The Femme Defenders in: Six Little Heroines!

By NoComeupance (nocomeupance@gmail.com)

Part 2: Riding the Range

Author's note: This story follows from Enter the Mind Mistress. You can probably pick up on everything you need here, but reading that story will provide a better introduction to the characters. All characters are my original creations. Or, where stolen, they've at least had the serial numbers filed off. On any other site, I'd be careful to include a rape warning for stories that contained rape; for this story on this site, I'm including a no-rape warning. So: There's no rape in this story.

“aaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAHHHH!” *SPLORT!*

Velvet Glove found herself in another room illuminated by white fluorescent lights, though this one was far less spartan and somewhat more... pungent. V.G. wrinkled her delicate nose at the smell, which she had a difficult time placing. It reminded her of some of the dank corners of the frat houses she had frequented at parties during her brief time in college, before she had decided to drop out and pursue a new career as a superheroine and professional celebrity. Whatever it was, she didn't want to be around it any longer than she had to.

Velvet Glove turned her head back and forth. To her annoyance, she was still encased in the silver blob, but she could at least get a sense of her surroundings. First and foremost, she was in some sort of clear tube that extended from the floor to the ceiling. There was a hatch above her that she must have fallen through, now closed. To her left she saw a large trophy case filled with little statuettes of various heroes and heroines. Prominently displayed on the back wall at the left end of the trophy case was her own costume, complete with belt and boots. The opposite wall held a vast bookcase loaded with DVDs, VHS tapes, and comic books.

The other half of the room was shrouded in darkness. A set of steps led up to a swivel chair and a console brimming with monitors and electronics, the glow of the screens the only illumination in that part of the room. In contrast to the state-of-the-art electronic setup, the floor was littered with pizza boxes and junk food wrappers. A comfy looking couch sat in the corner in front of a nice-but-not-huge TV screen to which was attached a frightening tangle of cords from various video game consoles and recording devices.

The swivel chair in front of the control console was turned away from her, but she could make out the top of a head over the back. She could see a few strands of frizzy hair, but nothing more of her captor.

“Hey!” she shouted, “Do you even know who I am? When I get out of here, I swear I will reach down your scrawny throat, grab you by the small intestines, and yank you inside out! You had better hope Jacky isn't around to stop me, or I will twist you into a rope and tie you into a fucking pretzel! I'll-”

Velvet Glove's stream of invective was interrupted as the chair spun around. The occupant was shrouded in darkness and Velvet Glove could only make out a shadowy outline of a figure, resting her elbows on the chair's arms and steepling her fingers. A glint of light flashed off of the round frames of the mysterious woman's glasses.

“I don't think you'll be in a position to do any of that! Now, let's get a better look at you!” a brief pause, then in a less menacing voice, “How sinister was that? I really think I'm getting the hang of this!” The mysterious stranger then reached out and pressed a button on the console. Instantly, the liquid metal that encased Velvet Glove lost its surface tension and collapsed into a pool at her feet. The liquid level slowly lowered as it drained out of a grate in the floor. When the last drop fell through, the holes in the grate closed up, leaving a solid floor underneath the nearly-naked heroine.

Velvet Glove now stood in her tube, naked except for her signature gloves and a lacy pink G-String. It came, as all of her undergarments did, from her signature line of lingerie, Velvet Glove's Superheroine Secrets. On the sparse front was a message embroidered in black script: “Ready for Action!” V.G. did her best to cover her ample breasts with her hands.

“No need to be modest, it's nothing the entire world hasn't seen in that Playhero pictorial,” the villain paused and pressed a finger to her lips, “In fact, I recall you even showing a bit more in that pictorial. Do you still keep your pubes shaved in the shape of your logo?”

Velvet Glove squinted and gritted her teeth. Those pictures were tasteful and artistic! She had made a conscious decision to demonstrate the sensual side of being a superheroine. It had been a daring move, a bold statement on the place for femininity and women's sexuality in the all-too-macho world of superheroes. Yet nobody seemed to understand! All she had gotten in return for her brave, indeed, courageous, statement were a lot of snide remarks and a dismissal from the Justice Squad, and she was sick of hearing about it!

