MISS ADVENTURE

MISS ADVENTURE

AND THE NIGHTMARE SNARE

(Guest-Starring Teen Justice and Luminata)

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction intended for adult entertainment. The author declares any and all elements herein contained that may be construed as works of original creation to be public domain. All characters herein – including the Nightmare (not to be confused with a Marvel villain of the same name) and the various Masked Avengers – are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to real persons or comic book characters living, dead, or in or out of print circulation is purely coincidental. The character of Miss Adventure in particular has nothing to do with either the fictional columnist of the same name in the Weekly World News, nor a different heroine who makes some appearances in the work of artists on the DeviantArt website. This story is strictly non-commercial, and no profit will be made by the use of these characters or concepts.

To put it mildly, this work is not intended for consumption by minors and contains graphic depictions of forced sex, bondage and other nasty behaviours. If you are below the adult age in your country, state, province or county then read no further and delete this file from your computer. By reading this disclaimer you agree to take full responsibility for continuing. The author does not encourage or condone the hateful and criminal things that are done to women in this story. The activities performed in this fictional work should never be inflicted on people in the real world. Feedback is welcome and can be sent to unot39@yahoo.ca or posted to the SHIB forum at http://forum.shib.net/phpbb3.

Preface

This is part of a series done as a break from the Foxx Force Five series, which is currently on hiatus. For a change of pace, I'm trying my hand at a few honest-to-goodness superheroine yarns. This one takes place after “Miss Adventure and the Disappearing Debutantes.” Read on, and if you enjoy it... shame on you.

As she runs through the dim half-light of the derelict transportation tunnel, Lariette knows with a sinking chill of fear that she's completely lost. “Glamazon!” she shouts after her teammates from Teen Justice. “Tygris! Where are you?” But the echoing, ominous shadows around her send back no reply but her own high, frightened voice.

Her wide blue eyes scanning the tunnel, Lariette fights not to fold her arms around her lissome five foot two, 32B-25-37 frame. She refuses to hunch in fear, though she feels unwontedly vulnerable in her skimpy costume. The young, slender blonde's pale skin – and especially her full, cushiony rump – is shown off by a miniature thong bikini decorated with the confederate Star and Bars over each pert little tit and over her pussy mound. Combined with her bold black leather chaps and four-inch black stiletto cowgirl boots, the little black leather mask over a doll-like, freckle-dusted face that usually sports a sunny smile, and the miniature black cowgirl hat perched at a rakish angle atop her short, stylish platinum-blonde coiffure, her look usually makes her feel cute and confident.

Now, though, even with the humming power of the silver Lasso of Concord in her black-gloved hands – a “special gift” from the now-retired Rangerella who'd been an inspiration to girls all over America in the Seventies – she feels none of that confidence. Something feels profoundly wrong.

The memories of what brought her to this place flash before her mind's eye. The night in September that she and her best friends had got caught doing cocaine at a party. Her father's stern face as he'd come down to bail her out. (“You're Roxy Raige, you know,” he'd said. “Not just any high-school floozy. You're the heiress to the Raige family fortune. You have to straighten out!”) Her friend Zana coming to her with the idea of applying to do their community service with the Newvale City Masked Avengers. The weeks of gruelling training with the legendary heroine Luminata, who'd tried but failed to dissuade the determined teens from the idea. And finally the sense of achievement – like a graduation all in itself, a thousand times more important than high school grad would be later this year – when their wealthy fathers had bought some super-items at auction and she and her friends became Teen Justice. She remembers the intoxicating high, the feeling of power and confidence, they'd felt when they'd first used their powers to scare away a group of goons threatening a girl on her walk home.

And then, tonight, waking up to the urgent news that the Devilettes – cheerleaders for the Newvale University Devils – had been kidnapped in the middle of March Madness. The sense of urgency in the informant's weird, muffled voice on the phone. The realization that with the Adventurist and most of the senior heroes in town out of the city on a supervillain manhunt, this was it, the real thing. The race down to this slum, finding the abandoned warehouse filled with television screens broadcasting pictures of the chain-bound cheerleaders squealing through ball-gags as they were whipped and abused. The trap door opening beneath their feet... getting separated from her teammates.

It wasn't how she'd pictured her first sortie into real heroism at all. But now she's here, and she'll have to make the best of it. She just hopes Tygris and Glamazon are all right. She jumps slightly as she hears what sounds like a footfall off to her right. “Who... who's that?” she calls out nervously. “I'm... I'm warning you!” Lariette sets the Lasso of Concord spinning in her right hand. “I'm a d – duly deputized Masked Avenger... and a m – member of Teen Justice! Show yourself!”

Shafts of moonlight cut into the tunnel at intervals, doing more to deepen the shadows around them than to illuminate. Lariette gasps now as she sees a dark human shape step out into one of the beams some twenty feet from her. The surge of fear is replaced by relief, though, as she recognizes the scrawny, ill-favored form for what it is: a homeless man, his age indeterminate and his hair wild, his face pock-marked and his eyes dark pools of despair.

“Sheesh, you gave me a scare, guy,” says the exasperated teen, rolling her eyes to hide her relief. “You'd better get out of sight, now. We're down here on official Masked Avengers business. By the way, have you seen... any...”

Her voice dies in her throat as she realizes the hobo isn't responding to anything she's saying. In fact it's like he doesn't even hear. His shambolic form, poised in the shaft of moonlight, looks almost feral, with tension in every scrawny sinew. And suddenly she realizes that there are more of them coming up around her, the darkness on all sides suddenly alive with them, redolent with the stink of unwashed bodies and old sweat and booze. Jesus... there must be dozens of them! How many people live down here, anyway?

