"Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead."

Deena Ryder woke up with a start to the sight of her newlywed husband, Jack, smiling playfully at her, his thatch of black hair shining in the early morning sun that sliced patterns of light through the Venetian blinds on their bedroom window. She wriggled her petite, curvaceous, busty body up against him, their naked skin rubbing warmly together as she settled happily into the crook of one of his big, muscular arms. "Mmmmm," she sighed contentedly, "just a few more minutes."

Oh thank God, she was thinking, thank you God, thank you! It felt so good to be in his arms, to be safe and happy. She’d been having the most horrific nightmare, a nightmare where some horrible group of thugs had captured her and injected her with a sex drug and turned her into a whore, a nightmare that had seemed to go on and on and on for days and weeks. But it wasn’t true, it wasn’t true, she’d been safe in the arms of the man she loved the whole time! A warm wave of joy and relief was washing through her, suffusing her whole body.

One of his hands gently stroked her dark, pageboy-cut hair idly. "Now, now," he said. "You’ve got work to do, sweetie."

After a moment, she realized his hand was tightening in her hair. She could feel his big cock hardening against her thigh. "Oh, honey," she said muzzily. "I’m... not right now... okay? I just want to... to cuddle..."

"Just want to cuddle, huh?" The fingers in her hair were tightening painfully now, she felt a shock of fear as he suddenly yanked her head back to look at him, and his face was transformed, his smile grown cruel and vicious. "Who said you’ve got a choice, bitch?"

"Wha- what? Jack owwww you’re hurting me—" she babbled in terror as he yanked her head cruelly and twisted her over onto her belly. NonononoNO oh my God oh my God... Her hands were fluttering in confusion as the warm aura of joy evaporated instantly, as his other hand dug into the soft flesh at one hip and pulled her up on her knees, forcing her to present her shaved, vulnerable snatch rearward. Somewhere deep inside, even as she felt herself juicing up in humiliated lust, she knew her pleas would be useless.

"Well, well, looks like wifey’s little slut hole definitely wants to cuddle, huh?" said Jack’s voice from behind her, cruel and mocking as she felt the head of his hard, throbbing meat push up against her pussy lips, her clit pulsating and her juices running out over the tip of the member as it began to nudge its way past her defenses.

"No no no Jack what you are doing not like this please Jack don’t you love me?" she gabbled frantically, but her hot, increasingly wet and greedy little fuckhole told a different tale, told the man about to master her with his cock just what her body wanted.

"Love you?" he mocked from behind her. "Men don’t love whores, Deena. We just use them. Now get to work!" And with those words, his cock skewered into her, all nine inches of its length penetrating and filling and streching her, his balls slapping up against her sensitive clit.

"AWWWWHAWWWWWWWWW!" she wailed as her own husband began to crudely force-fuck her like a bitch in heat, his cock pulling back and then slamming home again, again, again, again, building up a hard-pumping rhythm that had her juices squirting as her body responded sluttily to the abusive pounding.

"Oh yeah, that’s it bitch," he chanted as he screwed her. "That’s it, bitch. Take it all. Take it all. Take it, you dumb whore..."

Helpless on the merciless thrusting cock, unable to stop herself from humping back against it, Deena could do nothing but mewl and squeal and whine as she felt her first climax building. "AWWWWHAWWWWW! AWWWWWW! AWWWWW! AWWWHAWWWW!" Oh God why is this happening I’m gonna cum I’m gonna cum I’m gonna fucking CUM like a little SLUT... And as his cock skewered extra deep, the bitch’s sopping snatch exploded in a soul-searing climax. "AAAAAHHHHH-HAAAAHHHHH! AAAAAHHHHHAAAAA –

* * * * *

As her clutching, wet sex spasmed in unwanted pleasure, it brought Officer Deena Ryder screaming out of the nightmares of her sleep and into the waking nightmare of her life. The big, hot cock pounding her was very real. The voice taunting her, telling her to "take it," was very real. She was on her hands and knees, a strong hand pulling her hair as nine inches of plundering man-flesh ravaged her, her pussy squelching loudly as it milked the domineering shaft of her master. The hard fucking had started while she slept... as it often did, these days. She squealed, she moaned, she despaired. She took it.

Neither voice nor cock belonged to her husband, of course. He was gone, long gone. He’d left her the very day her nightmare had begun, the very day her life as a prison guard had ended and her life as a fuckslut had replaced it, the change so abrupt – courtesy of the horrible drug they’d injected her with – that even now she wondered if she wasn’t living in some weird parallel life, even now she wondered if she might not wake up to find it had all been just a dream... but that hope was fading, as every change in her life since only deepend the nightmare, the depraved sexual hell that now consumed her every waking moment.

When the Syndicate had sent her home the day of her brutal, spirit-breaking gangbang at the hands of the prison’s senior staff and that evil woman called The Boss’ own thugs, they’d sent her in the company of one of the very brutes who’d raped her, the big black bruiser named Jerry. He’d brought with him a partial recording they’d made during her forced submission, had sat Jack down and showed him the images of his new bride cumming hard on cock after cock, moaning and writhing and squirting in helpless ecstasy as she took it in every hole for hour after hour and spunk streamed all over her body. At the end of the recording, Jerry had quietly handed her husband a cheque, said simply: "For your trouble." Jack had looked at it, wordlessly tucked it into a pocket and, with tears streaming down his face, had walked out of the house without giving his wife one further glance. She’d been immobilized with horror, shame and despair, unable to call out after him, unable to do anything at all.

She hadn’t seen him since. When she’d arrived back home the next night, after a long day of being whipped and fucked and forced to service cock and pussy alike at the prison, she’d found all their old furniture gone, replaced with lurid, tacky animal-printed junk and the walls plastered with explicit posters of porn stars... and her husband replaced by her new "daddy," Big T, the man whose big black cock was now driving her to another orgasm. ("Syndicate asked me to set you up real special," were the first words he’d said to her then. He’d been wearing blue from the bandanna on his head to the British Knights on his feet, he always did. "You’re my bitch, now. And you ain’t done workin’ yet.")

"AWWWWWWWW! AWWWWWWW! AWWWWWWWWHAWWWW!" she cried out as Big T’s thrusts picked up speed.

"Yeeeahhhh baby," the pimp growled. "Who’s your daddy, bitch? Who’s your daddy?"

In the weeks since he’d laid claim to her, he had taught her exactly what he wanted to hear and when. The words came without thinking. "AWWWWW FUUUCCKK YOU’RE MY DADDY BIG T YOU ARE!" the cop-turned-puta wailed as she felt the dick begin to twitch. "AWWWWW FUUUUUCK I LOVE MY DADDY’S BIG BLACK DICK! AWWWW YEAAAHHHHH GIVE IT TO ME DADDY FUUUHUUUCK MEEEEHEEEEE..." And his spunk blasted into her, coated her sugar walls as his cock exploded again and again, and another orgasm swamped her, her head spinning as she screamed and screamed in despair and squirted and creamed all over the hard cock.

Finally, panting, he pulled out of her, seemingly spent. Deena lay in a sweaty mess, spunk leaking out of her fuckhole as she shivered in the aftermath of the intense sensations, at the same time cringing inside at what might happen next. Sometimes he liked to whip her with his belt after the first fuck of the day, it got his cock back up so he could use her tight little asshole. Once he got started on her ass, he might spend another full hour pounding it and periodically forcing her to clean off his dick with her mouth, making her late for "work" at the prison and her punishments there all the more hellish as a result. It all depended on his mood.

He lay pensively beside her shuddering form for a long moment, as if considering it. She could actually hear him scratching his jaw in contemplation. Then a wave of pathetically grateful relief washed through her when he said, "Get up and get dressed, bitch. You got a big day today."

"Yes, daddy," she said meekly as she slid out of the big, satin-sheeted bed, her pussy still throbbing as she made her way to the bathroom.

She tried not to look at herself in the mirror at first. She didn’t like to see the haunted, hollow, defeated stare that would look back at her, and she always put it off as long as she could. As she climbed into the shower to wash off her body, she felt light and floating, unreal, a ghost in her own flesh. Every day felt that way, now. In the first days, she had used to shudder and sob inconsolably whenever she had a moment to herself, but the tears were all gone by now. There was only emptiness. And besides, Big T didn’t like seeing her eyes puffy, it only made him madder, made him slap and kick and whip and rape her even harder. It was better to give up crying.

Finally she climbed out of the shower and had to face the mirror. Her hair was dyed a bright, metallic blue now, the way Big T liked it. She had specific standing instructions on how to do her makeup, on the liberal application of bright blue eyeshadow and glittery blue lipstick. They liked the look at the prison, too, though of course the lipstick needed re-application several times a day given what her days involved.

She could hear Big T fixing himself breakfast in the kitchen as she emerged from the bathroom and went over to her chest of drawers, fishing out and donning the dark blue quarter-cup bra and tiny blue thong that were the only kind of underwear she was now permitted. She pulled on her blue fishnet stockings next and went over to the closet. Most of the clothes from her old life were gone; only a couple of outfits’ worth of her old prison guard uniform, which she was ordered to wear to avoid arousing too much suspicion on her trips in to "work," remained. The rest of what hung on the racks consisted mostly of lady-cop themed fetish wear, tiny ultra-revealing leather and vinyl and PVC outfits. On the floor were various sets of shiny black high-heeled stripper boots. She donned her normal uniform, stuffed a pair of stiletto boots and the two costumes she’d be needing that day in a duffel bag, and headed through to the kitchen.

Her pimp was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bagel and reading a copy of Now magazine. There was a picture of the Foxx Force Five on the front cover, their ultra-hot bodies magnificent in their skintight spandex catsuits, the words "From Every Mountainside, Let Operation Freedom Ring!" blazoned underneath the image. Big T was smirking as he read it, and Deena found herself hating the happy, confident, oblivious smiles the five heroines wore. She found herself hating them.

Big T took a sip of orange juice as he waved her over to him. He needn’t have bothered, she was already moving to kneel at his feet, holding her mouth open and waiting to catch whatever morsel of food he deigned to toss into it. He absentmindedly fed her a little hunk of bagel as he started talking about the day. "You know, they got a article in here about heroines ‘inspired by the Foxx Force Five’?" he said, chuckling. "How ‘bout that. Bitches running around in costumes all hours of the goddamn night. Some people read too many comics, for real. Someone oughta tell ‘em that shit can be dangerous." He flipped the magazine around and showed her a picture of a beautiful, slender woman in what looked like a blonde Brunnhilde wig, wearing a purple headband, a gold domino mask, a gold lamé bikini and a purple utility belt, boots, gloves and cape. Pretty, with pert little tits, but soft and feminine-looking, she didn’t appear to be all that muscular or athletic. "Welcome to the news, bitch. You’re gonna be working this one tonight."

Outside her "job" at the prison, Deena worked for Big T as part of his "Uniformly Hot Talent Agency." He ran a lot of girls – Deena had met a dozen so far, they were always coming in and out of the house to give him his money, and she was sure there were more – and catered to men with a "women-in-uniform" fetish, supposedly providing strip-o-grams and exotic dancing entertainment. But his clientele really came to him because they knew he ran some of the filthiest, nastiest do-anything sluts in the city. Business was booming for Big T, and Deena was one of his top earners despite only working for him on evenings and weekends. Men all over Island City would apparently line up around the block for the chance to defeat, humiliate and fuck a sexy lady cop.

He’d never sent her out to do a female client before, though. The pimp looked down at her and must have read some curiosity in her eyes, because he chuckled as he tossed another morsel of bagel into her mouth. "Nahhh, bitch, she ain’t the client," he said. "No, she got kind of a... friend who wants to set up a little surprise for her. You’re gonna be part of the surprise."

Oh no, that poor girl, she caught herself thinking as Big T went on to explain the sordid details. But she banished the thought from her mind. There was nothing she could do, nothing anyone could do or would do. They were in a world of beasts, now, she and all the women of Island City, no matter how many glowing column inches the Foxx Force Five got in the newspapers and gossip rags. They had all better get used to being prey.

"You got it, bitch?" asked Big T as he finished running down the particulars of the gig and fed her one last morsel of food, which she chewed quickly and swallowed down.

"Yes, daddy," said Officer Deena Ryder obediently. And she waited for him to leave the room before she climbed to her feet, fished out her car keys and began to brace herself for a day at the Fort West Women’s Correctional Facility.

* * * * *

"Thanks for giving me this time, Susan," said the red-haired reporter brightly as she settled into a chair, putting her recorder down on the cafe table and smiling brightly.

"It’s my pleasure, Connie," replied Susan Ashe quietly as she took a sip of her latté and looked nervously around the Apollo Cafe, glimpsing the not-too-distant shadow of the Kingsway Bridge out the shop’s front window.

In her secret identity, her workaday life, Susan Ashe was a shy woman, beautiful and trim-figured but also plainly lacking in confidence, dressed demurely today in jeans and a unicorn T-shirt, her mousy brown hair held back in a short ponytail, hunched uncomfortably over her steaming coffee as she looked back at the woman across from her. She felt intimidated by the confident, dazzlingly tall and busty and fiery-haired, impeccably power-suited newspaper reporter in front of her, the famous Connie Phillips of the Island City Star who wrote for the paper’s hot new "Women’s Life" section, her articles about the Amazing Woman of the Week drawing a huge readership. She made Susan nervous, made her wonder if she could go through with this without making a fool of herself. Her second self had given a couple of interviews before, but that had been easy; her second self was strong and confident.

Even now she could feel that second self stirring inside her. You’re so weak, it commented contemptuously. Show some spine for once. It’s just an interview. Susan gave herself a little nod of acknowledgment and tried to square her shoulders. There’d be more interviews ever since that piece in Now magazine. She’d get more special requests for a chat with the woman behind her second self. She had to get used to it.

"So, Susan. Can you tell me a little bit about yourself?"

Susan nodded. "I’m... a graphic designer. I moved to Island City from Cimarron about three years ago."

"And what did you think about the city when you moved here?"

"I guess," Susan shrugged awkwardly. "A bit of a scary place for a single woman, not really knowing anybody. At first I tried going out on dates, going out to bars, tried to meet men. But people I met were really callous, they didn’t care about feelings, they just wanted to... to exploit weakness."

"Your weakness."

"Young women’s weakness," amended Susan, but she nodded as she said it. "I see a lot of girls in Island City who are like I was, trying to define themselves by having a boyfriend and being with someone. Eventually... I gave up on it. There were too many disappointments, and too many stories in the news about crazy things happening to women. I kind of... pulled back from things. I stopped going out for drinks with the girls from work..."

... and had even stopped going to work. "Pulled back from things" was an understatement, in fact. After her last boyfriend had dumped her by e-mail – a simple, brutal message that said only WELCOME TO DUMPSVILLE, POPULATION: YOU in the subject line – Susan had had to take a leave of absence from work, had been mired in a depression so deep that there were days she simply couldn’t get out of bed at all. She’d spent entire days, entire weeks, doing nothing but crying and drinking herbal tea and watching the walls of her little loft creep in on her as the voice-mails from the office kept piling up, at first concerned and solicitous but increasingly irritated and impatient.