The heroine shifted her hands so that her left arm covered both breasts, sort of, then reared back with her right arm and slammed her fist into the tube.

*KLONG!* “OOOOWWWW!” Her knuckles bounced painfully off the clear material and she shook her hand, trying to get the pain to subside.

“That's transparent aluminum!” laughed the villainess, “Not even a humpback whale could break out of there! Good lunch punching this problem away! No, I'm afraid you're stuck. But don't worry, you'll soon have company! Hahahahaha!”

There was a pause.

“So how was that? Threatening? Are you scared?”

Velvet Glove responded with an obscene gesture.

“Well, whatever. I should be concentrating on your companions, anyway.” She swiveled back around.

Velvet Glove looked around, irritated. She pawed at her cage, searching for some way out. At last, she grunted in annoyance and stamped her foot petulantly, balling her fists at her side.

“This is bullshit!”

***

The Femme Defenders, sans Velvet Glove, were decidedly nervous, with the obvious exceptions of Flower Power, who remained cheerfully oblivious, and Bronco Buster, who remained cool and inscrutable.

“What do you think they did to her?” asked Zoe. Like everyone else, she had seen the tape of what happened to Future Girl and was now imagining all sorts of horrible, humiliating things happening to Velvet Glove.

“I... I don't know,” said Jacky. She was also imagining horrible, humiliating things happening to Velvet Glove, but she quickly shook herself out of it. No time for pleasant day dreams, this situation was serious!

“Well, I'm sure she'll get out of it! I'll bet she'll get right out of it and beat up all the bad guys!” Zoe smiled, not entirely convincingly.

“At this stage,” said Mind Mistress, “There is no compelling evidence to indicate that we are dealing with 'guys.' We have faced robots and we have heard a female voice. It is therefore safe to assume only that we are dealing with either a single woman, or a man with a voice modulator, or possibly with some sort of sentient computer. To state that we are dealing with a plurality assumes facts not in evidence.”

Velvet Glove's absence didn't really hit home with the group until this moment, when she was no longer here to tell Mind Mistress to shut up.

“Perhaps Velvet Glove has found herself relocated to a more favorable location for communing with the essential All-Oneness of universal love-truth...” offered Flower Power.

“Regardless,” Mind Mistress continued, shooting an annoyed look in Flower Power's direction, “The way is now clear. I suggest we proceed.”

The doorway had now been cleared, since the glob of liquid metal that disguised itself as the door had disappeared with Velvet Glove. The group cautiously made its way to the next room, Jacky taking the lead.

The team now found themselves in a room that had been decorated like a Western-style shooting gallery, complete with a fake saloon, blacksmith, stable, sheriff's office, the works.

“Oh, good,” moaned Jacky, “Theme rooms.”

“Wait, what?” said the voice, “Sorry, I was talking to Velvet Glove. What'd you say?”

“You have Velvet Glove?! Is she safe?” asked Zoe.

“Oh! Ummm... I mean, yeah? That is... Wait, wait, what was I supposed to say here? Let me find my notes file... Here we are, VillainSpeeches.txt. Ah! Right!” her voice shifted to a deeper tone, “I have Velvet Glove in my clutches, just as I will soon have you all!” The assembled heroines could hear, distantly, in the background, what sounded like Velvet Glove cursing a blue streak.

“Okay, so, we know Velvet Glove is safe. At least we have that going for us,” said Jacky.

“Alright! Next room! Oh, that's the Western room! Okay, in character: Welcome to the Wild West, where you'll have to be a sharp-shootin' cowpoke if you want any chance of making it out alive! Better have your six guns at the ready!” back to the casual voice, “Hey, Bronco Buster! What do you think? Does it feel homey? Any notes you can give on accuracy would be helpful.” Silence. “Well, I guess I'll see you soon enough, you can give your comments in person!”

Bronco Buster, silent as always, had already pulled out her guns with a flourish, grinning. The others just stood looking around nervously.

“You can do it, B.B.!” shouted Zoe, “I believe in you!”

“On your mark! Get set! GO!” said the voice.