“Okay, guys,” says Lariette, looking around and smiling nervously as she tightens her grip on the Lasso. “Uhhh, official Masked Avengers business, here, like I said. My name's Lariette. Can any of you help me find--”

*Come quickly before all is lost!*

Lariette goes cold at the weird, choked voice that comes suddenly out of the throat of the one in the moonbeam. Turning to look at him, she realizes that there's something... unnatural about the hollows of his eyes. As though shadow were somehow clinging to him. And she recognizes the voice, though it had been muffled on the phone. “It's you, isn't it?” she breathes. “The informer. I heard you before. Listen, help me. I need to find my friends and--”

*You are their only hope!* The voice cuts in as the homeless man's form steps forward, his posture almost menacing. *The Nightmare has them! Teen Justice, we need your, come quickly! Come – all is – lost!*

His speech, it sounds... wrong! Like a recording that's been cut together! Noticing that the men are continuing to move toward her from every side, Lariette decides firmly that enough is enough. “Alright, that's it, step back,” she says as firmly as she can. “I don't want to hurt any of you, but I will if I have to. Step back. Now!”

*Teen Justice – help – Nightmare has!* That same voice, jittering, unearthly, is coming at her from all sides now, as if in some bizarre ventriloquism act. *You are – come – lost – hope!*

Rising fright brings the teen vigilante to an abrupt decision. Swinging the Lasso in a well-practised motion, she throws and loops it around the neck of the wild-haired apparition she'd seen first, dragging his sinewy, lurching form around into the path of one of the hoboes coming up from behind her. Meet the Lasso of Concord, asshole, she thinks with grim satisfaction. With it around your neck, you have to obey my every command. “Okay, you bum, I warned you,” she grates, yanking him close, controlling him with the magical rope. “Now... tell your friends to back off!”

The homeless man's head lolls. Underneath the hollow pits of the shadowed eyes, his mouth is open in a wide grin. But he says nothing.

What... how can this... “I said, tell your friends to back off! Now! Tell them... t – tell them I'll take your head off if they don't!” Not very heroic-sounding, but a girl's gotta do...

The head jerks toward her, smiling even wider. Lariette's blood runs cold as she sees its mouth move and hears very faintly the words: * 'Friends'? What... 'friends'... ?* Oh shit! Realizing her mistake, she opens her mouth to issue another command...

... but it's too late. The rest of the crowd has closed with them, she can feel grimy hands reaching out to grasp and clutch and stroke her taut young flesh. “Hey – hey get away you creeps --” she yells, elbowing a nearby hobo, kicking at one in front, squirming to get away from the perverted groping of her firm body. But then somebody fetches her a hard whack! on the back of the head, and she hears the shattering sound of a glass bottle and feels her limbs go slack and uncoordinated like a marionette with sliced strings. “Ughhhh...”

As she sinks helplessly to her knees, her eyes crossing as the world spins around her, the Lasso of Concord slipping out of her fingers, Lariette feels the greasy groping hands reclaiming her innocent flesh, slipping under her top to squeeze and plump her perky breasts, sliding down to slap and stroke her ripe young rump. *The Nightmare has – Teen Justice – name's Lariette – official Masked Avengers business – lost – before all is lost,* comes that horrid, disjointed mockery of a human voice from all around her as she chokes at the horror of the intimate exploration of her body by the hands of strangers. *Warned you – all is lost...*

This... this can't be happening... she thinks dazedly... and then freezes in even deeper horror when she feels the loop of the Lasso of Concord settle around her own neck. Oh... oh no... Lariette shivers in fright, praying the hoboes – or whatever horror is possessing them – don't know what it can do. As she feels her arms being pulled behind her back and tied with the remainder of the unbreakable, magical rope, she prays desperately: Somebody please... please save me...

Miss Adventure wakes from her bunk to the sound of a klaxon ringing in the Adventurist's Eyrie, the secret headquarters of the founder and leading hero of the Newvale City Masked Avengers. Springing from her bed, the nineteen-year-old coed hottie heads at a run from her little room down a maze of white hallways toward the vast, dark, vaulted space of the Situation Room with its wall of monitors.

She's moving almost automatically, the cobwebs of the nameless nightmare she'd been having still clinging to her as she tries to come fully awake. As her heart pounds in time with the insistent honking of the alarm, her hazel eyes flicker wildly, her olive-toned skin glistens with the cold sweat of the nightmare world, and her long, lustrous dark hair forms a sleep-tousled cloud around her head. Her voluptuous-but-athletic five foot two 34DD-25-36 frame is clad only in a tiny blue thong and matching tube top that struggles to restrain the bouncing of her full, jutting breasts as she races, finally bursting through a final door into the Situation Room itself.

What she sees on the screens of its monitors stops her dead. “What in the name of Liberty...” the young beauty breathes, rubbing at her eyes in disbelief. But it's no illusion: the images on the monitors are horrifying.

On half the monitors she can see lurid, grainy images of girls in what look to be the little miniskirt and tube top uniforms of the Devilettes cheer squad, all thirty of them. But their tops have been pulled up to reveal their plump, shapely young titties – more than a few of them showing off perfect double-D boob jobs that must have cost a minor fortune each – and their soft skin is crisscrossed with oily steel chains, dappled with bruises and finger-marks and welts, smeared with grime. They're each lying on what looks to be bare concrete under harsh klieg lights, and they've each been bound into contorted positions, their legs held wide and their arms either twisted behind them or manacled to their ankles, their eyes wide and horrified and their faces streaked with tears and mascara, their jaws stretched one and all around massive ball gags, drool dripping down their chins. And one and all, their little panties have been either entirely ripped away or crudely yanked aside to reveal an assortment of soft, naked slits, all of them shaved or waxed and trimmed immaculately.

A dozen alabaster-skinned brunette beauties, a dozen peaches-and-cream blonde bombshells, a quartet of sandy-haired lovelies, a pixie-haired redheaded cutie, a gorgeous little Asian and an immaculately smooth-skinned black Nubian princess: the chained cheerleaders are the epitome of coed feminine desirability. Just as much as the heroine watching them is, in fact, and the tied and vulnerable spectacle they present sends a chill of sympathetic dread through her.

The images on the other half of the monitors are more obscure. Most of them show dark derelict tunnels dappled with moonlight coming from holes in their ceilings. Hints of movement are visible on all the screens, but on one she can see a crowd of what look like dozens of homeless men... but their movements are somehow weird and wrong, and they're clustered around something or someone that's obscured in the middle of the filthy mass. Frowning, Miss Adventure catches a glimpse or two of blonde hair and maybe a shoulder, but little more... but she notes with disquiet that many of the men are openly rubbing large bulges at their crotches, and some of them have hauled out and begun to wank at their scabby and filthy but surprisingly prodigious cocks. That gives a good hint as to what the attraction in the middle of the crowd must be.