She’d been on the verge of losing her job, had started thinking seriously about giving up her loft and moving back to Emerald City, a city she could manage, that she could survive. But then, something had changed.

"What would you say was the turning point for you?"

Susan took a sip of her coffee, then said: "It was a news story. In the Island City Star, actually. ‘DOWN GOES THE DEWITT GANG.’"

Connie smiled, her striking green eyes twinkling. "The public debut of the Foxx Force Five."

"That’s right." She’d seen the paper on the newsstand one day while walking on the street. The day she’d self-consciously decided to kick the self-destructiveness up a notch and try graduating to alcoholism: she’d been on her way to buy a bottle of wine, maybe several. And then a vivid, powerful image had reached out from the cover of that newspaper and hit her with an almost physical force: five beautiful women, their delicious curves covered in skintight spandex that revealed as much as it concealed, standing tall while a group of notorious gangsters, beaten and bloodied and bruised, were hauled away by cops behind them. In particular, the woman in the centre, busty and petite but radiating an air of absolute command and confidence, a rifle cocked at her hip, her expression serious, her blue eyes flashing, her nipples poking big and stiff and proud against their spandex covering, her blonde hair dazzling in the sun: Summerset O’Neale, whom the Star had nicknamed "the Number One Foxx" in that very story. The image of her had reached right into Susan, touched something deep and forgotten.

She’d picked up the paper and studied it wonderingly. She remembered thinking that these women looked like they’d stepped from the pages of a comic book, that they looked like the kind of heroines she’d once fantasized about being as a nerdy, awkward girl back in rural Cimarron, back when comic books had been her only company. And as she was thinking this, something else had happened: she’d heard the voice of her second self for the first time. You don’t have to be weak, the then-unfamiliar voice had said inside her mind, very distinctly, like a friend calling her on a mental telephone. Women can be strong and confident. We could be strong and confident. Just like in the comic books. Just like the Foxx Force Five.

"And so that," asked Connie, "was when you decided to do what you do?"

Susan shifted uncomfortably. She was afraid of this part sounding crazy, even though she knew it wasn’t. She tried to phrase it vaguely. "The way I think of it... it’s really more like Fantastica does it, not me. I sort of try to think of it like us being different people." In fact they were different people, her second self was as separate from her as Connie was. But she couldn’t say that.

The reporter just nodded encouragingly. "So that was when Fantastica was born?"

"Pretty much, yes." Not quite, actually. She hadn’t known her second self’s name until she’d been walking past a wig shop a couple of weeks later, walking home from work – she’d gone back the very next day after she’d seen the Foxxes for the first time – and seeing the platinum-blonde Brunnhilde wig shining in the window, looking wonderfully, primally Nordic. A different style, but... kind of like Summerset’s hair. Her second self had spoken up in that moment: That’s it! That’s the beginning. That’s the hair of Fantastica. You’ve got to buy it!

"And what does Fantastica do?"

"She protects the single girl in the big city," replied Susan. "From men who just want to use them, and especially from themselves. Girls are always going out to bars, getting drunk, going home with people they don’t know who don’t care about them. They don’t realize what they’re doing. They’re weak and easily manipulated."

"And so Fantastica is strong for them." Susan nodded, and the reporter went on: "So, do you... does Fantastica actually, physically break up dodgy-looking hook-ups?"

Susan nodded. "She patrols the bar and party scene, drinks Virgin Maries and watches the action. When she sees a drunk girl being taken advantage of, she pulls the girl away, tells her what’s happening, and gets her to a cab. The girls usually appreciate it."

"And what about the guys? Sounds like it could get pretty dangerous."

"Sometimes." She shrugged. "Fantastica accepts the risks, she thinks it’s worth it to make a difference. Besides, she may not have any super-powers, but she does have pepper spray, which is just as good. And she’s usually dealing with drunk guys anyway – being sober and alert makes a difference."

"And I’m sure the guys must be distracted by her beauty."

Susan nodded with a shy smile. Her second self was stirring within her, already anticipating tonight’s work, the beautiful feeling of donning the costume, shedding her mouse-self and transforming into the dazzling, fearless Fantastica, the Single Girl’s Champion. There was no feeling like it.

And the girls needed Fantastica now more than they’d ever needed her in all the months she’d been on duty. Foxx Force Five were doing their part, but even Operation Freedom couldn’t be everywhere. There were rumours, dark rumours of a new date-rape drug hitting the streets, conflicting reports of its effects, stories about it turning formerly-decent guys into beasts. It already went by a number of names, Mr. Greens being the most popular, or as one anonymous wit had it, "the Little Green Pill That Wishes You Ill."

With the appearance of this drug, Fantastica had also found her first true nemesis. She’d met him ten days ago, and as Susan went on to tell Connie about her various – really quite mundane – adventures, it was this mysterious figure her second self was secretly thinking about. A seedy-looking man in a black velvet leisure suit with a black domino mask and a receding hairline, a man whose every mannerism seemed calculated to infuriate her, an oily-smooth seducer who targeted young girls and called himself El Terrifico. She’d caught him trying to slip a Mr. Green into an eighteen-year-old girl’s drink on her birthday at Bar 5, and for once the bartenders and bouncers had been really on her side, throwing the scumbag out with relish – "Go back to the Seventies, asshole!" one of them had shouted – while she dragged the girl to a cab.

Fantastica’s sources had told her that the same man had been seen at other parties around town in the days since. And it turned out he was a would-be impresario. Three days ago, he’d started distributing flyers for his own party, El Terrifico’s Disco 666, to be held at a "surprise location." There was a password on the flyers to a site that would reveal the location... today. And Fantastica was going to be at the front door of that party with some flyers of her own, warning all the women in attendance about what kind of man "El Terrifico" really was.

Yes, tonight was going to be a very special night. Fantastica was going to truly stick it to one of the skeeviest perverts she’d ever seen.

"So," Connie was asking. "What advice do you think Fantastica would have for the girls out there who want to make their lives a little better?"

"Be happy with yourself," said Susan quietly. "The last thing in the world you need is men."

Goddamn right, her second self agreed inside her head.

* * * * *

Deena Ryder’s standing orders on arrival at the prison were to go directly to the infirmary to "get her shots," her daily dose of the "Alethex" sex drug that had been used to tame her. She honestly wasn’t sure it was even necessary; she felt like the drug’s effects, the debilitating sexual heat that fear and helplessness now aroused in her (and she felt terrified and helpless virtually every moment of the day), were becoming a part of her. But she didn’t dare give the Warden and his guards any excuse to think she was hesitating to obey an order. They relished punishing and using her enough as it was.

She parked her car and went straight in through the prison’s staff entrance, eyes carefully downcast to avoid the knowing, smirking stares of her colleagues both male and female. Duffel bag in hand, she made her way to the bright white space of the infimary, where Nurse Jadette was waiting for her.

"Oh, hello, Officer Ryder," said the woman brightly as Deena walked in. "You know the drill." Deena simply nodded and wordlessly started to strip.

The infirmary’s original nurse had quit not long after The Boss had come to put Fort West Correctional on its all-brothel-all-the-time new regime. At least, "quit" was the official story; at any rate she’d vanished one day, never to be seen or heard from again. The new "nurse," who seemed to have no last name, really did seem to have some medical training... but Deena doubted she’d ever worked anywhere reputable. The tall, tanned and stacked brunette was more suited to a strip club than an infirmary, her saucy strut oozing sex, her tiny white minidress outfits practically fetish-wear and her white high-heeled pumps definitely not regulation.

Deena slipped out of her uniform quickly and moved toward the wash station, preparing to bend over the counter as per her daily ritual, but Jadette stopped her. "I’ll need you to take off the quarter-cup too, honey," she said. "Trust me on this one. We’ve got a little something new today."

Deena’s stomach fell in sudden trepidation. "Something new" never meant anything good. But she knew better than to question by now, and she stripped off her bra.

"Good, that’s good," said Nurse Jadette approvingly. "Now, come over here and stand in front of me."

The fallen cop complied, walking over to stand in front of the sexy, scantily-clad Nurse, and thrust her naked double-Ds proud and pert in front of her as her skin goosepimpled in the chill air, her breath coming rapidly as she wondered what to expect. She noticed that Jadette was wearing latex gloves and holding a little rubber tub in one hand. What is this?

Jadette dipped her gloved hand into the tub and came out with a helping of viscous goo. She lifted it up to Deena’s left breast, the cool touch of the gel bringing an involuntary gasp from her patient as she started to the slather and rub it all over her sensitive breast-flesh. Deena could feel her nipple stiffening, her breath quickening and her pussy moistening. "Our benefactors," said the Nurse conversationally as she worked, "have given us something a little new to play with. Straight from government labs, I’m told, though they’ve made a few... modifications. This gel isn’t it, it’s just a little skin treatment, just to get you ready for the main event." Deena’s left tit was fully-coated and glistening now, and she felt her breathing grow even more rapid as Jadette took another scoop of gel and moved on to the right. "Damn, you’ve got an amazing rack. You really must come down here on my coffee break and let me suck on these beautiful tits while I fingerfuck the hell out of you, you know. It’s been a while since we did that, hasn’t it?"

"Y – yes, Nurse Jadette," Deena stammered as her right breast was slathered with the glistening goo and her pussy heated up even further, her skin flushing and her breathing growing a little ragged. "Thank you, Nurse Jadette. I’d be h - happy to."

"Of course you would. Otherwise I’d have to tell our dear Warden Double J you’ve been an uncooperative patient... and we don’t want to do that now, do we?"

"N – no, Nurse Jadette. Thank you, Nurse Jadette."

"Don’t mention it. Ah, there we are." Jadette stepped back to admire her handiwork, Deena Ryder’s big, firm breasts glistening wetly in all their stiff-nippled glory. "Perfect. You can assume the position now." Her mind still whirling in an effort – however vain – to figure out what was happening, Deena bent over the counter and presented her shapely, thong-clad rump to the perverted Nurse. "Good, good. Now first... a dose of our good friend Mister Green," and she felt a familiar jab in her left buttock and the Alethex pumping into her bloodstream, her already-existing trepidation fuelling a sudden spike of hot, wet lust as the drug intensified its perverse effects and her snatch instantly starting to pulse and drip and ache with raw arousal, the crotch of her dark thong panties moistening rapidly. She tried and failed to suppress a low moan through her clenched teeth. "Excellent. Responsive as always. Now, for today’s big treat. Hands behind your back, please, honey."

Deena stretched her arms behind her, breathing harder as she felt Jadette bring her wrists together and secure them swiftly with a medical quick-cuff. Her fear, her arousal intensified instantly. She moaned again, louder this time.

"Our new toy," the Nurse went on uncaringly, "was a disguise secret of the Foxx Force Five themselves until just recently. It’s a serum they use to augment their breasts without implants. The gel just makes your skin a bit more elastic, to prevent stetch-marks." As she talked, Deena could hear her walking over to her tray of toys and tools and medicines, no doubt retrieving another syringe. "In its original form, the effects were temporary, lasting about twenty-four hours. But our benefactors," she added happily as she clack-clack-clacked back over to her fearful, shivering patient, "have improved it. You want to know how?"

The cop-turned-slut knew what was expected of her. "Yes, please Nurse Jadette. I’d love, I’d love to know..."

"I’m glad to hear that!" said Jadette approvingly, patting her on the bottom, her gloved hand lingering sensually as she warmed to her subject. "They tell me it’s got something to do with adding a retrovirus as the main delivery system. It’s something they’d been working on for a while. You see, a retrovirus overwrites parts of the genetic code of its host. Did you know that?" Her fear deepening into a certainty of something awful, Deena shook her head miserably. "No, you see? Me neither. But we’re not the scientists, are we? What’s important for us is simple. What’s important is what that rewriting makes possible." And without warning, a second syringe jabbed sharply into Deena’s right buttock as she yelped in surprise. She felt a weird tingling suffuse her body as another illicit substance pumped into her bloodstream, and she heard Nurse Jadette say: "What’s important is that the new serum’s effects are permanent, honey. In a few minutes, Deena Ryder, your rack is going to be even more heavenly than ever. And forever. Or at least, for as long as you’re alive."

Permanent? she thought in confusion, the word not quite sinking in. How... how is all that even possible...?

She started straightening, but Jadette put a hand on her back and firmly pressed her down. "Best if you stay the way you are, honey," she said kindly. "Helps with blood flow to your tits, you see. An elegant piece of technology, isn’t it? You want to know why our benefactors are so excited about it?" Deena nodded in frightened confusion. "Of course you do. You see, it’s not just the money this serum can save on surgeries, though that’s pretty great in itself. What’s even better are the side effects."

She paused for a long moment, dramatically. Finally, Deena asked hesitantly: "Side – side effects... ?"

"Why, yes!" Jadette replied delightedly. "You see, the serum works by stimulating lactation. Combined with the way it stretches and pressures the nerve endings, the side effects are that it makes your tits super-sensitive and totally milkable. In fact, now that the effects are permanent, you’re going to need to have them milked every single day. And that’s going to wreak havoc with your lusty, shameful little sex drive, now isn’t it?" Horror dawned in Deena’s mind as she realized the implications of what the Nurse was saying. Jadette must have seen it, because she gave a tinkling laugh. "That’s right, ‘Officer’! You’re about to become an even bigger, nastier, more fuckable little slut! And more profitable, too! Your tricks are going to love watching that milk spurt out of your tits while they fuck you. And there are going to be days, lots of them, when you’ll have to practically beg someone to squeeze or suck the milk out of them. Isn’t that wonderful?"

Deena just heard herself whimper wordlessly.

She’d thought she’d plumbed the depths of debasement and hopelessness already, but she’d been wrong. There was no chance now, if there ever had been, of going back to her former self. The predatory men of the world had just been handed a new lever to use against her, to humiliate and dominate her. No going back, there’s no going back... She’d foolishly thought she had no more tears to shed, but she felt one sliding down her cheek.

She yelped as Nurse Jadette landed a sharp smack on her ass. "Now, now, anyone would think you aren’t grateful. Are you being ungrateful, you little bitch? Is that what you’re being, whore?" She jumped as another slap landed on her bare ass, then another, her pussy starting to burn hot with unwanted lust as the vicious Nurse began to punish her.

"Owwwwhowww no please Nurse Jadette I’m sorry I’m very grateful please owwww owwww OWWWWW please I’m so sorry thank you THANK YOU AAHHHOWWWW," she pleaded desperately, trying to avoid the further shame of having an orgasm spanked out of her, but Nurse Jadette didn’t stop.

"All you fucking bitches are so snivelling and pathetic," the Nurse was snarling now, an edge of real anger in her voice as she laid into her victim’s plump, jiggling, vulnerable ass with sadistic relish, walloping it relentlessly with one hand and then the other. "So fucking ungrateful. You get to cum all over hard cocks for a living for the rest of your short fucking life, you slut! Isn’t that the easiest work you could fucking have! What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you all crying and grovelling all the time, can’t you fucking see how that makes me feel? What is your fucking problem? You fucking bitches! YOU DIRTY! FUCKING! WHORE! BITCHES!!"