A bell rang and a cardboard cowboy popped out of the ground. It was wearing a black hat and a scowl and three days of stubble. It moved slowly forward.

Bronco Buster rolled her eyes and shot it dead center in the target on its chest. A bell rang and the cardboard cowboy disappeared into the ground.

Another two popped up, but they were dispatched with no more difficulty than the first. The challenge proceeded, slowly, with Bronco Buster dispatching each successive wave within half a second of its appearance. At last, the bell rang three times and the targets stopped appearing.

“Well done! You've completed the Greenhorn Round. You may select one companion to move forward,” said the voice, “And by the way, I'm sure you're thinking about all of you just going through at once, but that would be totally not cool and I would have to punish you for it.” A section of wall in the back slid open.

“Who's going to go ahead? I volunteer not me!” said Zoe, touching her nose. She was feeling a little scared about this whole mission and the very real turn it had taken with Velvet Glove's capture.

“It seems most prudent to send me in,” offered Mind Mistress, “I have military training and can reconnoiter what lies ahead, and will likely be able to analyze a solution before the rest of you finish with this... game.”

“That's exactly why you shouldn't go,” said Jacky, “Who knows what's up ahead? We need someone who'll stay put and won't trigger any new dangers until the whole team's assembled.”

All eyes turned to Flower Power. She smiled.

“While it would displease me to separate from the rest of my sisters, I feel blessed to know that you imbue me with the trust to venture into new realms of knowing wisdom.”

“Whatever. Get through the door,” Jacky said. Flower Power wandered through the room, stopping occasionally to marvel at the cardboard buildings and pet a cardboard sheep. Finally, though, she made it through the door. She turned and waved as the door closed behind her.

“That took you long enough! I mean, take your time, I really don't have anything else scheduled for today, but... Anyhow!  Ready for the Tenderfoot Round?” asked the voice.

“Reckon so!” grinned Bronco Buster. Jacky, Zoe, and Mind Mistress all stared at the ordinarily taciturn cowgirl. It was pretty rare for her to speak; between her sudden loquacity and the smile that spread from ear to ear, it almost seemed like B.B. was having fun.

The second round introduced a new wrinkle: Innocent villagers who would pop up. Bronco Buster was familiar enough with these sorts of penny arcade games to know that there'd be a penalty for shooting a civilian. Five minutes later, the round had ended and Bronco Buster had put in another flawless performance.

“Congratulations! You're officially a tenderfoot. Pick one more teammate to send on.”

“Zoe, do you think you can handle it? You'll have Flower Power there with you,” asked Jacky. She didn't want to baby Zoe too much, she had to learn to fight on her own, but she also didn't want to traumatize the poor kid in the middle of a mission.

Zoe gulped. “I'm pretty sure I can handle it,” she smiled, “Besides, Flower promised she'd tell me all about the All-One and this seems like as good a time as any to learn!”

“I can't help but notice that you are continuing to ignore the obvious logic of my earlier suggestion,” said Mind Mistress.

“I'm not going to argue with you. We need to make sure the team sticks together,” Jacky said.

Mind mistress shrugged. “Whatever you say, 'boss,'” she said the last word, an unusual Twenty-First Century colloquialism, with a verbal sneer, “However, if this mission should end unfavorably I hope that you will reconsider the wisdom of ignoring my advice.”

“Duly noted,” said Jacky, who then turned to Zoe, “Remember, if anything happens, just spring out of there. We'll be along shortly.”

Zoe grinned, “No problem!” She turned into a spring and bounced through the open door, which slid shut behind her.

“How touching,” mocked the voice, then shifted tone again, “Actually, that was pretty touching! It's kind of adorable how you're, like, a surrogate mother to Zoe.”

“Ugh, mother?” groaned Jacky, annoyed by the age implications, “I always thought of it more as an older sister kind of relationship...”

“Well, whatever. Anyhow, prepare for the Cowboy Round!”

The third round had no major changes, but the targets were more frequent and came faster. While there were a few close calls, Bronco Buster finished this round with no errors.

“Alright, I guess you are a real cowboy. Or, actually, cowgirl, I guess. You know the drill, one more.”