On a couple of others she can catch glimpses of two other women wandering around in the tunnels, looking thoroughly lost and bewildered.

One is a rich-bodied mocha-skinned beauty with an astonishingly curvy bubble butt, wearing a high-cut tiger-print body thong with a plunging neckline, matching stiletto boots, mask, arm- and leg-warmers, and cat ears atop her Bettie Page-styled hair. Her eyes glow green like a cat's when she steps into shadow, and a bright gold Egyptian heiroglyph necklace glistens at her throat in the light.

The other is an almost equally curvaceous dusky-skinned brunette sporting a golden metallic mask over her limpid dark eyes, a golden vambrace on her left forearm, a golden torc at her neck and lace-up golden stiletto-heeled sandals; her black hair falls in waves over her shoulders, and her main costume is a tight white toga minidress that leaves her left shoulder bare, does little to conceal the big dark nipples underneath it, and clearly struggles to cover her amazing ass. A golden C-string thong flashes into view at her crotch as she walks, providing her love mound with some modesty as she strides through the tunnels with a clearly strained imitation of confidence.

Heroines,she thinks. Judging by the costumes designed to titillate and distract a male enemy, they must be Masked Avengers-trained, but she doesn't recognize them. They must be new. Nevertheless they must have signaled the Eyrie, and it definitely looks like they need help. Maybe they set up this feed somehow? “Computer,” says Miss Adventure aloud in her husky voice. “Identify source of feed.”

SOURCE UNKNOWN, replies the computer. STREAMED VIDEO FROM ENCRYPTED SOURCE.

“Shit.” A sense of urgency seizes her. With the Adventurist out of town, the heroes and heroines of the Masked Avengers are depending on his sidekick to be their backup. With the certainty of the inevitable, the rookie teen heroine realizes she's about to face her first real test. “Computer, cross-reference images with known architectural data and identify likely location of tunnels,” she commands, leaving the Situation Room's mainframe working as she heads back to suit up.

* * *

As she strips away her tube top and thong and admires her own naked form in the mirror – her flat belly, toned but feminine and not too ripped, the trimmed dark strip of pubic thatch at the junction of her firm thighs, the natural breasts that stand so high and proud from her ribcage – Miss Adventure remembers how it all started. How in her former life as Randi Vickson, daughter of an obscure working-class family in Atlantic Heights, she'd been in the process of flunking out of her senior year of high-school when she'd gotten drunk and been kicked out of a hockey arena for flashing her fabulous tits. How she'd been approached in the parking lot by a mysterious, silver-haired man who'd stepped out of a limousine, who'd told her he saw “hidden potential” in her, who'd offered to take her into an unimaginable world.

That man had been the secretive billionaire Peirce Busch, better known to the world as the immortal red-spandex-suited superhero called the Adventurist. He'd told her about the cosmic radiation that had given him his powers, how he'd fought evil with it on his own for decades before hitting on the idea of the first chapter of the Masked Avengers – who'd grown over the forty years since he'd founded them into a nationwide union of superheroes complete with deputation contracts with all levels of law enforcement, full health and dental coverage and pension plans... a lifetime career for those lucky or freakish few who had meta-human powers or the talent of using paranormal items. More recently he'd hit on a new idea: that he needed a close companion to support him in his work. That he needed a sidekick.

Over the subsequent weeks he'd taken her in, the only adult male she'd ever known besides her own father who hadn't tried to get her drunk and screw her as soon as he laid eyes on her. He'd told her about his adventures, and he'd told her frankly about the risks of becoming the next Miss Adventure, how another girl had tried before her and met a terrible fate as yet unknown. He'd taken over her education, trained her in martial arts and criminology, guided her through graduation and into taking college courses by correspondence. And finally he'd revealed the Adventure-Ray, the device which he used to replicate the cosmic accident that had created him, the device that could imbue an object with radiation and confer an echo of his powers on the one who wore it.

By that time, she'd known what she wanted. She'd gone from the prospect of being a nobody working in a beauty parlor or behind a beer tub to the possibility of being a heroine, known to millions. Danger or no danger, it was no contest.

And now she holds that choice in her hands, the blue leather choker with the silver “A” at the throat, the accessory that will give her superhuman agility, the strength of five men, super-senses that can hear a pin drop a block away or feel the subtlest of vibrations through a floor, a healing factor that can regenerate any wound that doesn't destroy her brain. Putting it on, she feels the power flow through her, and swiftly concentrates as the Adventurist taught her to master the riotous rush of information and sensation bestowed by her super-senses. Without that concentration, her heightened sense of smell could turn everyday cologne into a knockout gas, her heightened sense of touch could make even the feel of clothing unbearably sensuous: but with it, she has an edge that few can match.

Donning her blue fingerless gloves, the blue six-inch stiletto thigh-highs in which her powers allow her to stand effortlessly, and the sleek blue-tinted aviator goggles that protect her identity, she looks over and smiles at the tiny one-piece slingshot bikini on the bed, the final piece of her devastatingly sexy outfit. There's no denying that she loves the way it looks on her, the straps just barely holding her full breasts in place, the stars coming up over one big dark nipple, the stripes coming up over the other, making her feel patriotic and sexy all at once, riveting every eye wherever she goes. To wear that uniform in real action, finally... it's a dream come true.

Still smiling to herself, the heroine turns and saunters back out to the Situation Room.

* * *

“Computer,” she says briskly as she struts over to the Situation Room's elevator. “Have you isolated any possible locations?”

AFFIRMATIVE, comes the computer's monotone reply. ABANDONED AMTRAK TUNNELS IN WEST OAKS ARE ONLY POSSIBILITY.

“Excellent. I'll take the Adventure-Cycle. Call it in to Commissioner Jorgen and call in the cops if I don't check in an hour from now.” Miss Adventure steps into the elevator as she speaks, swiftly keying in the access code for the Eyrie's garage.