"OWWWW OWWWWW AAAAAHHAAAHOWWWW PLEASE I’M SORRY NURSE JADETTE I’M OWWW OOOOWWWWW AHHHHHOWWWWW!" squealed the bound slut as she endured her painful punishment, her rear unconsciously lifting up to meet the smacks as the unnatural lust in her wet fuckhole boiled relentlessly toward climax. "AAAHHOOWWW AHOOOWWWWWW AAAHHHHH AHHHHHHHH AHHHHHAHHHHHHHH! AWWWWHAWWWWWWHAWWWWWWW!" she howled helplessly as she went over the roiling edge of pain and pleasure, her head spinning and her mind shutting down as her sexual core spasmed powerfully and her copious orgasmic squirts soaked the crotch of her tiny thong. "AWWWWW-HAWWWWWGAWWWHAWWWD!" She came, and she came, and she came as the vicious slaps went on and on and on, the impact getting harder and harder, crossing the line from merely painful to bruising, brutal, truly agonizing as her tormentor leaned into it. But her body kept on responding as she wailed like the damned.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, just when it seemed like she would surely pass out... Jadette finally relented, or maybe just ran out of gas, letting her half-faint patient slump sobbing to the floor as she stood away, panting and cursing under her breath. "Damn... goddamn... keep it together, Jadette," Deena half-heard the woman say to herself in an almost dazed voice. "Keep it together... fuck, girl... keep it together..."

The strange, frightening words barely registered on Deena’s ribbon-thin consciousness as she quietly wept and tried to regather herself from the shattering multiple climax, her bruised and beaten ass burning painfully and a needy, awful ache still throbbing in her snatch, her thong utterly soaked and her juices dripping down her thighs.

The Nurse had spanked her before, she almost always found an excuse to do so, but as painful as it had been, she’d always done it half-playfully. It had never been that violent, that uncontrolled, that... raw. But as her head spun dizzily, as weakness turned her limbs to rubber, she realized vaguely after a few long moments that she was feeling more than just the after-effects of the pain and the forced orgasms. The transformation, she realized suddenly. The serum... it must be the serum! She looked wide-eyed down at her glistening tits as they tingled fiercely, starting to feel hot and hard and heavy. Were they bigger already? They were starting to look bigger... she watched in horrified fascination, her tears forgotten, as her breast-flesh seemed slowly to expand before her eyes. How big... how big are they going to get...?

Permanent. The rest of my life. She realized something else suddenly. If they can make that happen with this... breast serum... they can do it with Alethex. Hell, that’s probably what they were already working on. That means they WILL do it. And soon!

And when that happened... Officer Deena Ryder would truly be trapped forever in this hell, with no hope of return.

For the first time in weeks, she felt fear do something more than just make her feel more vulnerable, more lustful, although that was happening too. It was also forcing a desperate decision upon her. I’ve got to escape! she thought suddenly. I’ve got to get the hell out of this life, this city, before it’s too late! But... but how?

Suddenly, Nurse Jadette seemed to come out of her daze. "Hello, ladies!" she said suddenly, her voice brittle, to someone behind Deena. "I hope none of you are going to be trouble today, are you?"

The former cop twisted her head around to see a half-dozen female prisoners, their shapely bodies barely clad in the brief orange mini-dresses that were the prison’s new "private" inmate uniform, plainly arrived to get their morning doses of Alethex. All of them were looking down at her with a mixture of revulsion, fear and pity. They must have watched her getting spanked, being forced to cum explosively under the Nurse’s vicious beating.

As one, the women looked back up at Nurse Jadette with wide eyes and said: "No ma’am!"

* * * * *

Fantastica admired herself in the mirror as she prepared for the biggest night of her pervert-thwarting career.

It had been hard, so hard listening to her mouse-self, that weak, stupid "Susan Ashe" girl who’d incubated her all these years, try to give an interview to the confident Star reporter. Fantastica was sure that if she’d been doing the talking, it would have been that woman who was intimidated and stammering. But they had to give it a shot, had to let people understand all the sides of what it was to be the Single Girls’ Champion. It was important.

It had been such a relief to come out of her shell when they were back at the loft. As the mundane, wimp-girl clothes had come off and the wig had come on, as the gold lamé fabric of her little heroine string-tie bikini wrapped her slender frame, the purple gloves and boots and belt had all assumed their rightful places on her body, the purple cape had wrapped around her shoulders and the gold mask came down over her eyes – she was like a glorious butterfly emerging from a cocoon. She might not be a kick-ass, martial arts heroine like the Foxx Force Five, but still she felt... powerful. Every time she did it, she felt a little stronger, a little further removed from the shy, simpering alter ego that concealed her from the outside world.

She posed a little, adopting a playful-girl-flexing-her-biceps stance as she pursed her lips. The reporter had been right: the sight of her soft curves, her pert little titties and her trimmed pussy just barely covered by the fancy bikini fabric, the expanses of her taut, yielding feminine flesh... it all gave her the advantage. Drunken perverts didn’t stand a chance, really, against a confident, gorgeous, determined woman with right on her side.

Still, it paid to be prepared. It was time for Fantastica to tap into her informant network.

She turned to her nightstand, picked up the receiver on Susan Ashe’s lavender princess-themed novelty phone – she really needed to remind that woman to get a decent superheroine phone – and swiftly dialled a number for her primary contact. After a few rings, a distracted-sounding female voice answered: "Hello?"

"Hello, Deep Throat? This is Fantastica speaking."

"Oh, hi Sue," said the woman on the other end with resigned-sounding sigh. "You know, I really really wish you wouldn’t call me that. You can just call me Faye, remember?"

"Best if I don’t use your real name, Deep Throat, we never know who might be listening," replied Fantastica dramatically. "And I don’t know any ‘Sue.’ This is Fantastica. Do you have the information you promised me?"

"Uhhhh, yeah, sure," said Faye with another sigh. "I’m not sure why you couldn’t just look up the site yourself, but... here, I wrote it down somewhere."

"Well done," said the heroine. "Thanks for your trouble. I would have looked it up myself but... I couldn’t take the risk of El Terrifico tracing my, uhhhh, signal." That, and rent in Prospect Hill was murder and the pathetic Susan Ashe couldn’t afford a broadband connection. She kept that piece of information to herself, though, it was important that the people she was protecting shouldn’t worry about her alter ego’s straitened finances.

"Right, sure thing Sue, no problem. Oh, here it is: El Terrifico’s Disco 666. Yeah, I know a few Midtowners going to check it out for the novelty value. Mostly people have heard about how weird this El Terrifico guy is and want to gawk at him. It’s at Millie Stopless down in Fairfield, starts at nine."

"I think I’ve heard of it. One of the last holdouts of the seedy neighbourhood elements. Millie... Stopless?"

"Yeah, used to be Millie’s Topless. They took the apostrophe out of the name when Mayor Sidel started his neighbourhood decency campaign. Mostly harmless old guys though, I think," said Faye. "You sure it’s really necessary for you to go there? Seems to me like there are lots more happening places in Midtown on a Saturday night."

"Trust me," said Fantastica. "This El Terrifico is far from harmless. I’ve got to warn the women of the City about him. Thank you, Deep Throat. Your work for the Single Girls won’t be in vain."

"If you say so, Sue, uhhhh, Fantastica. Just... don’t stay out too late, okay? Keep safe. I worry about you."

"No need to worry, but thanks... Faye. Fantastica out."

The game is afoot, Fantastica thought to herself. She checked through her utility belt: pepper spray, check. Disposable camera for snapping shots of perverts, check. Notepad and pen, check. Mini-flashlight, check. Beeman’s candies, check. She looked at the sheaf of black-and-white flyers on the nightstand, which Susan Ashe had photocopied and cut for her at work. WHO AND WHAT IS EL TERRIFICO? She’d decorated it with a blurry shot of the man being thrown out of Bar 5. Unfortunate quality, it was hard to really tell it was him if you hadn’t been there, but it would have to do. Check.

Now, we play the waiting game. She looked at the clock. Noon. She paced a bit, did some breathing exercises, mimed some karate chops she’d once seen on a television show, cracked her neck, danced in place a bit, then took up station on Susan Ashe’s bed, folding her legs into a lotus position and meditating, humming a quiet "ohm" to herself as she did so.

After a while, a persistent itch on her left buttock made itself known at the edge of her mind. She willed it away, meditating furiously, searching for inner peace and balance... willed it away... "oohhhhhmmmm".... squirmed a little... and finally, muttering a curse, had to break off the meditation to scratch.

She looked back at the clock. 12:17. Dammit.

One thing they didn’t tell you in the comic books was how boring it was being a heroine most of the time. In the comics or the movies, they could just cut straight to the action. Fantastica sighed, went through to the living room, plunked herself down on Susan Ashe’s ratty sofa and picked up the TV remote.

Maybe there’d be an episode of Star Patrol on. It was a shame, she thought, there weren’t any real men like Captain Omega.

* * * * *

In the hours after her morning visit to Nurse Jadette, Deena Ryder quickly discovered just how popular her new – and newly-vulnerable – tits were going to make her.

She’d fixed her make-up and limped out of the infirmary dressed in her on-duty uniform, one of the two fetish outfits she’d brought with her: a tiny, form-fitting light-blue PVC zip-down minidress with the Department of Corrections logo on the left breast, a black leather belt at the waist with her handcuffs dangling from them – they were strictly for other people to use on her, now, not for her to use, the keys dangled around her neck – and her eight-inch stripper stilettos. She couldn’t, of course, wear even the quarter-cup bra she’d brought: the breast-enhancement serum had made her breasts a swollen, throbbing F cup, her massive jugs practically bursting out of her slinky outfit, and she’d had to unzip the dress right down to her beltline to even begin to give them room to breathe. Even with that measure, they still bounced and wriggled and jiggled enticingly when she walked and rubbed distractingly against the barely-covering rubber, the sensations jolting through her and keeping her pussy hot and aching and dripping with lust.

Her mind was whirling with the fear of what was going to happen to her. As she made her way furtively back to the women’s locker room to stow her duffel bag, she’d hoped against hope that she’d escaped the eye of her male colleagues, who might be busy with other tasks – or at least other distractions – by now. She might at least be spared more humiliation until she went to Head Guard Karl Jablonsky’s office to get her first assignment. But as she closed her locker and turned to go, her heart fluttered.

A pair of guards – Andy and Randy, two of the biggest guys in the prison, known for their bulging muscles and their equally bulging packages – had followed her. They were standing between her and the doorway, their chiselled faces leering in appreciation as their eyes roamed all over her barely-clad body.

"There’s something different about you today, Ryder," said Andy, his eyes glued to her massive melons as he joked: "New haircut?"

"Nahhh, I think it must be different eyeshadow," put in Randy with a toothy grin.

"Uhhhhh, guys," she said tentatively in a tiny voice. "I think I’d... better go see Karl first..."

"What’s that?" Randy’s smile vanished. "Andy, I do believe that’s backtalk I just heard."

"Imagine that," agreed Andy as he moved toward her. "The biggest fucking slut in Slut Prison just tried to blow us off. That’s... insubordination, isn’t it?"

"Sure is." Randy was already fishing his stiffening cock out of his pants – all twelve inches of it – as Andy grabbed the trembling, whimpering slut by the hair and forced her to her knees.

"Better show her the price of insubordination, Randy. Looks like the bitch still hasn’t learned."

"Wait guys please I h-ugghckhhhlckhhhlchLkhhhhhh..." was all Deena could get out as her mouth was crudely rammed onto the massive cock, her jaws forced wide as she tried frantically to acommodate its girth while it slid to the back of her throat. Randy started to fuck her face, his balls slapping against her chin, and she heard herself give out a high, pitiful whine as Andy pulled her hands behind her back and cuffed them, the feel of cold metal around her wrists putting her greedy little pussy on the edge of ecstasy before he even touched it.

Andy crouched behind her and landed a smack on her tender ass, making her jolt and raise her hiney higher. A moment later, she felt him lift her dress up over her butt, rip aside her thong and slap his dick playfully against her dripping cooze, making her moan loudly around the meatstick raping her mouth. She could already feel the monster climax building, ready to break her when the cock...

... went ...

...IN! "NNNNNHNNNNGLLLUGCKKHHHHHGLLLUUCCCKKKHHHHHH-GLLUUUCCKHHHH!" she squealed and gulped around Randy’s cock as Andy’s rod slammed home into her slick, hot, clasping depths. With its owner bound and helpless and forcibly taking dick at both ends, her dripping squack stood no chance against the pounding, throbbing manhood violating it: she was squirting all over it in seconds, her hips gyrating hornily as Andy rode her, breaking his writhing, bucking victim like a horny filly, her submissive lust making her suck like a spunk-starved nympho on Randy’s fleshpole.

"Fuck yeah," grated Andy into her ear as he plundered her sweet snatch. "Cum on that fucking dick, bitch. Cum on it! You know you fucking love it!" As she obeyed the command, and obeyed it, and obeyed it again like the bitch she was, his hands came up and pulled the front of her dress wide open, completely freeing her bouncing, swollen, ultra-sensitive tits from their confinement. Oh God my tits he’s going to make me be so NASTY when he plays with them, a fractured corner of her mind babbled in panicked arousal as she gulped even more loudly and hornily on the cock in her mouth, as she felt her own spit dripping from her chin and Randy’s shaft all over the tender, heaving flesh. And sure enough, Andy began to knead and mash and slap her massive breasts as he went on fucking her, the rough play kicking her multiple orgasms into a new level of agonized, convulsive heat, her head spinning as her mams became hard twin beach-balls of pure, shameful desire, as her fuck nectar went on squirt-squirt-squirting to form a growing puddle underneath her. "GLLLUGCKKH-GLLLUGCKKH-GLLLUGCKKH-GLLLUGCKKH-GLLLUGCKKH-GLLLUGCKKH-GLLLUGCKKH-GLLLUUH-HUUUGGHHHCKKH!" came her loud, desperate moans as Randy’s throatfucking picked up speed.

"FUCK godDAMN I love using this bitch’s mouth!" growled Randy appreciatively, his balls tightening as his breath came in an excited rasp.

There was a powerful feeling of pressure, an unbearable tingling sensation building in her breasts as Andy yanked on them. And suddenly, as both men bellowed and started to pump their scalding loads deep into her womb and gullet, that feeling of pressure turned into one of devilishly sweet release as her tits began to spurt, erupting as though her breasts themselves were orgasming in time with her spasming, cock-choking fuckhole. The mother of all orgasms seized her, the bitch unable even to cry out as she writhed and jiggled her way to the most intense multiple climax of her life, as she was royally fucked and milked and creamed, all other consciousness fleeing her for a long moment as the pleasure overloaded her senses, her mind just stupidly repeating OH GOD OH GOD OH MY FUCKING GOD like a broken record.