“I assume you will be going through yourself?” asked Mind Mistress, raising her eyebrow.

Jacky considered. “No, actually, I'm going to send you through. I trust you to follow orders and not go ahead.”

A hint of a smile played across Mind Mistress's face. “Of course not, Jacky. I wouldn't dream of it.” She turned and strode through the door.

“Do you trust her? I don't know if I trust her,” said the voice, “Alright! Now it's getting hot and heavy! It's time for the Gunslinger Round!”

The grin on Bronco Buster's face only got wider. The targets were now popping up four at a time. It took some tricky shooting, but nothing that B.B. hadn't handled before. Then-

“Look out! Up there!” Bronco Buster was so focused on the targets emerging from the ground and popping out of the buildings that she'd failed to notice a new class of targets: Buzzards that drifted down lazily from the ceiling. Her downward-tilted Stetson also didn't help with her vertical vision. Bronco Buster fired off a quick shot, but Jacky's warning had come too late.

A loud buzz sounded. From the wall, a length of rope shot out, wrapped itself around Bronco Buster's right ankle, and quickly tied itself into a hangman's noose. Bronco Buster, however, kept her cool and stayed focused on shooting the targets. After long minutes, the targets stopped coming. Three bells signaled the end of the round and the rope around Bronco Buster's ankle slackened and retracted into the wall.

“Nice shootin' Tex!” said the voice, “You can call yourself a gunslinger now!”

Ordinarily Bronco Buster was averse to speaking unless absolutely necessary, but this seemed like it called for a retort.

“Ah may be uh gunslinger, an' ain't nobody ever accused me uh bein' anythin' else, but ah'll be hogtied afore I go lookin' fer the approval uh some shit-kickin' pissant like yerself tuh call muhself one!” She punctuated her statement by spitting on the floor.

Jacky was taken aback by B.B.'s sudden loquacity. She shook off the surprise, looked her friend in the eyes and smiled. “One more round. Make it through. I know you can do this.”

Bronco Buster nodded silently. Jacky ran through the door.

“Well, look like it's down to just you, Bronco Buster. Let's see what you're really made of. This one's for all the marbles: the Deputy Round!”

This time the targets appeared and disappeared fast and furious. Any ordinary person would have been buzzed out within seconds of the round beginning, but Bronco Buster was no ordinary human. Her guns aimed and fired faster than the eye could see, taking out targets before most people would have even noticed them. Then, two minutes in-

*BZZZT!*

Bronco Buster inadvertently shot a civilian. She winced as the rope returned, looping itself around her right ankle. She didn't let that break her concentration. Another two minutes passed, when-

*BZZT!*

She missed a barely-visible target in the distance, a thorny cactus holding a gun. A second rope flew out, snaring her left ankle.

Bronco Buster was starting to break a sweat. Long minutes stretched by and she wasn't sure how much longer she could go without making another mistake. At last-

*DING! DING! DING!*

The round ended. Bronco Buster breathed heavily, not entirely sure she had actually done it. When no more targets emerged and the ropes disappeared again, she allowed herself a smile.

“We have a winner! Congratulations, Deputy Bronco Buster! You may now pass through to the next challenge!” the voice crowed. The door on the far end of the room slid open and Bronco Buster began sauntering toward it, with a bit of a swagger.

“Of course, you could also challenge the Bonus Round for the title of Sheriff. But then... You did have a lot of trouble in that last round. I'm sure you want to mosey right along. Nobody would blame you, under the circumstances, for having a yellow streak.”

That caused Bronco Buster to stop short. Her teeth ground. Her eyes narrowed. She growled.

“Now, lis'n. Ev'r since ah joined this here outfit ah took an oath tuh stop killin'. An' ah've kept that oath, fer Jacky's sake if nuhthin' else. But ah ain't never let a body, man or woman or... whatever yuh are, call me yeller an' live tuh see another sunrise. Now ah don't care how many rounds yuh care tuh throw at me; ah'll lick em all, and then ah'll lick you!”

“Bronc! What are you-” shouted Jacky from the other side of the door.