AFFIRMATIVE, repeats the computer, but it somehow manages to sound confused as it starts to add: BUT MISS ADVENTURE, UHHHH, AREN'T YOU GOING TO—

“Wish me luck,” she adds, concentrating on the task ahead of her, absent mindedly flipping a salute at the empty Situation Room as the elevator doors begin to slide shut.

YES, BUT DON'T YOU NEED TO PUT ON SOME— the computer's last remark is cut off.

Planning the fastest route in her head as she steps out of the elevator and heads to the Adventure-Cycle, Miss Adventure hardly notices that the feel of the red rocket cycle's leather seat is extra-vivid against her soft cunt. She filters the sensation out as she usually does, then grits her teeth against the surge of sexual heat that accompanies the revving of the mighty engine between her thighs and filters that out, too. And she filters out the usual buffeting of the wind against her bare flesh as she sets out, winding down and out of the Eyrie, emerging from the secret exit a mile distant from Busch Manor, streaking at maximum speed into Newvale City proper.

As she comes into the city limits and begins to wind her way at expert speed through traffic, she first begins to notice something amiss as her super-hearing catches snatches of astonished conversation. It might pass for the usual sound of people pointing and marvelling at her sexy body as she flies by, but this time it's subtly different, the overall tone perplexed, sometimes outraged. Drawn for a moment out of her intent concentration, she looks around, catching glimpses and flashes of pointing fingers and faces contorted not just with awe – but with puzzlement, amazement, laughter, even outright contempt. What the... and she looks down at herself... and gasps in horror!

Oh my God... I'm naked! Somehow, she'd forgotten to put her bikini on before she's left the Eyrie! Newvale City is getting not just a sexy tease, but an all-out visual feast of her firm teen titties, arresting ass and plump, trimmed pussy mound! The horrified realization abruptly snaps her sensory concentration... and the world rushes in to overwhelm her, the thousand smells of the city setting her head reeling as its sounds deafen her, the wind lances mercilessly into her soft skin and the roar of the engine pressed against her naked quim abruptly sets her feminine centre swelling with a full wetness and the sweet onrush of a devastating rapture. “Oooooohhhhh...” her mouth and eyes open wide in shock as she struggles to keep the bike under control...

... and then the roaring rocket engine sends her over the edge, and her whole being burns with humiliation as she feels her pussy give out a squirt, and another, and another as her sugar walls contract with sweet vibrating ecstasy, answering the roaring voice of the Adventure-Cycle with huge, fountain-like spurts of sexual nectar that spray out behind her like gas from a cut fuel line. “Uhhhhh... ughhhh... auuuhauughhhh...” she moans miserably, the world turning into a blur of flashing steel and laughing faces. Cumming helplessly again and again, her young body wriggles and writhes with the overpowering sensations as the bike, still rocketing at dangerous speeds, begins to wobble back and forth underneath her. “Uuhhhughhh... auuughhhh... UNNNNnhhhhhh...”

Finally, she loses control entirely and time seems to slow as the Adventure-Cycle swerves into the path of an oncoming black tour bus. Miss Adventure sobs in terror as she feels her sensitive clitty swell and her pussy give up one final wet, squirting spasm of climax before she closes her eyes and the grill of the bus becomes the whole world, its shrilling horn the voice of impending doom...

Lights out.

“Hai ya!” shouts Tygris as loudly as she can as she sets loose a spin kick at the fetid figure reaching for her from the darkness. Feeling her foot connect with his jaw and her would-be assailant give way, she savours a moment of triumph.

But she can sense dozens more behind him, out in the dark. She can see their shapes with her glowing green cat eyes, scent their filth and their unholy lust with her feline-acute nose. Outside the moonbeams that periodically break the shadows, they're moving, slinking, stalking her. Goosepimples rise all over her. She can feel their lascivious eyes sliding over her smooth mocha-toned skin, over her five foot five frame with its stunning 34C-22-40 curves. Despite the power of the Amulet of Bast at her neck, Tygris knows she has to join up with the others to have a fighting chance; and so she beats another strategic retreat, the latest in a seemingly endless series of them, panting slightly as she runs away again through the eerie darkness of the tunnels, her poise and agility perfect even in six-inch stilettos.

You're not fleeing, she tells herself sternly for what seems like the hundredth time. You're regrouping.

It feels good to move, anyway. She needs it. Her muscles burn with restless energy, her blood simmers and her pulse pounds with it, her nipples are painfully stiff with it – and she tries as best as she can not to think about its source, the unwanted thrill of wet, sticky desire pulsing constantly between her legs. She tries not to think about the juices visibly soaking the crotch of her body thong, or the way her stiff, sensitive clit sends confusion ricocheting through her body with every step. It's bad enough when she's running, but she's already learned that it gets even worse when she stops; it's as though there's a river pent up inside her, and without motion the pressure behind the dam might build to bursting.

At first she hadn't understood what the feelings were or where they were coming from. She'd felt deeply confused and unsettled long before Teen Justice had fallen through the trap-door flooring of that abandoned warehouse and gotten separated. But gradually, during the unending chase through these tunnels, she's worked it out: it's an unexpected side-effect of the Amulet of Bast. It's given her the strength and agility and senses of a tigress – but it's also given her some other feline traits as well. She's wearing it in spring... and like a real tigress would do at this time of year, she's gone into heat!

Thank Bast these evil hoboes can't smell it on me, she thinks. Or they'd come at me even harder! Tygris had thought of ripping off the Amulet when she'd worked out what was happening – but at least with the debilitating heat, she still has her superpowers. Without them, she's just high-school senior Lena Luxor. These assailants would tear her apart in seconds... or worse. Her clit pulses and her cunny swells as she tries not to think about what “worse” might really mean.

But she's starting to tire. She's dripping with sweat from the constant exertion. Her lungs are beginning to burn. Come on Lariette... Glamazon... where are you guys?! I can't keep this up much longer...