She came to her senses sprawled in a sweaty, dishevelled mess in a puddle of her own juices, with hot spunk streaming from her pussy and dripping down her chin and coating her tits – Randy must have pulled out of her throat and wanked out part of his load onto her face and chest. The two guards had zipped up and were looking down at her smugly... but they weren’t finished with her.

"Looks like we left you a little messy," said Andy mock-solicitously as he crouched in front of her. He pulled his moaning victim up by her hair, then took a tit in each hand and lifted them up to her face, grinning as he said: "Let’s help you fix that. Here you go, slut. Lick them clean."

"Huhhhhh..." she whimpered as she obeyed fearfully, sticking out her tongue to lap the pungent man-essence from her ultra-sensitive tits as her pussy started to pulse and throb again. Unconsciously, she started to writhe sexily, unable to stop herself from lapping up the spunk with increasing eagerness, swallowing it down... and she didn’t need to be told to start sucking on her swelling mams, her mouth working from one to the other and gradually replacing their coating of cum with a shiny glaze of her own spit. Her eyes were wide in disbelief at her enforced self-humiliation as Andy fed her hot, swollen tits into her mouth, forcing her to suck on them even harder. "Mmmmmhmmmmppphhhh... Mmmmmm-hmmmmpphhhh... MMMMMMmmmmmmHMMMMmmmmphhhhh... MMMmmmm-MMMmmmm-HMMMMMmmmmphhhh..."

"Damn," said Randy admiringly. "Bitch is gonna get off just from sucking her own titties, isn’t she?"

"Yeah," said Andy, not breaking eye contact with her. "When her milk shoots into her mouth and she swallows it down, she’s gonna squirt all over the floor again, I figure. Real soon now, right bitch?"

"MMMMMMMMHMMMPHHHHH," she moaned miserably, knowing what he said was true as the lust between her legs and the tingling pressure in her tits built in unison. Randy crouched down beside his partner and began dipping his fingers into her leaking, pulsating cunt, bringing them up once, twice, three times to smear a sauce of nasty spunk and pussy juice over her tits as she licked and sucked them with growing abandon. Then her hips bucked and she could hear herself mewling as three of Randy’s thick fingers sunk three knuckles deep inside her hole, his coarse thumb playing expertly across her sensitive pleasure-button...

... it was doom. She knew there was no escaping the freight-train of the climax roaring toward her sex-addled consciousness. "MMMMMMMMMMMMHMMMM-MMMMMMPHHHHH!" she squealed through a mouthful of titflesh as Andy mauled her breasts even more cruelly while he fed one and then the other into her mouth. Oh FUCK such a little SLUT I’m such a SLUT, she thought as she felt the pressure of her milk about to spurt, as Randy’s fingerfucking picked up speed and her pussy squelched loudly around his digits. Oh God here it COMES I’m gonna CUM... "MMMMMM-MMMMHMMMMMMMPHHHHHHHHH! MMMMMMHMMMMMPHHH!!" She exploded messily around the invading fingers as her snatch went over the edge and her milk began to spurt out of her tits, sliding sweetly down her throat and splashing all over her face as she came and came. "MMMMMMHHHHMMMMPPHHHHH! MMMMMMHMMMMMHMMMMMPHH! MMMMMMMMMHMMMMMPHH!!"

Finally, they relented, Andy releasing her tits and Randy bringing his soaked fingers up to her mouth, letting the horny slut lick his fingers clean as she shuddered and twitched and jerked in the aftermath of her intense, degrading orgasms. She felt Andy stripping off her sopping thong; it was becoming tradition among the guards to claim her underwear as trophies for first fuck of the day, Andy and Randy already had nine pairs between them.

"Damn, look at the time," said Randy as he stood up. "We better get over to Block C."

"W – wait," Deena pleaded, knowing it was futile even as she did. "P – please... please uncuff me... I – I’ll suck you both if you’ll just—"

"You’ll suck us both whenever we tell you to, slut," said Andy amiably. "But we got places to be. Lot of strap-on customers today, and their bitches ain’t just gonna hold themselves down, now are they? You have yourself a nice day, now. Better get moving, you’re already late for Jablonsky, he’s gonna be pissed."

"Nooohoooo PLEASE I’ll lick your balls I’ll put my tongue in your ass I’ll do it GOOD..." she whined pitiably after their retreating backs, but it was too late, the smirking pair were gone.

They’d left her with her mini-dress hiked up around her waist, her shaven slit in plain view, her thighs still smeared with spunk and pussy juice, her heaving tits naked and glistening, milk dripping from her face and chin. She’d been forced to walk the halls in almost similar fashion before – it was how the worst days started – but her new tits and the way they’d just been used against her made the prospect more terrible than it had ever been. Why didn’t you run? she berated herself. She should have just fled the building, fled to her car, put her foot on the pedal and fled the state, gone somewhere, anywhere. But the habits of submission and routine were hard to break, they were already part of her. She’d have to wait another chance, force herself to make a move when it came. If it came.

Now she was probably going to have to endure a whole day like this. Her superiors, the prisoners, her "colleagues," they’d all enjoy toying with her too much to set her hands free, to ameliorate her humiliation in any way.

She heaved herself to her feet on shaking, wobbling legs and staggered out of the locker room, her face burning with shame, her guts churning with fear. Maybe Jablonsky will uncuff me, she wondered, if I can just fuck him good enough...

* * * * *

But she wouldn’t make it to Jablonsky’s office.

In the weeks since The Boss had arrived to turn Fort West Correctional upside-down, a curious kind of anarchy prevailed in its halls. Appearances were resolutely kept up anywhere there might be public visitors – but in the cell blocks and the complex of infirmary, shower, exercise and administrative facilities that lay under them, it was a strange fact that the prisoners now moved around much more freely and fluidly than they used to. It wasn’t just because the guards were distracted from their normal duties by all the temptations that the constant Bacchanal of the prison’s life now afforded. It was also probably because with all of the prisoners being dosed regularly with Alethex, the submissives weren’t likely to attempt or even think of escape, and the much-less-numerous dominants were fonder of the idea of becoming almost honorary guards themselves than they were of going back to society to be nobodies.

So as Deena wobbled blearily on her stilettoes toward Jablonsky’s offices down the hall from the infirmary, her heart sank – but she wasn’t surprised – to see the notorious inmate Queen Bea and her cellmate, slave and all-around bitch, Princess, coming around the corner in front of her.

Queen Bea was a tall, slender, copper-skinned beauty who’d been jailed for working as a drug mule. She’d started her sentence in the prison as a perpetual bottom, abused by everyone and nicknamed "Honey Bea" because of her sweet and helpless disposition. Her brash Latina cellmate, Princess, as short and almost as curvaceous as Deena Ryder herself, was a convicted murderess who’d lorded it over Bea ruthlessly – but that had all changed since Alethex had made its appearance, turning Honey Bea into a bona fide sex goddess and the once-mighty Princess into a submissive fuck kitten.

Deena’s blood froze as Queen Bea spotted her, a wicked smile playing over her lips as she walked over to her plainly-debauched prey with Princess in tow. "Why, Officer Ryder," she said playfully. "You really got off to a hard start today, didn’t you?"

All Deena could bring herself to do was swallow hard and whimper in the back of her throat.

Word travelled fast in the prison hallways. Queen Bea, it turned out, had already heard about Deena’s fresh, new, exquisitely sensitive tits. She generously offered to make Princess lick all the questionable fluids off the ex-guard’s body while the Queen herself sucked, fondled and spanked her jiggling jugs – and the inmate didn’t wait to hear a "yes" before she put her plaything to work. In moments, Princess was obediently running her tongue all over Deena’s body while her mistress worked their quarry into a shuddering, spurting sexual frenzy as she milked her tits and fingerfucked her hard and deep. Necessitating, of course, all the more sensuous licking.

"Oh, little bitch likes that, huh?" said Queen Bea at one point as she drove a finger each into Deena’s pussy and tight ass. "You know, I was supposed to get a guard to take Princess over and do her duty in Block A today. But maybe I’ll give her the day off. We’ll do a little role-playing." ("AHHHHHaaahhhhHHAAAaaahhhh," moaned her bound, writhing victim as she came on the probing fingers while Princess’ nasty little tongue lapped at her throbbing clit. She’d lost count of the climaxes by now.) "I think you and Princess are gonna switch uniforms, and you’re gonna play prisoner today. I think you’re going down to put in a day’s work in Block A. Ohhhh, you do like that... good. Good girl."

Queen Bea’s plan had drawn a fresh spasm from Deena’s helpless, shuddering body. She knew what a certain row of cells in Block A were being used for now, what the girls assigned to them on a rotating daily basis were being used for. But despite everything else, she’d escaped being dragged into one herself... until today.

As Bea took the key from around her neck, uncuffed her and stripped her out of her fetish "uniform," Princess stripped off too, revealing a magnificent, luscious body. But even Princess’ tits were smaller than hers, now, and as Queen Bea dressed her in the tight orange inmate’s mini-dress – every bit as tiny as her other "uniform" had been – and zipped it up as tight as it would go, still leaving a gorgeous expanse of gleaming cleavage visible, she could feel her heaving, throbbing mams struggling even more dramatically to burst free from their confinement while her naked, slutty pussy heated up anew, especially when Bea recuffed her.

As the cuffs snicked back into place, Deena realized suddenly, bitterly, that she could have just hit Queen Bea and run, that she’d just let a second opportunity go. But then if you failed... the punishment would be even worse. Fear... fear was a prison a thousand times more effective than the walls of Fort West.

Before long, the roles were fully "reversed" as Princess was decked out maginificently in the fetish "guard uniform," the Latina’s eyes shining. "Looking good, Bitch-Princess," said Queen Bea approvingly. "Time to be a little bossy, now. Get this filthy little whore over to Block A and hustle back, you ain’t gettin’ off the hook either. I’m gonna set up a game of ‘Guard Caught in the Prison Shower,’ and you get to play the guard."

"Yes, Queen Bea," said Princess obediently, then to Deena, her tone recovering a hint of her long-lost tough girl swagger: "You heard her. Get that big ass moving, puta."

The desperate thoughts of flight and escape that she’d been nursing fled swiftly in a churn of pain, humiliation and arousal as Deena was alternately spanked hard and dragged by her hair through the twisting corridors, through the subterranean passages to Cell Block A. Her mind was thronged with chaotic, half-realized visions of the punishment to come in what was turning out to be the worst day at the prison since it had all begun, and as always the sheer helpless panic had her libido raging and her gash sopping, especially when they arrived at their destination and the guard on duty waved them through with a knowing, contemptuous smirk and a wink. "First cell on the right," he told Princess. "She’s got a lot of work to do."

Princess clearly relished her rare few minutes of dominance as she wrestled Deena into the cell, slapping her hard across the face and setting the world reeling before she uncuffed her hands, threw her face down on the cot and recuffed her to the frame. "There you go, little puta," laughed the inmate evilly as Deena came groggily back to her senses, jerking and mewling as she felt the minidress pushed up over her hips to bare her curvy bottom and glistening slit. "I almost envy you. I can tell you right now you’re going to have one hell of a day!" Princess went on, punctuating each word with a demeaning slap on the ripe ass in front of her as Deena writhed and moaned sensuously, the shame and vulnerability bringing out her inner slut with a vengeance. "You have fun now!"

With that, Princess was gone, the cell clanging shut. Deena would have allowed herself the small consolation of thinking about the nastiness her erstwhile abuser was about to go through – she’d been forced to play "guard caught in the prison shower" many times – but she couldn’t drag her mind away from what was coming. Already a pair of large male shadows were hulking outside the bars of the cell, one of them a guard who was laying out the rules.

"Okay, no punching," the guard was saying. "We try to keep the meat pristine for the next customer. If you do any permanent or visible damage we’ll have to ban you from the facility. Anything else is fine. And word around the halls has it that this one," she felt her blood run cold, "has some pretty special titties going on. If you maul them as much as you can, I think you’ll enjoy the results. You ready?"

"Fuck yeah," the customer rasped in a deep voice. "She’s a cutie. Lemme at her."

"Go to it, buddy."

Her body tensed, her juices ran as the cell door opened. Cell Block A catered to a specific clientele. Deena’s first customer was wasting no time, stripping swiftly out of his clothes to reveal a big, scarred black body to his hapless victim, a big black cock hefting out of his crotch, ready for action.

He grabbed her hair as he positioned himself behind her, saying, "Fuck, bitch, you wet already? I’ll bet you gonna love this." She felt the throbbing member pressing against the pucker of her tight asshole, and arched and squealed as the massive man-meat shoved unceremoniously up her ass, right up to the hilt, sending an almighty thunderbolt of agony and ecstasy through her body.

"AWWWWWHAWWWWWW!" she squealed in hellish bliss as her anonymous rapist started to butt-fuck her mercilessly. "AWWWWWWW! AWWWWWWW! AWWWWWGAWWWWWWWD AWWWWWWWWW!" He started spanking her while he fucked, the pain of the smacks and the rude violation of her poop chute quickly bringing the first orgasmic squirts out of her gash as the slut couldn’t stop herself from writhing and humping back against him. "AWWWWWWWW! AWWWWWW! AWWWHAWWW! UGGGGHHHHHH! AUUUGGHHHHHHH!"

"Damn, you do love it! You a nasty little butt-slut, huh? Tell me what a nasty little butt-slut you is, bitch! Say it!"

"AWWWWWWW FUUUUCCCKKKKK I’M A NASTY FUCKING UHHHHHH AWWWWWW I’M A NASTY LITTLE BUTT-SLUUUHUUUUTTTTT AWWWWWWWHAWWWW!" she wailed as the black cock brutalized her ass. She was building quickly to another climax already, wriggling nastily as he smacked her butt harder and harder, reamed her faster and faster. "UUUGGGGGGHHHH!! UUUUUUUGHHHHH! UUUUHHUUUUGHHHHH I’M SUCH A DIRTY FUCKING BIIIIHIIIIITCCHHHHH AWWWWWWHAWWWWWW! AWWWWFUUUUUUHUUUUUUCK!" Her pussy exploded wetly again, drenching the sheets underneath her as she was ravaged like a true prison bitch.

It was just the beginning, she knew. The "A" in Cell Block A stood for "Anal" these days, and every single customer visiting her today would be brutally using her ass. And she knew there would be a long, long line of them; Fort West had acquired a long list of clients in the brief time since it had been turned back into a brothel.

"UGHHHHHH AUUUGGGHHHH AWWWWW AWWWWW AWWWWWWW-HAWWWWW GIMME THAT FUCKING CAWWWHAWWWCK AWWWWWW! AUUUUHAUUUUUUGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!" Deena arched and squealed as she felt him tense up against her, felt a hot load of spunk fill her bowels, bringing her to another screaming orgasm as she took it. It would be the first of many. Oh God I’m gonna take so much COCK in my ASS, her mind babbled despairingly...

...and then she felt her customer, his twitching, spurting cock still hard as a railroad spike inside her, reaching around to take hold of her throbbing tits. OH MY GOD...

