to anyone they captured. So wrong.

God, fucking a robot was on Lynn's bucket list, not mine! she thought when she felt pressure force her nether lips to spread, and the fake dick pushed up to her entrance. The sentry-bot yanked her head back by her long, thick braid.

And thrust.

"Ugggh!" Sara wailed. God in Heaven! How big is this wanker's cock?!

"Must tame intruder," the sentry-bot droned. Then the other seized her head with both hands, pressing its own shaft to her lips. The same three words droned: "Must tame intruder."

"Hgggh!" she grunted when he shoved it all the way to the back of her throat. And then both of them started thrusting, pumping in and out of her mouth and pussy. Hard and fast. "Ugh. Ugh. Ugh."

They were eternally hard. They never got tired. They were relentless.

Sara found herself utterly incapable of resisting them. She had no defenses, what with her body being completely limp. Within minutes she felt her body change, her insides filling with liquid heat. Soon her very core was fluttering, while her helpless, reamed out twat throbbed with achy need. Finally, they sealed the deal when she felt that surge to climax start.

Fuck me, she thought, just before divine bliss blossomed deep within. Insane pleasure erupted, consuming her body and soul.

Sara bucked and writhed, moaned and groaned. But the robots never faltered in their programming. They fucked her through so many forced climaxes the hapless Englishwoman passed out.

Then they started all over again.

~**~**~

Some ninety feet above, the numbers sounded - almost five hundred voices, in varying states of drunkenness, trying to keep up with the bright-eyed newscasters that now filled every screen set about the Great Room. Not a task that came clearly. Or cleanly.

But with every one they passed, the next one seemed to get easier. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two…

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

It came as an unstoppable roar, an explosion of pure glee that rolled through Wade Manor like a tsunami. More than loud enough to outstrip the first wave of fireworks blasting overhead.

And underfoot.

~**~**~

Sara found herself jostling in and out of unconsciousness. The passage of time meant nothing. It could've been fifteen minutes, or fifteen hours. It was all the same. Just endless sex and pleasure. The sentry-bots quickly wiped her mind clear of any thoughts of resistance. Until she woke up and found herself completely alone.

Before she could sort herself out, Sara heard footsteps. Someone was approaching slowly, wearing stilettos. The sexy clatter echoed through the vast cavern. Sara's eyes fluttered open, facing the floor. Yeah, she was still strapped down atop the bondage horse.

A pair of shiny black boots came into focus first. Stiletto-heeled thigh boots. That recognition kicked her mind into gear, reminding her of her current predicament. Her eyes began the long trip up her captor's statuesque body, but barely got halfway before it moved out of sight. Moved behind the helpless noblewoman.

"Ms Kraft, you have just made the worst mistake of your life," came a deep, rich voice, laced with just a hint of amusement. Black-gloved hands reached round Sara's head, a red ball-gag stretched between them. "Open wide."

Sara wasn't given the slightest chance to defy those hands. That rubber ball was forced between her teeth, stretching her jaw to the limit. She groaned and writhed while her captor buckled the ball-gag tightly around her head.

Once the gag was secured, her captor walked away, heels clattering and scraping on the concrete floor. A few seconds later, Sara heard squeaky wheels coming her way. Then she spotted something moving above. A bright red helmet was being pushed down over her head. Next thing she knew, her vision was completely blocked, leaving only her nose and gagged mouth open. Then came the deet-deet-deet of a code being punched in on the back of the helmet, and a tingle began to form deep in Sara's head.

Before she could fathom what that was doing to her, another hard, phallic-shaped object pressed against her pussy. Her anus, too.

"I see you're already acquainted with my little helpers. Even so, I think you'll have a whole new appreciation for the Syntho-Shaft 6000."

Sara's eyes widened beneath the helmet. No, not fucking machines! I can't take much more–

"Relax, Ms Kraft. Soon you won't have a care in the world. Well, none other than strict obedience." A few taps sounded against the helmet. "This is going to do a little tinkering with that insidious little mind of yours, my dear."

And the fucking machine came to life, chugging and hissing hydraulics sounds filling the room. Sara grunted, pussy and ass filled to the max. The machine pumped both dildos in and out, each at a different speed for maximum effect. Her body tingled, insides growing hot and mushy again. And then the tingle in her head began to intensify.

"You belong to me now, Ms Kraft," her captor purred. "Forever and ever."

SHOCK! HORROR! WHAT IS THE DARK SECRET THAT LURKS BENEATH WADE MANOR?

THE ANSWER, FAITHFUL READERS, IN A TRICE!