Then she hears something different up ahead. A weird sound, like an echoing, disjointed chant of voices. Or, somehow, just one voice, but coming from many different throats. And she smells a subtly different tang of pungent hobo-sweat on the air... and mixing with it, the unmistakable scent of male spunk and of a hot, wet pussy. She can hear the sounds of a high voice grunting and squealing like a little piglet in time with the rapid slaps of flesh against flesh: the sounds, she realizes with a sudden terror that stops her in her tracks, of a teenage girl being mercilessly, relentlessly fucked.

About forty feet ahead, she can see where it's coming from, a stretch of tunnel where a clump of the unnatural hoboes has swarmed like rats fighting for a morsel of food. Somewhere in the midst of them, those helpless muffled squeals are rising, breaking out from time to time into loud sobs of misery that are quickly cut off and muffled again. And the weird voice is migrating through the crowd of hoboes, who move like poorly-animated puppets, their heads lolling listessly on their necks and unnatural shadows clinging around their eyes. The voice is saying things like *All is lost – warned you – Teen Justice,* and * Please – don't – stop, please don't – help me – don't – stop it,* and * Come quickly! – name's Lariette.* And Tygris realizes with a chill just who it is who's trapped at the heart of that hell.

For a long moment she stands stock still in an agony of indecision. There are obviously too many of them... but how can she really leave Lariette to these monsters? Her body shudders as the heat rises inexorably in her loins, muddling her mind. And then, as if on cue, the crowd of hoboes parts in front of her... giving her a full view. Tygris gasps.

Poor Lariette is on her haunches, her Confederate flag bikini shredded away but the rest of her costume intact... not that it can be much consolation with one hobo beneath her, another behind her, a third hunched over her upturned face, all three pumping foul, filthy cocks of unexpectedly prodigious size into the barely-legal beauty's orifices. Her tight pink pussy is squelching loudly and wetly around a pistoning prick, while little farting sounds escape her futilely clenching, violated asshole as it endures the slower-paced but more forcefully sadistic fuck-rhythm of the man-pole stretching it. Her pert titties jiggle and her pale, soft ass-cheeks ripple in time with the brutal thrusts. She cringes from the occasional hard spank, and Tygris can clearly see that the piglet-like squeals would be loud shrieks and sobs if poor Lariette's winsome mouth wasn't stuffed with nine inches of filth-speckled, turgid, veiny prick. Tears stream down the face of the girl who'd celebrated her eighteenth birthday just days before this mission, her eyes glassy with uncomprehending horror at what her career as a heroine has already come to. A weird-coloured dark slime is dripping from her chin and slopping from her brutalized nether holes. After a moment Tygris realizes it's spunk: clear evidence that her assailants have been at it for some time... and judging by the stiff pricks out and being stroked in the hands of dozens more of the figures surrounding her, there's no shortage of further punishment in store.

The youngest member of Teen Justice clearly has no chance of fighting her way free. The unbreakable silver ribbon of the Lasso of Concord is visible in a tight noose around her neck, while much of the remainder of the enchanted rope is looped to hold her arms, elbows-to-wrists, tightly behind her. And the trailing end of the rope is in the hands of the creature that's bestially plundering her inexperienced ass. As its massive cock slams balls deep into its victim's dank, hot poop-chute, the creature's rotten mouth is moving, that same unearthly voice emerging from it.

* Suck cock – take cock – Lariette,* it's instructing her now, the Lasso's power burning its commands into the overwhelmed teen's reeling brain. * Hate cock – suck cock – lick cock – take cock – suffer! Hate it! Take it! Hate it! Take it! Suffer! Take your, punishment – warned you – all is lost – Teen Justice! Come – come, quickly! *

“Mmmmmphhhh! MMMMMhmmmphhh!” Poor Lariette's shrill squeals rise, her eyes rolling back in her head as her Lasso overrides her will and her wriggling body automatically obeys. Her hot pussy-juices sluice over the cock pounding her sloppy little cunt as the orgasm claims the bound beauty in wave after wave, clutching and shuddering through her, rocking her world and clearly fucking with the barely-legal babe's already-fracturing mind.

The outrageousness of the spectacle finally unlocks Tygris' fear-frozen limbs. Enough! Let's see if these miserable cowards can fight someone who's fighting back! “Get off her, you bastards!” she yells as she storms forward. Moving with feral grace, she smashes an elbow into the shadow-shrouded face of a nearby creature as she rages: “I said get off her! You'll all pay dearly for this! Tygris is going to make you regret the day you were born!” She lays out another looming, fiendishly masturbating apparition with a spinning backfist, kicks another in its pendulous balls, sends another flying with a dragon kick.

But she can hear and smell the ones who'd been following her and hanging back, now rushing forward en masse. Time to throw down! Spinning around, she cracks a foot into the jaw of their leader and hears its neck snap as it goes down. She gives a wild grin as she crushes a cheekbone with a swift forearm, then rakes her nails down across the eyesockets of the unfortunate monster crowding in to take his fallen comrade's place. Take that! And that! Fuck you, you evil scum!

This time, though, the others don't cringe away or hesitate, and it isn't long before the tide shifts. There are simply too many, dozens more of them coming at her out of the dark. She kicks down another, and another... but one finally delivers a disorienting rabbit-punch to her temple, and from that moment the cause is lost. Thrashing, kicking, flailing, the teen heroine finds herself overwhelmed, her head spinning as she's borne to the ground brutally by sheer numbers, as grimy hands and jagged fingernails dig into the soft skin of her arms, as insouciant hands grope her proud tits and luscious booty and make her jerk uncontrollably as their digits stroke her hot, dripping, sensitive pussy with cruel intent. Oh, no...

“Fuckers!” Tygris spits with a defiance she doesn't feel as she writhes in the grasp of her captors, as more and more hands take hold of her ankles and thighs. “Get away from me, you fucks! I'll destroy you! I'll rip you apart! Get away!”

The awful piss-and-shite sewer-rat stink of them pervades her nostrils, makes her choke as she finds herself a helpless puppet in their collective grip. Inexorably, Tygris finds herself flipped over on her belly, yanked up on her knees as strong fingers twine themselves in her long hair while she's forced to present her round ass and plump pussy-lips rearward. Writhing in a futile attempt to power her way free, the wide-eyed mocha-skinned beauty finds herself once again facing the spectacle of Lariette's crude three-way rape, powerless to look away.