* * * * *

Faye Santini was getting ready for a night on the town, touching up the gloss on her lips and tugging her tight black tube dress into place on her slender frame, liking the way it accentuated her taut, young ass and pert, full C-cup tits. She wore black high-heeled pumps, her long brown hair was gathered up, a pearl choker shone around her neck and she sported stylish, expensive frames on her glasses, stylish enough to make her sexily competitive with any club girl despite the slightly nerdy air they gave her.

She was a bit of a nerd, had been into computers since she was a young girl, and it had made her quite a bit of money over the years; she managed an IT department, she could afford a Prospect Hill address. And she liked the lifestyle it afforded. It was going to be a carefree night tonight, she kept telling herself that; the kind of night that made living in the City worthwhile, no matter how crazy it got otherwise. She tried to think about her brand-new boyfriend, about the great new club they were going to check out, about her friends from work and all the great times they were going to have, dancing and laughing and knocking back shots and generally being silly girls.

But the thought of friends inevitably brought her back to Susan. Poor Susan, she thought. I hope she’s okay.

Faye had befriended the mousy, pretty little Susan Ashe back when she’d first moved to Island City. She’d felt guiltily responsible for introducing the naïve Midwesterner to the bar scene, a scene she’d proved unable to handle. Faye had stuck with her ever since out of that guilt, even as her behaviour grew increasingly bizarre. Faye was one of the few people who knew that Susan was also the "superheroine" Fantastica. And Faye also knew something else, something that nobody else knew: that Sue’s heartbreak hadn’t just driven her to an eccentric vocation, but had in fact driven her mad.

I should get her help, she thought for the thousandth time. But she couldn’t humiliate her friend any more, make her life any worse than it already was. So Faye bore it patiently when "Fantastica" called at all hours of the night looking for information from the head of her "information network." It was a good bet that Sue didn’t even know what the name "Deep Throat" really signified when applied to a woman, she’d probably just seen All the President’s Men once and thought it sounded cool.

The "Fantastica" thing was harmless, probably. Sue hadn’t been hurt doing it yet. But still, Faye worried... especially tonight. Something was nagging at the edge of her mind. This "El Terrifico" guy, she thought as posed and pouted her lips in the mirror. He sounds different, not like the normal drunken pervs. I wonder...

She posed again, pouted again, frowned. But they can be so very bad, can’t they, she thought glumly. Island City was proof positive of that.

Sighing in frustration, Faye gave up on the mirror and went over to her computer, firing it up, following a vague hunch. Logging into her browser, she went back to the site where she’d found the party details for "El Terrifico’s Disco 666." There seemed to be nothing remarkable about it, just a listing of the venue and time and a promise: "Retro is Forward! Devilishly good disco beats!" And a weird old disco song playing automatically. She hadn’t been able to place the song at first, it involved lots of weird ululating and echoing sounds... maybe something from one of the old Satanic Venus movies? They’d got an Italian composer for that, the same guy who’d gotten famous doing spaghetti Westerns. But... what was it about that song that was so unsettling?

Retro is Forward. Retro is... something suddenly clicked. Huh. Now that’s an old-school trick. Faye downloaded the music sound file, opened it with her sound editing software, and queued it up to play in reverse. At first what resulted was weird, horrifying mishmash of mud sounds. But just as Faye was about to give up on it, a voice suddenly emerged on the track, crisp and clearly audible. A male voice. The voice of a madman.

"My Islander brothers," the voice said, sounding just on the edge of giggles. "El Terrifico here. I’m sure a lot of you must know my good friend Fantastica. Well I’m here to ask you: has this bitch ever fucked up a good night on the town for you? Have you ever been cockblocked by Fantastica? If the answer is ‘yes,’ then why not come on down to Disco Six. Six. Six. Why not come on down for an intimate heart-to-heart with my very special superheroine guest? Why not come on down..." The voice thickened suddenly into a mad, lecherous rasp: "Come on down and GET SOME PAYBACK." And after a long, sinister laugh, the voice was gone.

Faye was cold with horror.

She looked frantically at the clock. Almost seven. Fantastica was probably on her way to the Millie Stopless bar even now. I’ve got to warn her! As she ran to the door, the sexy Puerto Rican grabbed her purse and fumbled out her car keys and cell phone, dialing the police... but she knew the police were overworked as it was, they’d probably see this as just annoying nerd antics. It’s up to me, Faye knew, her night out on the town forgotten as she clip-clopped as quickly as she could out to her car. I’ve got to warn her. I’ve got to warn her!

But in all her fright, a tiny part of her felt almost relieved. She was going to get a chance to make it all up to Susan after all. She was going to get a chance to make it all right.

Faye folded her slender frame and heart-stoppingly long legs into her sleek little sportscar, gunned the engine and peeled out onto the streets, driving hell-for-leather toward Midtown. Don’t worry, Sue! I’ll save you!

* * * * *

Standing out in front of Millie Stopless, Fantastica, the Single Girl’s Champion – resplendent in her costume, armed with a fistful of leaflets and a heart full of righteous anger – was finally taking her boldest public stand yet.

A good night, she thought with relief. It had been a long, long day waiting for this moment – there was only so much bad television even a superheroine could stomach – but it was here at last and everything felt perfect. Just past seven and the first signs of dusk were just starting to show, the summer air was still warm on her bare skin covered so minimally by her gold lamé bikini, her cape fluttering behind her as she waited for the hordes of perverts and their innocent victims to descend on the bar. At least that part of things seems to be going right.

Millie Stopless was normally a low-rent joint, little more than a neighbourhood pub that featured bikini-clad waitresses and the occasional topless dancer. But "El Terrifico" had clearly pulled out all the stops for his events; as Fantastica arrived, she could clearly see the bar’s interior had been tricked out with red lighting, there was a weird, dark flavour of disco music pounding out of the bar’s speakers, there were already a few patrons inside – probably the regular crowd, typical dirty-old-men by the looks of them – and the waitresses circulating had clearly been costumed specially for the night in black PVC "devil girl" minidress outfits with little red-flame decorations. There were a number of bouncers, too, dressed in black and with black domino masks, but none of them looked like El Terrifico beyond that detail; they weren’t wearing leisure suits and they were all big men, moving with an air of being accustomed to wielding authority for all that they were clearly getting on in years just like their clientele. In fact, with their big paunches and greying hair they looked for all the world like ex-cops gone to seed.

A pitiful spectacle, thought Fantastica disdainfully as she gave them a little smile and wave. People are going to see right through this El Terrifico character, I’m sure of it. They just need a little help.

She’d parked her little hatchback out of sight and, as the first of the evening’s real crowd started to arrive, started handing out her leaflets. As she did so, she noticed the first signs of something strange about the night.

Deep Throat – Faye – had said the event had attracted attention from "a few" Midtowners, but there were a lot more well-dressed young men and women arriving than she’d been expecting; the first party was a dozen strong, and as more and more arrived it was clear that Millie Stopless would be packed come eight o’clock. Fantastica’s mouse-self, Susan Ashe, hadn’t known much about the bar scene, but she had known that it wasn’t fashionable for people to show in droves at the bar before about ten. The early, enthusiastic crowd was a curiosity.

There was also something very weird and... ugly, disquietingly so, in the demeanor of a lot of them. As Fantastica thrust her leaflets out at the women, many of them had taken them with weird smirks, quickly balling them up and tossing them away or looking them over dismissively while they giggled with their friends. (She overheard one of them say: "Of course he’s a perv, that’s why we’re here!" with a laugh.) And the men, a lot of them looked familiar, she realized that she recognized some – more than a few, really – from having broken up questionable hook-ups in the past. Was it just coincidence that there were so many of them here?

It wasn’t all bad. She had a good moment when, unexpectedly, the reporter Connie Phillips herself came striding confidently up to the club’s entrance and took one of her leaflets. When Fantastica had asked her what she was doing there, the tall, busty redhead – looking even more dazzling than she had when interviewing Susan Ashe that morning, now that she was wearing a tight green dress that showed off her curves to perfection and her fiery curls were cascading loose down her back – had said with a smile: "When I read about this event, I thought somehow that it just might attract Fantastica’s attention. Blowing the lid off tawdry bar scenes like this will make a great addition to my ‘Amazing Woman’ piece on you."

"Well," Fantastica had said. "I hope you aren’t disappointed." Connie reassured her that she was sure Fantastica was going to help the girls of Island City, and strode sexily into the bar as gazes of lust and envy followed her from the men and women around her... even from Fantastica herself.

That was a very good moment. And knowing that Connie Phillips herself was on hand made Fantastica even more determined to soldier on and make this work.

But other than Connie, the crowd was much more hostile than even Fantastica was used to. The worst was when, after about a three-quarters of an hour, one of the women – a tall blonde richly attired in a form-fitting white dress who looked vaguely like the famous heiress Mercedes Sheraton – "accidentally" bumped into the heroine and sent her remaining leaflets scattering over the pavement. As the Single Girl’s Champion struggled to gather up a few of the fluttering papers, as the breeze began to scatter the rest out of her reach, she realized there were laughs coming from the crowd behind her. Laughs! She looked up to see the blonde woman smirking down at her, and suddenly she wondered.

"Sorry about that, honey," said the woman without a trace of apology in her voice as her companions looked down and chuckled at Fantastica. "Guess I got distracted."

"That was a foolish thing to do, you know," replied the superheroine sturdily, standing back up and clutching her meagre remaining leaflets with white-knuckled hands. "Don’t you know I’m only trying to help you? To let you know what men are doing to women in this city?"

"I’ve heard a lot about what men do to women in this city," said the uncanny Sheraton look-alike with a tinkling laugh. "Sounds hot."

"No," said Fantastica emphatically. "It’s not. It’s definitely not hot. Say, are you – ?"

"Nope," the woman pre-empted her. "I get that a lot. Think she’d be caught dead in a dump like this?" The woman crinkled her nose for a moment and then said: "But I guess it’s kinda quaint, you know? That’s nice. And I hear it’s going to be one hell of a party!" She laughed again and disappeared into the bar, her friends in tow.

Yes, thought Fantastica, looking at the woman’s retreating back. Someone like Mercedes Sheraton just might come to a dump like this. If somebody paid her enough. She’d probably know a lot of rich Midtowners, too, she might be able to persuade them to come out just to see her. She looked around at the crowd in line, saw faces looking back at her, some more of those weirdly familiar leering men, felt a flicker of contempt for all of them for even thinking they could daunt or intimidate her... as if she were some little Midwestern mouse like Susan Ashe. But Mercedes Sheraton doesn’t explain everything, she thought. El Terrifico is surely up to something, here.

She was about to start handing out the last of her leaflets as she heard a familiar voice shouting, breathlessly: "Hey! Hey, over here! Over here!"

She turned to see a gorgeous, bespectacled Puerto Rican woman in a tight, sexy black dress forcing her way through the line. She started in amazement.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, resisting as the woman – none other than her very own Faye "Deep Throat" Santini – grabbed her by the arm and started to drag her away from the lineup. "Hey! What’s the big idea?"

"Look," said Faye in a low, urgent voice crackling with tension. "Just shut up and listen, okay, Sue? I’ve got something important to tell you."

"What do you mean, ‘Sue’?" said Fantastica angrily, shaking off her hand. "You know who you’re talking to, and her name isn’t ‘Sue’! I keep telling you that!"

Faye looked briefly on the verge of grabbing her by the shoulders, but clearly cut off that response, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath before re-opening them. "Sorry, I meant Fantastica," she said quietly. "Just, let’s go around the corner, okay?"

The heroine reluctantly nodded and they kept walking together, with Faye recounting her disturbing discovery after she’d logged back on to El Terrifico’s website. "I’m convinced this whole thing is a setup," said Faye as they finally walked out of sight of the lineup, sidling into a dark, out-of-sight alleyway. "I think you’ve got to get out of here, Su – uhhh, Fantastica."

"You said you heard this message at quarter to seven?" Fantastica asked, staying calm in the face of her friend’s agitation, knowing she had to set an example.

"Yeah, why?"

"What took you so long?"

Faye grimaced. "I got two speeding tickets on the way here," she said a bit sheepishly. "I guess I was in too much of a rush. But look, that’s not the point. I really think we need to go. Now."

Do we? thought the heroine to herself, hesitating for a long moment. She was thinking, too, of the intrepid reporter Connie Phillips waiting inside Millie Stopless. What kind of an example would it set for the girls of Island City if Fantastica turned and ran from a situtation like this? And what would Connie think of her? She had to admit that a large part of her wanted the chance to prove to the woman how much more Fantastica really was than the mouse-self she’d interviewed.

She had of course gone cold on hearing about El Terrifico’s invitation to perverts across Island City to get "intimate" with the Single Girl’s Champion – that couldn’t mean anything good – but the coldness was rage more than fear. She smiled now with sudden, hard resolve. She wasn’t running from anyone. If he thinks I’m just another mouse, he’s wrong. Maybe it’s time to take this to the next level after all, she thought, relishing a mental image of pepper-spraying El Terrifico and anyone else who tried to lay a hand on her. Like the Foxx Force Five would!

"On the other hand," she said aloud, "maybe if it’s a trap, I should spring it. Maybe it’s time for women to stop running. Maybe we can give the cops real proof about a pervo’s illegal activities. Maybe Fantastica can be a real heroine at last."

Faye looked at her levelly, dumbfounded for a moment. Finally she said: "You can’t be serious."

"Of course I’m serious. I’m Fantastica. Deep Throat, I want to thank you for warning –"

"And don’t call me that! It’s gross! My name is Faye, remember?"

"Look," said Fantastica in irritation, "you have to have a secret identity if you want to be part of the battle against evil, right? I can’t just go around calling you Faye, it would blow your cover!"

"I’m not part of any ‘battle against evil,’ dammit, I’m just trying to keep a friend safe! We’re wasting time, we should be getting out of here! They could try something any minute!"

"But Deep Throat, we’ve got nothing to be afraid of! El Terrifico is a coward! He’s not going to try anything in pub—"

The two beautiful women, distracted by their argument, hadn’t heard the sound of quiet footsteps following them into the alley. Too late, both women’s eyes widened as they saw hulking shadows over their friend’s shoulder. But neither could react before powerful arms were wrapping around their waists and wet rags with a strong, cloying chemical smell on them were being clapped over their mouths and noses.

"MMMMMPPHHHHHH!" Fantastica heard herself squeal desperately, echoing her friend’s muffled wails as the two beauties kicked and bucked and wriggled in their captors’ grasps. The heroine was trying to reach the pepper-spray at her belt, but the man’s hard arm was right around her utility belt, there was no hope of budging it. Faye’s hands were fluttering aimlessly in overwhelmed panic. The friends’ terrified gazes met as their hopeless struggles grew increasingly despairing, as both of them could see the weakness in the other’s eyes, forced to take one breath, then another, their heads starting to spin as the chlorofrom began to work on them.