“Just what I wanted to hear!” said the voice. The door slammed shut again. Bronco Buster tensed, drawing her guns.

Every target popped up simultaneously. Bronco Buster's eyes widened momentarily, then she went to work shooting. She made a good effort of it, knocking down nearly all the targets... but not quite all. The round was simply impossible, and Bronco Buster realized too late that her pride had gotten the better of her.

*BZZZ-ZZZ-ZZZ-ZZZT!*

Four ropes flew out of the walls, wrapping themselves around Bronco Buster's ankles and wrists, then pulling taught. Bronco Buster was suspended, spread-eagle, in the air.

“Oh, man! It worked! I'm pretty proud of that one, TBH. I thought it would make your defeat feel a lot worse if you had a chance at winning, but then kept challenging anyway. Seriously, right up until you walked through the door I was all 'maybe you should just make the fifth round impossible! If she makes it through it'll screw up your whole setup!' but I saw how confident you were and I said to myself, 'no, you've gotta stick to the original plan. It'll be sooooo worth it!' and it was!” said the voice.

There was a pause.

“Sorry about that, just getting excited. Back in character: Oh dear! Looks like you've lost, Bronco Buster! Got anything to say?”

Bronco Buster remembered her mammy's words, the words she had foolishly ignored in her excitement, and kept her fool mouth shut.

“Cat got your tongue? Well, as a consolation prize I've prepared a little ride for you, just to say 'happy trails!'”

A door opened on one side of the room and a train track slid out, ran across the floor beneath Bronco Buster, then disappeared into another door that slid open on the opposite side of the room. A handcar rolled out, stopping just under the cowgirl. The ropes suddenly withdrew back into the wall, dropping Bronco Buster unceremoniously onto the cart. She got up to her feet, but just as she did a pair of manacles emerged from either side of the cart, clamping around her ankles.

“So, I've got this whole thing set up. I figured, while I've got you, I might as well try out a few ideas I had for torments. I know you're not much of a talker, but if you could, like, write some notes for me at the end, I'd really appreciate it. Okay, I'm gonna stick to the script until the end of the ride, now.” The voice paused and cleared its throat. “Ahem! Looks like you're in for a wild ride, Bronco Buster! What's that sound?” A train whistle blew. “Why, that sounds like the cactus express, right on schedule!”

A small train came through the  door behind Bronco Buster. Not an especially threatening sight, except for the rather large, extremely thorny cactus mounted on the front in place of the cow catcher. One of the cactus's arms was thrust out to strike Bronco Buster right in her derriere.

The reality of the cactus rapidly approaching her hindquarters quickly vanquished Bronco Buster's desire not to play the mysterious voice's silly games. She began pumping the handcart, trying desperately to put some distance between herself and the vicious plant.

Bronco Buster passed through the door and found herself pumping her way through a matte painted western landscape. She passed canyons, coyotes, painted deserts and cacti. Really, it was quite lovely, and she would have admired the effort put into it if the whole thing weren't a death trap in which she was ensnared.

“Howdy partner!” said the voice, with barely concealed glee, “You're coming up on the sleepy little mining town of Bloomer Falls. Enjoy your stay!”

Bronco Buster passed a sign announcing her arrival in Bloomer Falls, along with the slogan “Bring Your Smile and Leave Your Pants!” Bronco Buster gulped.

“Why not enjoy a drink at One-Eyed Dick's Saloon!” Bronco Buster could see ahead that the railroad tracks lead right through the swinging saloon doors, so she didn't appear to have a great deal of say in the matter. The handcart carrying Bronco Buster flew into the saloon. From outside, piano music and raucous laughter could be heard, along with the sound of fists slamming into faces as a fight broke out. Bronco Buster came out the other side, now sans vest, but with her right eye blackened.

“Ouch! Looks like you got yourself a shiner! Better go see the doc about that, but be careful; he'll charge an arm and a leg!”

Bronco Buster considered correcting the voice by telling her that the black eye had been painted on as she pumped her way through the saloon. But she figured the voice knew that as well as she did, so it didn't make much sense to waste her precious breath. Not when the cactus was looming behind her.