She's just in time to witness the current trio come to the climax of their act. Their thrusts speeding up, the swiftly synchronizing slap-slap-slap-slap-slap of their balls resounding against the skin and chin of their prey, all three of the gang-raping creatures throw their heads back ecstatically and tense up as the moment arrives. “Glaggghckkhh! Glaggghckkhh! Glaggghckkhh! Glaggghckkhh!” Lariette gulps in loud misery as her throat is fucked rapidly, then fresh tears spilling down her freckled cheeks as she's held in place and three sets of nuts begin to twitch and jump, three hot, noisome loads of unnatural jism pumping into her, painting her insides and sliming down into her throat as her anal ravisher says: * Swallow – swallow – swallow! * Choking with revulsion, the defeated teen can only obey the command delivered through her own Lasso, her throat working as repeated gulps send more and more of the churning slime down her gullet.

Shivering, a horrified Tygris realizes as she's watching that the vile and repulsive spectacle is fuelling the sexual heat burning between her thighs. It doesn't help that some of the hands holding her down are beginning to stroke her flesh with maddening insistence, in a couple of cases dipping down to grasp handfuls of her plump titty-meat or to feel her ass or slide wickedly along the wet, hot groove of her covered slit. The hunger rising in her greedy little cunt is sending shivers through her whole body, from the top of her head down to the tips of her toes. Gritting her teeth, she has to fight to keep her back from arching and pushing her quim higher, exposing her to the evil horde behind her... and her blood runs cold as she realizes the creatures near her are starting to unzip and pull out their cocks, too. She can smell them: the disgusting reek of unwashed undies mixed with stale sweat and urine. And yet her mouth is watering! No... no... this can't be... this can't be happening...

As the three rapists move aside, one of them handing the strand of the Lasso to its successor, Lariette's mouth gets a moment of freedom from being plugged with rancid hobo cock, the sloppy remnants of that last helping of spunk splattering down her chin. “Please,” the young blonde begs tearfully in an exhausted voice as the next three scrawny, shadowy creatures move into position, their huge willies wobbling in horrid counterpoint to their jerky, disjointed movements. “Pleee-heeease... I'm so sorry... I swear I'll go away and never bother you again, just please don't... I can't take any more... please... please no more... don't... stop... no please no-please-no-nononoooooNOOOMMMMMPHHHHH!” And with that, the creature behind her grabs her hair to hold her head still while a fresh dick invades the barely-legal beauty's wet mouth. “Mmmmmphhhh-MMMMPHHHHH-MMMMMhmmmphhh! MMMMHHHHMMMPHH!” She gives out a new round of violated squeals as a second cock penetrates her hot, dripping poon, and then a third forces its way crudely into her gaped ass, stirring the loads of prior rapists into a frothing foam of ball-slime as the new trio begins to work up a bruising, punishing rhythm, thrusting cruelly into their helpless, nubile prey. “Mmmmmphhhh! MMMMhhhmphhh! Mmmmmphhh! MMMMhmmphhh! MMMMPHHH!”

* Suck cock... take cock... hate it... suffer! Take it! Hate it! Suffer! Take it! All is lost! * comes the evil litany from the new ass-fucker as it all begins again.

No... no... can't... I can't stand this... this can't be... Trapped in her enforced stillness, the depraved sights and sounds transfixing her and swiftly stoking the liquid heat in her tight teen twat to unbearable levels, Tygris moans through her gritted teeth, her eyes wide in consternation at her predicament. Her skin is burning up, every inch of her becoming sensitive to the touch as more and more dirty hands begin to stroke and tease her. Horrified at her friend's rape, she's even more horrified at her own horny response to it, and her mind is starting to shut itself away, unable to bear the contradiction. Ughhhh... so... so hot... can't take it... Bast help me... I can't stand it... so hot... so wet...

Finally, young Tygris' defenses begin to fail. She's barely even aware of it as her saturated pussy's prurient lust begins to take over, the rutting animal instinct radiating through her rich body from the Amulet of Bast and dominating her utterly, beginning to unconsciously dictate her actions. Giving out another moan, her back arches and pushes up her quim and spectacular rump like a gift presented to her hobo conquerors. “Ahhhhh...” she gasps as they promptly take advantage of it, squeezing and slapping her big, soft ass and setting it jiggling like a bowl of jello, yanking aside the crotch of her thong to get at her shaven slit. “Uggghhh...” she groans as the first filthy set of fingers to dip itself into the wet heat of her sexual core sends a minor orgasm shuddering through her, her whole body moving languidly with it as her juices squirt out to lubricate the intrusion.

She hardly notices that the hands on her aren't bothering to restrain her anymore, instead preoccupying themselves with feeling up her taut teen flesh, ripping at her spandex body-thong to get at more of her as she visibly abandons resistance for lust. She doesn't know how it happens but she suddenly finds hot, hard cocks in each of her palms, her slender fingers instinctively wrapping around and stroking up and down the throbbing lengths, making them even thicker and harder. Finally, one of the creatures stands before her, waggling twelve inches of rank but suddenly delicious-looking prick in front of her as she grits her teeth harder, holding on gamely to the last shreds of her will.

But her eyes are drawn irresistibly upward to its haggard, shadow-cloaked face. * Beg, * comes that terrifying, unnatural voice. * All is – lost! Tygris – make you regret the day you were born – destroy you, pay dearly. Take it – suffer! Beg. *

The heroine shakes her head in desperate denial, her flawless features frozen in fear, but the creature just repeats the command. No, no I couldn't... no, I wouldn't... I can't... For a long moment she feels as if she's outside herself, as if this must be happening to someone else. But the imperative of the wanton, feverish need in her slippery snatch won't be denied.

Sniffling, her hellish surroundings closing in around her with a sense of doom, Tygris opens her mouth.

Miss Adventure wakes from her bunk to the sound of a klaxon ringing in the Adventurist's Eyrie. Springing from her bed, the nineteen-year-old coed hottie heads at a run from her little room down a maze of white hallways toward the vast, dark, vaulted space of the Situation Room with its wall of monitors.