"That’s it, sweetie," said a voice in her ear. A voice she’d heard demanding cover charge from the arriving crowd; it was one of the bouncers from the bar. A dirty old man, thought Fantastica dizzily, dirty old man, but old man or not, his grip was strong as an anaconda’s and his cock was stiffening against her soft, shapely ass as her struggles slowly subsided into languid writhing. "Let it happen. Just let it happen."

"Mmmmmhmmmmmphhhh," moaned Fantastica weakly as she watched her friend’s eyes dulling, starting to roll back. She knew she was on her way into la-la land herself. Oh no, was all she could think, I’m sorry... Deep Throat... should have just gone...

She wasn’t completely out by the time she saw Faye’s limbs go slack and saw her hoisted over her captor’s shoulder in a fireman’s carry, one of his hands absent-mindedly fondling the girl’s bared, panty-clad rump as he pulled a walkie-talkie out of his suit. "Unit Fever to base, come in," he said into it as Fantastica felt her own limbs slackening.

There was crackle, then a voice. "Go ahead."

"The spider has the flies, over."

A pause, then the crackling voice replied: "More than one?"

"That’s affirmative, two flies in the web, over."

Fantastica’s limbs finally gave out, her struggles ceasing completely, the world spinning into near-oblivion as she felt herself being slung over a big shoulder, felt a big callused hand pawing her vulnerable ass and stark terror skittering across her reeling brain as she heard the voice on the walkie-talkie say, laughingly: "Bring them on in. The spider’s ready for the meal."

* * * * *

The world passed in a disjointed, nightmarish riot of vague, dim images before the groggy Fantastica’s eyes. She and Faye were being carried through the alley. Rats. Trash. A creaking door. In a concrete-lined stairwell. Wooden door closing behind. Carried downstairs. A basement, big room. Dank. Harsh light, rows of empty chairs. Weird, frightening symbols scrawled in red all over the walls and floors, pentagrams and capering demons and upside-down crosses. A series of low, weird-looking wooden frames with narrow, dark metal benches jutting out perpendicular from them.

Fantastica was flopped off her captor’s shoulder into one of the chairs, her head lolling, her limbs completely uncoordinated, feeling someone holding her in place. She was vaguely aware that Faye had been flopped down next to her. One of the men was talking to Faye, asking her questions, the words seeming to emerge from some distant place, as though she were underwater trying to listen to him. Something about her name. Asking Faye what her name was. Something about how did she know. Know something. Incoherent mumbling from Faye. Something about "know" again. Fantastica. Fantastica heard him say her name. He was asking Faye how she knew Fantastica.

Finally Faye managed coherent words. "Info... information..." she mumbled. The man asking her again. Information, you gave her information? Something about partners. Are you her partner. The man was asking if Faye was her partner, if she was on heroin too. One of his fellow-thugs interjected, he was saying it looked like Faye was trying to nod. The first man asking about names again, and heroin. No, not heroin, about heroines. He was asking her if she was a heroine, what her heroine name was.

After some more incoherent mumbles from Faye, the groggy Puerto Rican finally got out the words: "Deep... Throat..."

For some reason this caused general amusement, the men were laughing around them, Fantastica looked around, the room was spinning and there were laughing, black-masked faces in it, big, coarse men. The first man was telling Faye she would fit right in here, and there was more laughing. It was getting easier to make out their words, Fantastica was trying to focus on the man in front of Faye, and with effort she could do it. He was holding a piece of paper in his right hand, he was holding it out to Faye.

"Just kidding," he was saying jovially. "We were just having a little joke. We’re not gonna do anything to you, sweetie, we were just kidding around, okay? Tell you what, you just sign this piece of paper and we’ll let you go free."

"S – sign...?" Faye asked blearily, clearly still too drugged to fully understand.

"Yes," he said. "This is a piece of paper that says it was all just a joke and there are no hard feelings, okay? Just sign it and we’ll let you go."

No no it’s a trick don’t do it Faye, thought Fantastica suddenly, and then she realized maybe she could try saying it. "Faye..." she croaked, then managed in a more normal voice: "Faye I donnn’... I donnn’ thing you shud... Faye nngggghhhh mmmmphhhh." Her voice trailed off into muffled moans as another stinking rag was pressed into her face for a few seconds, setting the world dimmer and spinning faster again. Breathe. Breathe. She felt her limbs thrash once, weakly, then for what seemed like a long time everything was disjointed moments again.

As she began to swim slowly back toward coherency she could see that next to her, the man holding Faye was grabbing her hand, guiding it as the man in front of her held up the piece of paper. They’d put a pen in Faye’s hand and they were doing some kind of weird automatic writing, it looked like they were "helping" her to sign the paper. There were crumpled bits of paper on the floor around them, this wasn’t the first try. They were done, there was a signature on the paper. It did look sort of like a weak, shaky version of Faye’s signature. They dropped Faye’s hand.

The man with the paper was turning to Fantastica. There was activity behind him, some of the other men were at work now setting up cameras and tripods around the weird wooden frames. Her battered mind was trying to come up with a word for those wooden frames, it rhymed with "socks," she couldn’t quite remember it. Men were climbing up on ladders, mounting what looked like big screen televisions in the room’s corners. Her attention snapped back to the man with the paper, he was asking her a question.

"Do you want your friend to go free?" he was asking her.

She tried to nod, wasn’t sure if she had managed to do more than awkwardly flop her head. "Yeah... uhhh... yes..." she finally managed to make her mouth say.

"Good. She can. All you have to do is sign this paper. If both of you agree that it was just a joke, we’ll let you both go."

Fantastica stared at him in bleary defiance, and he must have realized that no matter how drugged she was, she wasn’t going to buy that excuse, because suddenly he tried a different tack. "Okay," he said, smiling almost sheepishly. "You got me. This is actually a paper that says you’re agreeing to perform in a porn video for us. Deep Throat over here just signed as a witness. Now all you have to do is sign here and you’ll have to stay for a few hours, but she can go free. That’s a pretty good deal, right?" He regarded her gravely as he added: "It’s your fault she’s here, after all."

That last sentence shafted through the grogginess and pierced Fantastica right through the heart. Oh God help me the bastard is right what have I done, she thought in anguish... and the blade of anguish twisted painfully as Faye, next to her, was jolted by the man’s admission of his deception into trying to struggle to her feet, saying: "Sonna... sonofa... you bastrd fucknngghhhmppphhhh mmmppphhh..." – and the sound of her brave friend being chloroformed back to submission, her weak moans and twitches and the heels of her pumps scratching along the concrete, was the most horrible sound Fantastica had ever heard. She felt a tear rolling down her cheek and sense of doom like a lump of ice deep in her gut as she looked the man with the paper in the face and nodded glumly. He smiled as they pressed a pen into her hand and, like Faye, she managed a shaky "assisted" signature – scrawling Susan Ashe’s name – that would look just close enough to do the job. She couldn’t read a single other word on that paper, the effects of the chloroform distorted the whole page into a vast illegible smear.

There was sudden clattering and commotion from the stairs, another woman was being carried down into the basement. Fantastica could see a pair of shapely, long legs, a beautiful creamy, round ass covered in red panties over the masked man’s shoulder. Then he came more fully into the room and she could see, almost sweeping the floor, the fiery red curls of his prisoner, a prisoner in a tight green dress. With horror slamming into her like a punch in the gut, she realized it was the reporter Connie Phillips, apparently drugged into a chloroform-induced stupor of her own. What the hell, she thought in stark terror, what the hell is going on? What are they going to do to us?

As Connie was poured into a chair, as she could hear them going to work on the reporter trying to get her to sign the piece of paper, Fantastica watched as another of the thugs switched on the camera and television system, which would give views of the wooden frames from a variety of angles to people sitting almost anywhere in the room. Stocks, the heroine’s frantic brain supplied the word finally. Those are stocks! Three of them! And on the heels of that realization: That bastard lied to me again! They’re not letting any of us go! Not any of us!

Instantly her hunch was proven right as another thug shouted: "Okay! Mount ‘em up! Let’s start with the Rican."

Fantastica watched in appalled horror as two men yanked Faye to her feet. Faye’s glasses had somehow stayed on, she noticed, but the rest of her clothing was plainly not going to be so lucky. The guards laughed as they fondled the girl’s tight, sexy young body, slowly stripping off her black dress and then her black lacy bra and panties as all the while their coarse fingers sampled her charms, reveling in her supple feminine flesh as they played over her firm, pert titties, dallied between thighs and squeezed and slapped her perfect ass. Faye reeled in their crushing grip, seemingly unable to do anything but weep with humiliation as they had their way with her... and then they were yanking her over of the leftmost of the stocks. They forced her to straddle and lean her weight on the bench and then bent her over as they lifted the top part of the frame to put her hands and head in place, then brought it back down and locked it in place. Soon their prisoner was thoroughly secured and pilloried, her naked hindquarters crudely on display... and Fanstatica, who was facing her, could see that the cameras behind Faye made sure anyone watching her from this direction would get a nice luscious view of her bared feminine treasures on the big monitor screens, which probably meant that those behind her – and Faye herself – would be getting a good view of the girl’s face.

It was a terrifying enough sight, but they weren’t done. One of them stepped in front of Faye and opened the glassy-eyed girl’s slack jaw, inserting something in her mouth and buckling it in place around her head. As he stepped away, the something was revealed as an enormous ring gag holding Faye’s jaws cruelly wide open! Oh my God... thought Fantastica in stark horror as the spectacle drew an approving laugh from the thugs around the room, and as Faye realized what had happened her eyes widened in panic, and unadvisedly she tried to wail. "AAAHHHMMMMMMPPPHHH MMMHMMMPHHH," went her cry for help as another thug promptly stepped in with a rag and chloroformed her back into la-la land.

Needing to look away, Fantastica saw Connie putting her "assisted" signature on the same piece of paper she and Faye had been cajoled into signing, the reporter’s eyes glazed with chloroform but wide with terror... maybe in her case they’d simply threatened that they’d kill her if she didn’t sign it. And then the heroine’s attention yanked back as she heard someone say, "Right! Medicate her and mount up the next one!"

Fantastica spun back to see a guard walking over to Faye with a syringe full of green liquid. Mr. Green, she realized with horror, must be a concentrated form of Mr. Green! I can’t let this happen, I can’t! The heroine made a desperate attempt to surge to her feet, but her limbs still responded only sluggishly and clumsily, and her captor held her in the chair as easily as he would a four-year old child. "Easy now," he said warningly, "or do you want the rag again?"

She froze, ashamed of herself for doing it. She did not want the rag again.

"Good girl."

Faye cried out as the syringe pierced one of her buttocks – the left one, as Fantastica could clearly see on the monitor screen – and then let out a low, throaty moan as something strange began to happen. Almost immediately, the girl’s breathing began to come in gasps as she struggled feebly against her confinement in the stocks, her arching and writhing slow and drugged and groggy but looking strangely... erotic. After a few minutes, her face flushed, it was clear to see that Faye’s slit was dripping with moisture, a waft of sex began to tinge the air.

"Right, looking good. The reporter next."

In short order, top-flight reporter Connie Phillips had followed Faye’s fate – stripped naked, pilloried, ring-gagged and injected with Mr. Green, writhing languidly and moaning as her pussy grew visibly wetter with each passing moment – and then it was Fantastica’s turn. They let the heroine keep her accessories, even her utility belt which would be useless in the stocks, simply stripping off her cape and bikini before they pilloried her between Faye and Connie. When it came her turn to be injected with the drug, Fantastica was shocked to feel sexual heat rushing through her veins like pounding surf, a heat that seemed to feed on the fear and helplessness of her vulnerable position, every twitch and struggle reminding her of the hopelessness of escape and making her pussy get hotter, juicier, hornier, throbbing and aching for something... anything... to fill it. My God, she thought, it’s... some kind of aphrodisiac... God help me I think my pussy really WANTS it... like my body’s being possessed by a nympho...

Another set of footsteps were coming down the stairs now, most of the thugs clearing out as a man stepped in front of the three lovely, helpless prisoners as they looked up at him with wide eyes. In particular he stopped in front of Fantastica.

A thin, reedy man, balding and with his hair swept back from his gleaming pate, his eyes glittering behind a black Domino mask, the rest of him dressed in a black velvet leisure suit that looked a bit worn in places, as though it had seen better days. It was the man himself, El Terrifico. He regarded his captives like a predatory bird regarding a feast of plump juicy worms, then gestured to the remaining thugs and said: "Better get upstairs and help Reed out. Lots of ticket sales up there." They obligingly left.

El Terrifico was silent for another long moment as his nude victims shivered in fear and helplessness and drugged arousal before him, the horny sight clearly producing an impressive bulge at his crotch. Finally he said: "Okay, ladies, we’re going to make a little movie together. A completely legal movie, thanks to your signatures, and I want to thank you for your cooperation." Low moans of dismay came from the three women as they looked sidelong and wide-eyed at one another, horrified that this pervert was going to pretend that their presence here was voluntary. "But before we start rolling," he added, licking his lips and drawing their eyes back to him: "I just want you know that what’s about to happen is nothing personal. You see, it’s just that I need to get to someone. Someone who has something – or rather a few somethings – that rightfully belong to me. You’re going to help me get to her, to get inside her world."

He stepped forward, sending a chill down Fantastica’s spine as he looked down at her and stroked her cheek almost tenderly.

"The original plan was just to use you," he said quietly. "But when your friends turned up... well, our little advertisement will be even better with them to add some extra spice. And they’ve got other uses, too. You’re all a little older than what she usually likes, but that’s okay. With you as the main hook, my gorgeous little Fantastica, I don’t think she’ll be able to resist. And you should have some consolation knowing that indirectly, you’re going to be part of the takedown of perhaps Island City’s most notorious white slaver."

What... who is he talking about... There must have been a question in Fantasica’s shimmering eyes as she looked up at him.

"The Mistress," he explained with a sudden, feral smile. "You’re going to help me get to the one and only Sabrina Lockhart."

* * * * *

Deena Ryder, her tits and ass and pussy throbbing painfully from a long, long day of use and abuse, sat quietly in the back of Big T’s Cadillac outside Millie Stopless.

Big T had come to pick her up from the prison personally, apparently alerted by an irate Karl Jablonsky that she’d never showed for her morning appointment with him. It was probably just Jablonsky being perverse, as she knew he’d known where she was and how she’d gotten there – his was, she was sure, one of the dozens of cocks that had pounded her sphincter during her seemingly endless stay in Cell Block A, pounded her until her throat was raw from squealing and screaming and begging. But what mattered was that Big T showing up to personally escort her to the evening gig – along with two of his other girls, a pair of shy brunettes whose names she could never remember – had cut off a last chance at escape. And from the look in her pimp’s eyes as he’d wordlessly gestured her into the car, it was going to mean some extra-unpleasant days ahead, to boot.

The three girls sitting in the Cadillac with Big T were clad, now, in typically trashy naughty-cop costumes, with the additional feature of little pistols belted at their waists, rigged to shoot blanks. Their midnight-blue minidresses were all open between the collarbone and mid-chest to show a diamond of cleavage... except Deena’s, which had to be zipped down almost to her waist to accommodate her tits, which she’d noticed the other girls eyeing with looks of envy. If you only knew, she’d thought bitterly at seeing that.