Now her cart was flying into a wooden building marked “Doc Johnson: Sawbones.” The sound of saws and screams filled the air as Bronco Buster zoomed through, only to emerge on the other side with her face cleaned up, a bill stuffed in the front of her pants, and no shirt. Her considerable breasts, now as naked as the day she was born, bounced in time to her heaving as she pumped the handle of the cart up and down.

“Oh, my!” smarmed the voice, “Looks like he didn't charge you an arm and a leg, but you did lose your shirt! Why not forget your sorrows with a little visit to Ms. Pussy's Cathouse?”

Bronco Buster winced. She had a pretty good idea of where this was going. She pumped with all her might, flying into the faux brothel. The obscene sounds of loud lovemaking were pumped in through the speakers as Bronco Buster passed. She emerged with her face covered in red lip prints. She was missing her pants and belt. She was now pumping her way down the tracks in just her hat, her boots, and a pair of white panties with a silver sheriff's star on the front and a cartoon cactus wearing a cowboy hat on the back. If Bronco Buster weren't running out of breath, she might have chuckled at the irony.

“Mah britches! Whud yuh do with mah britches yuh two-penny hussy!” she shouted, unable to keep silent any longer.

“Uh oh! Looks like the ole Cactus Express is picking up steam! Better pick up the pace!”

Bronco Buster, her face drenched in sweat, looked behind her. The cactus was gaining on her. She pumped for all she was worth, but the cactus was still making slow progress.

“Oh, I may have forgotten to mention that the road is out ahead. That won't be a problem, will it?”

Bronco Buster turned her head around to look in front of her again. The tracks abruptly ended in a hand-painted sign reading “Dead End!” illustrated with a skull and crossbones. She winced. This was not going to end well...

The handcart slammed into the dead end, stopping its forward momentum. Just then, the train behind crashed into Bronco Buster's handcart, plunging the cactus arm full-force into her exposed rear, which she had thrust backward in the course of pumping the handle.

“YEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUCCCCCCHHHH!” Bronco Buster hollered so loud that even her teammates could hear her, even though they were half a mile away now.

The manacles chose that moment to disengage, allowing the momentum of the cactus and the train colliding against Bronco Buster's rear to send the cowgirl flying over the bar of the handcart, through the air, and into another fake structure, marked “Slick Willie's Silver Mine.”

A moment later Bronco Buster emerged again. She was now sitting in a tiny mine cart, her throbbing buttocks firmly lodged inside, her legs dangling over the edge.

“Looks like you've struck silver! But watch out; I heard a rumor they'd be blasting today!”

Bronco Buster looked around frantically as she rolled along. A faint sizzling sound alerted her to a fuse emerging from beneath her rear and trailing behind the cart. The grim realization dawned on B.B. that there was almost certainly a mess of TNT sitting right under her sore, perforated buttocks. As the cart rolled down the track, she tried desperately to dislodge her pained rear, only to watch the fuse burn closer and closer to the cart. At last the sparking tip of the fuse ran up the side of the cart and disappeared into the darkness beneath her poor behind. The nearly-naked cowgirl winced and braced for the blast.

*Ka-BOOM!*

“AAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!” Bronco Buster squealed as she went flying. The force of the explosion having dislodged her from the cart and sent her arcing gracelessly through the air. She landed on her knees and skidded a few feet, her smoldering buttocks high in the air.

Bronco Buster reached behind her back to spank at her still-burning bottom. As she did, a lasso dropped down from the ceiling, encircling her arms and pulling them together at the wrist. She awkwardly stumbled to her feet, only for another lasso to take the opportunity of her raising her legs to shoot out of the ground and bind her ankles together. She fell back to the ground. A third rope shot from the wall and, at a leisurely pace, encircled the twin bindings of the struggling cowgirl, then pulled them taut.

“Well, Bronco Buster,” smirked the strange voice, “I seem to recall you saying something earlier about being hog-tied before you'd look for my approval. Since you're now looking pretty darn hog-tied, it looks like it's time for you to mosey on down to meet me!”

Bronco Buster gulped. A trap door opened underneath her, dropping her into the unknowable darkness.