She's moving almost automatically, the cobwebs of the nameless nightmare she'd been having still clinging to her as she tries to come fully awake. As her heart pounds in time with the insistent honking of the alarm, her hazel eyes flicker wildly, her olive-toned skin glistens with the cold sweat of the nightmare world, and her long, lustrous dark hair forms a sleep-tousled cloud around her head. Her voluptuous-but-athletic frame is clad only in a tiny blue thong and matching tube top that struggles to restrain her bouncing, jutting breasts as she races to burst into the Situation Room itself.

On half the monitors she can see lurid, grainy images of girls in what look to be the little miniskirt and tube top uniforms of the Devilettes cheer squad, all thirty of them: alabaster-skinned brunettes, peaches-and-cream blondes, sandy-haired lovelies, a gorgeous little Asian and a smooth-skinned Nubian princess. Their tops have all been pulled up to reveal their plump, perky young titties – more than a few of them showing off expensive double-D boob jobs – and their soft skin is crisscrossed with oily steel chains, dappled with bruises and finger-marks and welts, smeared with grime. They're each lying on what looks to be bare concrete, bound into contorted positions with their legs held wide and their arms either twisted behind them or manacled to their ankles. Their little panties have been ripped away or crudely yanked aside to reveal an assortment of soft, naked slits, all of them shaved or waxed and trimmed immaculately. And their eyes are wide and horrified, their faces streaked with tears and mascara, their jaws stretched one and all around massive ball gags, drool dripping down their chins.

And no wonder. From off-camera, some unseen party is whipping them! All of them! Black leather straps are slashing into their tender young flesh, the bound coeds jerking and jolting in time with the agonizing impacts that redden their proud, jiggling buttocks. Gasping, the heroine watching them feels her own firm ass-cheeks clenching in sympathy, the awful rhythm of punishment sending a chill of sympathetic dread through her... which only gets deeper as she realizes the cheerleaders' cunts are all glistening brightly, visibly wet.

The images on the other half of the monitors are more obscure. Most of them show dark derelict tunnels dappled with moonlight coming from holes in their ceilings. Hints of movement are visible on all the screens, but on one she can see a huge crowd of what look like homeless men... but their movements are somehow weird and wrong, and they're clumped by the dozens in a pair of overlapping rings around something or someone – or some pair of someones -- that's obscured in the middle of the filthy mass. Frowning, Miss Adventure catches a glimpse or two of blonde hair and maybe a shoulder here, a flash of mocha skin there, but little more... but she notes with disquiet that some of the men are naked and all of them are wanking their scabby and filthy but surprisingly prodigious cocks. That gives a good hint as to what kind of attractions they're gathered around.

On a couple of other monitors she catches glimpses of another woman wandering around in the tunnels, looking lost, bewildered and exhausted. She's a curvaceous dusky-skinned brunette sporting a golden metallic mask over limpid dark eyes that scan the darkness around her with almost wild apprehension, a dented golden vambrace on her left forearm, a golden torc at her neck and wearing lace-up golden stiletto-heeled sandals in which her legs are visibly starting to wobble and shake. Her black hair looks like it would normally fall in waves over her shoulders, but now it's in disarray, some of it matted to her forehead with a clammy sweat that's soaked through her shoulder-baring tight white toga minidress, its drenched fabric struggling to cover her amazing ass and doing little to conceal the taut teen flesh and big, proud double-Ds underneath it. A golden C-string thong flashes into view at her crotch as she walks hurriedly, providing her love mound with some modesty as she wanders at a clear loss as to which way to turn or what to do.

A heroine, thinks Miss Adventure. Judging by the costume designed to titillate and distract a male enemy, the girl must be Masked Avengers-trained, but she doesn't recognize her. Must be new. Nevertheless she must have signaled the Eyrie, and it definitely looks like she needs help. Why did she wait as long as she obviously has? Maybe she set up this feed somehow? “Computer,” says Miss Adventure aloud in her husky voice. “Identify source of feed.”

SOURCE UNKNOWN, replies the computer. STREAMED VIDEO FROM ENCRYPTED SOURCE.

* * *

Funny, I don't remember setting it, she thinks with a slight frown. In fact, for a moment she doesn't even remember the clock, gold and shaped like a gas lantern, with a bright gold digital readout that shows the radio's been tuned to WMAR-FM, the Masked Avengers Radio promotional station. Had it been there when she woke up? Where did it come from?

Then she sees the framed photo standing beside it, and everything clicks into place. It's a picture of herself standing beside the legendary Luminata, the twenty-something blonde's stunning five foot seven 32D-22-34 frame shown off to perfection in the cross-shaped latex harness whose pair of narrow strips cover her breasts horizontally and her kitty vertically, culminating in the wide white collar that bears her golden lamp logo at her neck. With her long flaxen hair framing her gorgeous features, the intricate half-sleeve patterns of golden henna decorating her pale upper arms, and white latex opera gloves, thigh-highs and mask finishing out the look, her blue eyes twinkling mischievously and a smile always playing over her pouty, bee-stung lips, Luminata can thoroughly dazzle any room. Miss Adventure remembers feeling almost frumpy beside her when the two had posed for that picture – at the trade show or whatever, she can't quite remember where it was – where Luminata had given her the clock as a gift. The Lady of the Light had signed the picture, too:

4 tha Nu Miss A:

Stay a Wake Out Their!

Luv, Lumi XOXOXO.

Shrugging as she begins to don her outfit, Miss Adventure half-listens as the station's signature track, Billie Skyler's “Crying Out for a Hero,” comes to an end and their evening interview programming comes on. “We're back on Behind the Mask,” intones the smooth voice of the show's host. “This is your host Manley Cox, and I'm here tonight with none other than Newvale City's 'it' girl, the Lady of the Light... Luminata! Who if I might say so is looking stunning as always.”

Huh, thinks Miss Adventure as she zips up her thigh-highs. Funny coincidence her being on the radio right now... But she's still only half-listening, focused on the task of dressing herself. For some reason it feels really important that she stay focused on this task.

“Why thank you, Manley-man,” says Luminata, her voice playful and coquettish as usual. “It's always a pleasure to be here.”