The guys running this gig were apparently pretty good with electronics. Big T had an appropriately pimped-out ride including a little television screen mounted on the dash, and they’d found a way to pipe a video feed out to it, showing the car’s occupants what was going on in the basement of Millie Stopless as they waited for their cue to go in.

The "Disco 666" party in Millie Stopless was raucous, with lots of making out and groping of waitresses and customers alike clearly visible in the crowd and strange, dark disco music bumping away underneath it all – but the real action was downstairs. They’d been selling tickets to "shows" downstairs all night, and the first show was about to begin. On the video feed, Deena could see three women naked and bent over in the kind of wooden pillories they’d used on criminals in olden times in England, their pussies and asses raised and on display and their mouths ring-gagged, plainly set up to be used as sex toys. One of them was wearing a mask and a blonde Brunnhild wig, had purple gloves and belt and boots on – the woman from the "real-life superheroines" story Big T had showed her that morning. All three were writhing and struggling erotically in their confinement, showing clear signs to Deena’s now-practised eye of having been recently shot up with Alethex. She felt her heart going out to them.

There was a crowd in the basement room seated in front of and behind the women, maybe thirty people strong in all. They were looking at the women – enjoying the spectacle of their taut, naked, supple flesh, their futile, hapless struggles – and tittering as they looked around at the Satanic paintings on the walls, plainly thinking it was all a lark, just a schticky porn video shoot they’d been invited to witness. None of them, Deena guessed, would see (or care to see) the real fear and anguish in the victims’ eyes. None of them would realize what was really going on.

One of the most loudly-tittering audience members was a hot blonde in a white dress. That looks like Mercedes Sheraton, Deena realized suddenly. In fact, that looks exactly like her.

An unexpected wrinkle, but it didn’t change her mind one bit. Deena was clinging to the decision she’d reached in the car, rolling it around in her mind like hard, bright stone.

"Ladies and gentlemen," El Terrifico was standing alongside the pillories now, grandly addressing little audience with his arms raised. "I asked you if you wanted to come down and get a piece of the biggest pain-in-the-ass on the party scene... and here you are!"

There was cheering and clapping and whooping. Some of the men, Deena noticed, were already rubbing at their crotches as they looked at the deliciously naked women on display.

"And here they are!" El Terrifico gestured to the three women. "On my far right, I give you Fantastica’s spunky girl sidekick and information guru, who believe it or not, actually goes by the name of Deep Throat!" There was general laughter and more cheering at that as the host went on: "I guess you gentlemen are going to find out if she lives up to it! On my near right, I give you a woman who was about to add to the myth of a real-life so-called superheroine, who was planning to make her the ‘Amazing Woman of the Week’ in the Island City Star. A woman who herslef has never been a fan of a guy just going out on a fun night in Island City and getting himself a little tail. Ladies and gentlemen, former media whore, now real whore, Miss Connie Phillips!" There was a hint of amazement in the clapping and cheering following that, several people visibly craning to look at the bound, sobbing redhead’s face, trying to see if it was really her.

"And finally, the morsel you’ve been waiting for," El Terrifico continued stagily. "She calls herself the Single Girl’s Champion! She appoints herself the judge, jury and executioner of your hook-ups! She tries to snuff out other people’s happiness and good times to make her own misery and craziness seem better! And now it’s time to pay her back for everything she’s done... I give you Faaaannnnn-tastica!"

The raucous noise of approval in the basement room became amazingly loud for such a small, select crowd. Fantastica’s eyes were wide under her mask as she heard them cheer her degradation, brimming with bewilderment and horror at her predicament.

"Now," said El Terrifico, "some people are going to tell you that these women aren’t the real article, that they’re look-alikes we dredged up to make a few bucks from. All I can say is, you be the judge. If you come away from tonight not satisfied in any way with the authenticity of your experience, we’ll give you a full refund!"

More approving cheers. And a clever bit of weaselling from El Terrifico, thought Deena darkly. He doesn’t claim they’re the real thing, he doesn’t claim they’re not. If this thing ever came to light, he’d have wriggle-room there.

"And so it’s time," said the host at last. "Ladies and gentlemen, each of you got a number when you bought your ticket. We’ll call up three numbers at a time! Come up and pick a bitch when your number’s called! When you’re done with whichever end of your beauty you choose to start with, go around to the other end and we’ll call up a replacement for you. And remember, placed around the edges of this room you’ll find a whole arsenal of whips and toys. They’re all yours! Use them, and have fun – make sure you give these fucking bitches a night they’ll never forget!"

It started. El Terrifico called three numbers, and two men popped up from one side of the crowd, while the white-dressed woman – it had to be Mercedes Sheraton – popped up from the other with a squeal of delight. The men moved quickly in on their naked prey, a pair of well-built frat boys who were shedding their own clothes, their engorged cocks in their hands as they circled around the nude captives. The heiress vanished out to the edge of the room and came back into view wielding a riding crop, swishing it through the air happily. She conferred quickly with the two guys, stamping her foot at one point as though demanding her way, and soon an agreement was reached.

One of the men stepped behind Connie Phillips, swatting her butt as the humiliated reporter watched her own astonished, terrified face on the monitor screen in front of her as she waited to find out what was in store. She didn’t have to wait long; in moments, her new lover’s dong was pushing its way up her inexperienced poop chute, the dazzling redhead letting out a long, guttural moan. "UUUUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" she grunted as the anal violation began, the video feed flashing to a screen that showed the punishment of her ass as she writhed and bucked under the rape, her pussy starting to gush as the crude penetration – which had to be agonizing, the guy hadn’t even bothered to spit-lube his cock – was clearly driving her toward an unwanted orgasm. Her rider smacked the ass a few more times as he fucked it brutally, and within seconds the reporter’s hot pussy was giving up the kind of copiously squirty, degradingly obvious orgasm that only Alethex could make possible. She bawled like a little girl getting raped by a dirty uncle as it happened: "WAAAAHHHAAAAAUGHHH! WWAAAHAAAUUGHH-HHAUUUGHHHHHHHH!"

The other man took up station in front of the Puerto Rican cutie "Deep Throat," clearly eager to put her name to the test. She protested bravely and was cut off quickly: "NNAAAAAHHHAAAAANNGHHHMMMMMPHHHHHH!" As the hard cock shoved into her mouth and the crude throat-fucking began, she gulped and ulped gamely around more than a mouthful of man-meat, her spit swiftly coating the veiny shaft and dripping down her chin. It moved to a new level when he reached down to pinch her nostrils closed, the bitch choking on his cockflesh and her legs kicking ineffectually as the she struggled and failed to pull oxygen into her lungs. "NGGGGGCKKKKKHHHHH! NGGGGCCCKKKKHHHHH!! MMMMMMPHHHNGHHHH! MMMMMPHH-NNNGHHHHHH!" Her muffled, desperate squeals were audible around the throbbing shaft lodged deep in her throat as tears ran down her cheeks and her legs kicked and kicked and her eyes rolled back in her head, until finally he released her nostrils and she sucked a lungful of air in loudly... and then it began again. The smothering, combined with the salty cock in her mouth, was clearly playing havoc with her terror-fuelled libido; the second time around, her pussy pulsed wetly and let out a telltale orgasmic squirt even as she was kicking and struggling to breathe.

Mercedes Sheraton, meanwhile, was drawing outraged squeals from Fantastica with the riding crop, the heroine’s taut, supple ass-flesh giggling and gyrating as the spoiled heiress decorated it with a pattern of painful red stripes. WHACK! "NGGAAAAHHHHHHH!" WHACK! "NAAAAHHAHAHHH!" WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! "AAAAHHHHHHNNAAHAAAAAA!" It would seem strange to the watching crowd that Fantastica’s writhing ass seemed to be lifting up to meet the punishing strokes, her gash glistening wetly as the mortifying punishment went on and on, clearly driving the bewildered, overwhelmed heroine toward a bitch-taming climax. Her juices were running down her thighs as Sheraton taunted her loudly: "See, you dumb bitch? This is what happens to bitches who get in this single girl’s business! You see, you fucking slut? This is why I’m hotter than a skank like you! That’s it, cry like the stupid little twat you are!"

The spoiled heiress herself was a dazzling display of feminine beauty, her long legs braced wide for maximum leverage, tight dress riding up to reveal the peachy globes of her thong-clad ass and a peep of her crotch every time she raised the whip, her sadistic beating of the helpless Single Girl’s Champion creating a clear wet patch on the crotch of her own panties. Tears of pain and fear and shame were running out from beneath wide-eyed Fantastica’s mask now, it was obvious she was realizing that there was truly no escape, that a leering crowd was about to watch her getting brought off by the whip, about to see her give the ultimate proof of her new status as a submissive fuck-toy slut. Three more rapid strokes from the riding crop and she lost it: "NNNAAAAAAAAHH-HAAAAAAAAAHAAAAAAAAA!" Her painfully burning ass bucked, her legs tensed as her girl-come came jetting out, squirting, spurting, splashing over and over as she was rocked by an almighty screaming orgasm.

Despite her state of pained exhaustion, Deena’s own body throbbed in sympathy and desire as she watched the cruel conquest and domination of three proud and independent women. Her own pussy was getting wetter, her thighs were rubbing together, and she knew that under the same punishment she’d still squirt even more wetly than those poor girls were doing right now, even after all the abuse she’d already endured. Her two fellow-whores, she could see, were in the same predicament, their faces faintly flushed as they watched the theatre of perverted lust and abuse unfold.

She was going to have to fight those compulsions, those temptations. She was powerfully conditioned for submission, but she’d revived her earlier, desperate hope of escape. And she could see a way that this gig might afford her one final chance.

The script was for the three girls to go in through the front door of the bar once the basement show had built up a full head of steam, that they’d storm into the basement pretending for a moment to be a police raid. Surprise! They were of course actually just three stripper whores to keep the audience members entertained while they waited their turn for one of the pilloried, helpless sluts. But then, surprise again! Another twist as they got close in to the boss, to El Terrifico – then jumped him and "revealed" themselves to be "real" undercover vice cops!

It was a performance aimed both at the audience – who would be made complicit in the beatdown and use and abuse of the "real cops" that followed, and who’d be that much less likely to try selling their hosts out to anyone in law enforcement if anyone got squeamish about what was going down – and of course at the captured women, who were to be given a brief moment of false hope only to have it snatched away again. The girls were, of course, scripted to put up little or no fight when El Terrifico’s goons went for them; they were meant to be slapped around like a bunch of silly little girls and then fucked by anyone who felt the urge, a release valve for the horny tensions of the punters.

But what if one of them put a twist on the "twist"? What if one of them really did fight back? Gained enough breathing room to escape through the bar’s back entrance and out into the night? El Terrifico’s goons wouldn’t be expecting it. Neither would Big T. Nobody would be expecting it.

It wasn’t much of a plan, Deena knew. It left her on foot with a bar full of goons and a furious Crip pimp racing after her. She’d have to find some nook or cranny to hide in, wait out the search, creep away later – and she might well fail or be recaptured later anyway. But it was her only shot. She knew she simply couldn’t survive many more days like the one she’d just had.

She had to take the chance. She had to.

"Alright," said Big T suddenly. "Might as well do it now. You’re on, bitches. Make daddy proud."

"Yes, daddy," the girls said meekly in unison, and stepped out of the Cadillac. Deena’s belly was fluttering with fear. Showtime.

* * * * *

Fantastica sobbed as she was forced to poke her tongue out through her ring gag and lick the wet snatch and tangy brown star that had been pushed into her face. The Single Girl’s Champion grunted and moaned as she undertook the humiliating oral task while the woman laughed at her, and while an anonymous cock was slamming balls-deep into her tight, dripping cunt, a pair of hairy nuts slapping against her clit and sending her over the edge again and again in a soul-searing succession of machine-gun climaxes. "AUUUGHHHHHH! AAAAAAHHAAAAAAHHHH! NNNGGAAHHAAAAAA!" she could hear herself wailing as her cunt gripped and squirted around her rapist’s member yet again, sluttily milking the throbbing cock as whoever he was went on pounding her unmercifully, demonstrating astonishing staying power.

A toxic cocktail of shame, guilt, lust and despair had swamped her. She’d known there was danger in Island City, but she’d never thought it could come to this. She’d never dreamed of being chloformed, stripped, drugged, confined in wooden stocks in front of a leering crowd and fucked stupid by the very perverts she’d dedicated herself to battling. She’d never dreamed her actions would lead to her best friend and one of the city’s most admired journalists being trapped along with her. She could hear the alarming choked gurgles and gasps and muffled squeals coming from Faye, who sounded like she was being periodically deprived of air by the man throat-fucking her as she was banged at both ends. She could hear Connie’s high-pitched, cock-stifled bawling as she was clearly taking another brutal pounding in her magnificent butt while her first ravisher forced her to suck her ass-juices off his cock. The sounds sent intense spikes of shame and perverse lust through Fantastica’s body – she knew they were all her fault. And listening to the other women moan and squeal more and more urgently as new climaxes rushed in to claim them... well, it just made her own next bitch-taming, will-breaking climax that much more inevitable.

As her tongue slid into the merrily laughing Mercedes Sheraton’s ass and she felt her ravisher starting to land hard slaps on her butt while his thrusts picked up pace, the Single Girl’s Champion lost it, her wet, clutching snatch exploding in another powerful orgasm as she screamed helplessly. "AAAAAAAAHHHAAAAAAA! AAAAAIIIEEEEEEEEE!" Finally the tight milking motions of that squirting, greedy fuckhole proved too much for her cocksman, who let out a triumphant yell and painted her insides with thick jets of hot spunk, sending her over the edge again. "AIIIIIIIIIIIII!"

As she came back to her senses, feeling the cock pull out of her and Sheraton step away from her mouth, Fantastica suddenly heard an unexpected sound. A woman’s voice ringing out with a snap of command: "Everybody freeze! This is a raid!"

Police? Could it be? A bright shaft of hope broke dazzlingly over the broken heroine’s mind for a moment... and she could already hear Connie and Faye sobbing with abject gratitude as they plainly made the same assumption. But then Fantastica looked around her as much as she could – she could see her fellow-prisoners doing the same, both of them with big loads of spunk slopping out through their ring gags and dripping off their chins – until she caught sight of the "cops"... and her heart sank.

The room had briefly been frozen in silent alarm, but now there were ribald laughs and applause breaking out as three petite, sexy women in cleavage-baring naughty cop outfits were revealed to be the source of the "raid." The one in the middle, with an angelic face, bright metallic blue hair cut in a short bob, and some of the most massive tits Fantastica had ever seen, was particularly striking. She and her friends were posed saucily with what had to be useless ornamental pistols as El Terrifico stepped forward to announce them to the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, a special treat!" he said stagily. "This is a raid... on your hearts and on your Johnsons! These lovely ladies from the Uniformly Hot Talent Agency are here to provide all-night lapdances for those of you who are waiting your turn with our main attractions! Give it up!"

He gestured the girls to join him as the room exploded in applause. Connie and Faye’s sobs had gone from grateful to despairing as they watched the strippers saunter over to stand around El Terrifico’s black clad form. Fantastica was feeling the same despair... but then suddenly she wondered, as she noticed a strange look in the blue-haired girl’s eyes.

As the strippers stood around him and El Terrifico started to say something else, the blue-haried girl’s eyes suddenly flashed and with a rapid movement, she was yanking the vile man’s hands behind his back and cuffing him! There was a dumbfounded moment in the room before cries of dismay started to rise – but the busty little stripper overrode them as she reached into her massive cleavage and produced something that looked for all the world like a real police badge!

"Officer Deena Ryder, Island City Vice Squad! ‘El Terrifico,’ you are hereby under arrest for kidnapping, unlawful confinement, assault and conspiracy to commit sexual assault! You have the right to remain silent – nobody in this room move!" she broke off from the Miranda recitation, brandishing her pistol as people began to surge to their feet. "I promise you this is a very real weapon! There are seven black-and-whites on their way right now to take El Terrifico’s accomplices into custody! Thanks to him, we have all of you on video! Stay put, stay peaceful and you might yet earn some leniency from the courts!"

The crowd froze. Mercedes Sheraton, standing nearest what appeared to be real cops after all, looked as pale as a ghost, her eyes flickering. El Terrifico’s thugs were poised like a bunch of old, silver-backed but still very dangerous gorillas. El Terrifico himself was absolutely still in Ryder’s grip.

Fantastica let a spark of hope rekindle inside her. Is this... is this real? Is it really happening?

"You have the right to remain silent!" went on Ryder. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law! You have the right to attorney, if you cannot afford an attorney one will be provided for you! Do you understand these rights?"

El Terrifico’s shoulders shook. After a moment, it was clear he was laughing.

Ryder’s lips thinned as she pushed her pistol into his side, repeating: "Do you understand these rights?"

"Yes, sure I do, honey," the masked man replied, still laughing. "But you don’t understand. Do you really think I wasn’t prepared for Island City Vice to show its face here?"

That seemed to stop the petite, busty officer, who looked nonplussed.

"Take a look at my men," he went on. "You’re supposed to be a cop. You telling me you don’t recognize ex-law enforcement when you see it?" El Terrifico’s paunchy associates were grinning dangerously from behind their masks, edging closer to the increasingly nervous trio of gun-wielding women as their leader went on. "Doesn’t it strike you that a man who employs ex-cops for his muscle just might have some contacts in City Hall? In the Commissioner’s office? In the Island City Vice Taskforce?"

"I don’t know who you think you’re fooling—" Ryder started to say, but he cut her off as if she hadn’t spoken.

"There are no black-and-whites coming, sweetie," he said, his voice hard and dangerous now. "No backup. I cleared this whole event with Island City Vice a week ago. Looks like someone in your unit sent you out here without telling you that. Looks like someone doesn’t like you very much. And you know what?" His eyes glittered with predatory lust. "I don’t think I like you either. Boys: get them."

The room exploded into chaos. There were shouts of fear as some of the audience dove under their chairs or crowded out to the edges of the room, a few people stampeding for the back or the front exits and getting tangled up with each other. El Terrifico leapt free of his captors with a somersault as four of his men closed in on the girls, who now looked lost and frightened and very un-cop-like. One of Ryder’s partners had her gun slapped out of her hand, and another open-handed slap sent her spinning to the ground. The other was quickly disarmed and wrestled to the ground by another masked goon, squealing as her face and tits and ass were slapped mercilessly.

But as two men closed in on Deena Ryder, a pair of shots rang out.

Fantastica’s heart soared as she realized what had happened. The two goons were down, writhing with their hands over their eyes, clearly blinded. Those aren’t real bullets! They’re blanks! She shot them point blank in the eyes with blanks! At that range, the fact that they were blanks wouldn’t matter much, they could still do damage, still blind a man. But why are they packing blanks?

The remaining goons had frozen in shock. Plainly this wasn’t supposed to happen. Ryder backed away from them warily, moving toward the three naked women in their stocks, her prop pistol brandished uncertainly. Then the heroine realized with a new dazzle of hope, a new thrill of fear: they aren’t cops at all! They’re just a stunt! But Ryder’s gone off-script! She’s actually trying to help us!

And she was clearly in peril. One member of the audience hadn’t moved. Mercedes Sheraton, who’d been standing immobilized with fear, was now right behind Deena Ryder, who was backing toward her unawares! "DEENGA!" screamed Fantastica desperately, getting as close to the woman’s name as she could with her ring gag in. "LOOK’OU!"

The "officer’s" head flashed around, her prop pistol following with blinding intent... but too late. The heiress was on her like a wildcat, grabbing the pistol and trying in earnest to claw at the smaller woman’s eyes. They fought desperately, Sheraton clearly savouring the thrill as she shouted out: "I’ve got her! Mister El Terrifico, I’ve got her! Somebody help me!"

One of the goons was in fact rushing in with a syringe in his hand, plainly intent on dosing the unruly stripper with Mr. Green. But Deena Ryder was fighting like a woman possessed, a woman with nothing to lose, and as she struggled fiercely with the heiress she must have somehow seen the incoming thug reflected in the woman’s baby blues. As the goon brought down the syringe in a stabbing motion aimed straight at her round ass, she twisted around at the very last second and brought her opponent’s body between her and the drug-filled needle.

The thug couldn’t recover in time. "UUUUHHHUUGGHHHHHHHHH!" moaned the gorgeous blonde hotel heiress as the needle plunged into her buttock and the drug pumped into her veins before the man could stop himself. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she flopped bonelessly away from Ryder as the stripper scrambled back away, skittering toward Fantastica’s immobilized and pilloried form as the furious thug advanced on her menacingly. She was waving the prop pistol at him with clear desperation, but he laughed; he wouldn’t be caught with that trick.

So she tried an older one. As he darted in toward her, she lashed out with a kick that caught him hard, square in the nuts.

As the big man folded, Fantastica felt her hope soaring again. But then she felt a man stepping in from behind her, where she couldn’t see. She drew breath to scream again but Deena was already turning around, eyes widening in alarm as she saw the man and lifted up the prop pistol... Fantastica winced in pain at the pistol’s defeaningly loud crack, saw Deena’s face breaking into a smile, it must have worked! She’d blinded another one!

Then a hand reached around from behind her and clapped a rag over her mouth and nose.

"MMMMMPHHHHHH!" Deena struggled wildly as El Terrifico’s faced appeared over her shoulder; somehow he had gotten free of the cuffs. As the girl wriggled in his grasp, right in front of Fantastica, he knocked the prop pistol out of her hand and reached around to grab a handful of one of her massive tits. Ryder’s eyes went wide in alarm as he squeezed her left breast powerfully – clearly it was super-sensitive, and she was screaming again: "MMMMMMMHMMMMMPHHHHHHHH!"

Fight it, fight it girl, thought Fantastica, but she knew it was hopeless. The girl’s eyes were rolling back in her head, her writhing grown languid, her limbs slackening. The chloroform was taking her out.

Finally, when she was thoroughly subdued, El Terrifico let her fall at his feet. The sound of her slumping to the floor was like a knell of doom. Fantastica’s last desperate hopes evaporated into utter despair as she looked up at the predatory face of her captor, saw him smiling at her.

"Just isn’t your day, is it?" he said quietly.

* * * * *

As Deena emerged groggily from the chlorofom haze, knowing with a hollow, utter despair that she’d failed, had landed herself in even worse trouble than before, she realized her day was ending much as it had begun.

She was on her hands and knees facing the stocks, looking right at poor Fantastica. The captured heroine was being viciously fucked at either end, and the man pumping his cock deep into her throat was El Terrifico himself. All three of the women were being mounted by men who were fucking them like rutting stags; Connie Phillips was bawling pitifully around the cock in her mouth as she took it up the butt even more brutally than before, the Puerto Rican girl was being choked and gagged and fucked even more fiendishly than before.

No surprise: there was a hard cock in Deena’s ass too, it was one of the big goons raping her, and her pussy was already on the verge of an orgasm as her well-stretched sphincter was subjected to yet another nasty buttfuck, a hand gripping her hair. Oh well, she thought as she groaned wantonly, at least I tried... Her pussy went into overdrive as the man released her hair to grope her super-sensitive breasts, and the first of what she knew would be many, many climaxes slammed into her. "AWWWWWWHAWWWWWWW!" she added her voice to the feminine moans and squeals filling the room.

The well-mannered structure of the event had vanished, she realized. It was a pure male free-for-all on the fuckholes of any and every woman in the room now, a grudge-fuck orgy. As she looked around, she realized her two fellow whores were both on their backs with their legs splayed, getting pounded hard. And then she saw that heiress bitch, Mercedes Sheraton.

The bewildered blonde was stirring, moaning, pulling the syringe out of her right ass-cheek and plainly wondering what was happening to her body. "What... what’s going on..." she said throatily, looking around her at the ferocious Bacchanal that had been unleashed. "Somebody... help me..."

One of her male friends who had come with her – a frat-boy type like all the others – appeared and took her hand, looking about to help her to her feet. Then he looked at the empty syringe, looked back at her contemplatively... and shoved her down on to her face with her ass in the air!

"Hey!" cried the spoiled heiress. "Cody, what are you – hey stop it –" Her "friend" was suddenly feverish, holding her head down with one hand as he hiked up her skirt and ripped off her thong with the other. Sheraton was struggling but couldn’t overpower the muscular young man, and she had to be wondering why her pussy was juicing up so intensely as she heard his zipper coming down, felt his cock nudging up against the rim of her tight asshole. "No Cody NOOOOO! NO DON’T FUCK MY ASS CODY PLEASE AT LEAST FUCK MY PUSSY DON’T FUCK MY AAAAHHHHAAAAAASSSSSS!" The rich bitch bawled helplessly as the unthinkable happened and she became part of the entertainment, her own friend’s cock pounding ruthlessly into her poop chute as she screamed in shock and bewilderment, the confusion in her cries only growing as the anal rape quickly drove her to a massively squirty orgasm. "AIIIIEEEEEEEEEE!"

For her, Deena felt no pity. Serves you right, she thought as a second one of the heiress’ "friends" yanked her head up and gagged her with his cock. How "hot" are you now?

But it didn’t change a thing about her own predicament. As she came on cock after cock, was slapped around and brutally used by the thugs in particular, was fucked by groups of three and four men, took spunk in her holes or was forced to lick it out of one of the bound girls’ asses or cunts, the figure of Big T lurked in her mind. He might wash his hands of her after tonight’s stunts, she realized. She might wind up in the hands of someone worse.

All illusions of escape were gone now, though. Scenes like this, bouncing up and down between two hard cocks while watching poor Fantastica squall and thrash as men fucked her ass and mouth and laid into her soft buttocks with a whip... this was her life. The rest of her life. This was all she could hope for it to be.

You’re a whore, Deena Ryder, she thought to herself, an utter emptiness opening up inside her. Get used to it. You’ll be a sex slave forever... forever...

As more and more revellers came down from the bar, the "party" in the basement went on, and on, and on. Word had gotten around upstairs that Mercedes Sheraton was giving up her tight ass to be fucked by one and all, and with every new set of revellers the helplessly sobbing rich bitch – her wrists had been tied to her ankles by one of the thugs – was the constant target of a long train of brutal butt-fuckers, lying in a spreading puddle of spunk and her own squirting juices as her well-fucked ass gaped wider and wider after every pounding. Whenever her mouth wasn’t gagged by cock she could be heard squealing and begging as the latest meatstick crudely invaded her tightest place, and it was obvious as pleaded futilely for mercy that she knew most of her ravishers by name. Her sopping, squirting pussy didn’t take more than a handful of fucks all night.

As for Fantastica and her companions, the patterns that had been set early on perpetuated themselves all night long. The word had got around that it was especially fun to make Deep Throat almost pass out from lack of oxygen while she sucked dick and took a hard shaft in her pussy or her ass, and the Puerto Rican beauty passed the hours in a barely-conscious state as this ritual was repeated over and over, her orgasms seeming to grow more and more soul-wracking every time. Fantastica found herself on the receiving end of as many whips and paddles as she did cocks, and came just as hard for each one of them. Poor Connie Phillips never stopped yowling and bawling as she, too, became an ass-fuck favourite, her dramatic reaction to the rough anal treatment almost as much of an attraction as her tight butthole itself.

By the time it was over at three in the morning, the three naked women in the stocks, the three strippers, and Mercedes Sheraton the world-famous heiress had one and all been fucked into unconsciousness, their naked bodies dripping with so much spunk that it looked like they’d been dipped in vats of the stuff.

* * * * *

"How far are we gonna take this, Johnny?"

As they cleaned out the basement, ‘El Terrifico’ and his men had finally taken off their masks. They were all exhausted – euphoric, almost, but also full of trepidation, and pissed at having been forced to send three men to the hospital on account of one of the hired strippers. That hadn’t been expected at all. They were drinking beers around a big cargo crate, now, a crate that contained a young girl sound asleep with a chloroform mask over her features.

‘El Terrifico,’ the one and only Johnny Mosley, looked back at his friend and said: "We’re in a dangerous game now, boys. Operation Freedom is gone, you here are all that’s left of what used to be my street network. We need to take any opportunity that comes our way."

And opportunity had, it had to be admitted, knocked. In a serious way. They’d needed money desperately; paying Mercedes Sheraton to bring her circle of party friends down to a marginal joint like Millie Stopless had drained almost all the cash in Johnny’s emergency reserve fund, the last of his secret resources he’d taken on fleeing Operation Freedom. So it was great good fortune, as the orgy had spun out of control, that Sheraton herself had gotten caught up in it. Not only would they not have to pay out her ridiculous socialite fee, but there was blackmail money aplenty to be had now from her and all her so-called "friends" who’d spent the evening raping and abusing her fine ass. She could probably be pressured into some high-class whoring, too, if they really wanted to go that route. Faye Santini and Connie Phillips would keep mum about the fate of Fantastica – Faye would even help keep up a false story about Susan Ashe relocating back to Emerald City – and would become money makers themselves, coming back to Millie Stopless twice a week to turn tricks in the basement to keep the videos of their humiliating submission from being made public.

He and his friends were, in essence, becoming a criminal outfit, in order to go after a criminal outfit. But it was the only way.

Word on the street had it that the Soliko Grand event had featured a "superheroine" orgy, that its success was spawning imitators and that the Syndicate were on the look out for more talent like that. Fantastica was tailor-made for his intro into their white slavery rackets. Selling her to the Mistress would give him the shot he needed.

And he was focussed. He was intent. He’d only need one shot.

"Gentlemen," he said, raising his beer. "Let’s have a drink to the tool of my revenge. To Fantastica, Amazing Woman of the Week."

The others raised their glasses, heartily: "To Fantastica!"