“So, the theme of today's show is a favourite one of yours... dreams.”

“Why, that's right, Manley. You see, as some of your listeners may know, I don't just knock out criminals in the regular world. I'm also all about the light of the mind, the gradients of the soul. My powers are just as much about brightening up your inner world.” Miss Adventure smiles faintly as she pulls on her gloves. She's heard Luminata give “believe-in-yourself” soundbites like this in a thousand interviews.

“And why would you say that's important?”

“It's a dangerous world, my friend.” Luminata's voice grows more serious. “Especially for a Masked Avenger. It's not enough to have a toned body or a nifty gimlet or a good martial arts trainer. There 's villains out there who'll attack you through your mind as well as your body. There's even some who can attack you through your dreams.”

“Sounds scary,” the host says, matching her more sombre tone. “Have you ever seen this kind of dream assault yourself?”

“No, I haven't,” admits Luminata. Miss Adventure smirks slightly as she pulls her miniature slingshot bikini into place, carefully arranging the stars over her right nip and the stripes over her left. “But the Indians who used to live in this area had legends of 'dreamwalkers' that my own teacher believed had real truth to them. And I'll tell you something else, Manley... I think that there's some kind of a cult presence stalking the dreamworld of Newvale City right now.”

“What a thought!” says Cox with an obviously forced chuckle. “Good thing we're all awake—”

Suited up and ready to go, Miss Adventure walks over and switches the radio off. Sorry guys... boring! Stepping back in front of the mirror for a moment, she admires the way her outfit looks on her, the bikini straps just barely holding her full breasts in place, the patriotic theme combining with ultra-sexiness to rivet every eye wherever she goes. To wear this uniform in real action, finally... it's a dream come true. Smiling to herself, the heroine turns and saunters back out to the Situation Room.

* * *

“Computer,” she says briskly as she struts over to the Situation Room's elevator. “Have you isolated any possible locations?”

AFFIRMATIVE, comes the computer's monotone reply. ABANDONED AMTRAK TUNNELS IN WEST OAKS ARE ONLY POSSIBILITY.

AFFIRMATIVE, repeats the computer, somehow managing to sound concerned and fatherly as it adds: BE CAREFUL, MISS ADVENTURE.

“Wish me luck,” she replies, concentrating on the task ahead of her, absent mindedly flipping a salute at the empty Situation Room as the elevator doors slide shut.

Planning the fastest route in her head as she steps out of the elevator and heads to the Adventure-Cycle, Miss Adventure filters the pressure of its leather seat against her soft cunt as she usually does, then grits her teeth against the surge of sexual heat that accompanies the revving of the mighty rocket engine between her thighs and filters that out, too. She filters out the buffeting of the wind against her nearly-naked flesh as she sets out, winding down and out of the Eyrie, emerging from the secret exit a mile distant from Busch Manor, streaking at maximum speed into Newvale City proper.

As she comes into the city limits and begins to wind her way at expert speed through traffic, though, she begins to notice something strange. Just out of the corners of her eyes, she feels like she can discern weird patches of shadow appearing in the cityscape, subtly strange dark figures here and there in the crowds of people who, as always, are watching her passing with slack jaws. At first she dismisses it and tries to keep focused on her route... but then, coming to one intersection, she catches a sudden vivid glimpse of a wiry-haired, scrawny figure standing under a streetlamp. And though most of its face is shrouded in unnatural darkness, there's no mistaking it: it's one of the “homeless men” she's seen on the Situation Room's monitors!

What the... The momentary distraction of the sighting takes Miss Adventure's attention off her destination for a split second...

... and almost leads to disaster as she roars through a red light!

As she drifts through a storm of squealing tires and blasting horns, the rookie heroine is sure she's dead. But somehow she comes through to the other side unscathed, slamming on the brakes and taking a look behind her. Not everyone was so lucky; her mishap has caused a six-car pileup in the intersection. Damn, she thinks, biting her lip in consternation. She looks around to catch some sign of the shadowy figure who'd distracted her... but it's nowhere to be seen. Double damn!

The urgency of her mission calls her – but can she just leave the scene of an accident that she's caused? Looking at the mess in the intersection, she pauses in a brief agony of indecision but then thinks: Something or someone is trying to stop me from reaching West Oaks. I've got to go on!

Gritting her teeth, she gives the drivers an apologetic wave as they clamber out of their cars shouting in outrage, and fires up the Adventure-Cycle's engine again. But she doesn't have a chance to take off before a new noise stops her in her tracks: a police siren, coming from a cruiser that's roaring through the intersection behind her, dodging around the chaos of crashed cars, its occupants emphatically gesturing to her to pull over! Damn, what rotten luck... she thinks, but her Masked Avengers status is based on cooperation with law enforcement and she has to obey. Pulling over and letting the engine die again, she thinks: I'll just explain to them about the Devilettes and they'll let me go. I'm sure of it!

As the doors of the cruisers open and slam shut and bright flashlights play over her nubile body, Miss Adventure turns to look at them, squinting as she sees two hulking shapes... the Newvale City PD has always favoured big men. “Officers, I'm sorry for the mishap!” she calls out. “I'm on urgent Masked Avengers business--”

“Face forward, hands on the handlebars!” a deep voice, a familiar voice, instructs from behind one of the flashlights. “License, registration and proof of insurance!”

“Uhhhh... what?” she says confusedly. “This is a Masked Avengers vehicle. All licensing and insurance information is on secured file with the Police Registrar, you must know that...”

“Yes, we know that, smartass,” says that familiar voice. “We also know you're required to carry backups. Now: license, registration and proof of insurance!”

Backups? What... what backups? I've never... the Adventurist never told me about any... With panic and bewilderment rising, Miss Adventure rapidly palms open and searches the half-dozen secret compartments on the front half of the Adventure-Cycle. “Uhhhh... I'm sorry, officers, I can't seem to...” she feels herself breaking into a clammy sweat as she re-searches each of the compartments. “I... uhhh... I'm really sorry, I can't find anything... I didn't know I had to have...”

“You didn't know you had to have them? Like you didn't know you had to know how to actually operate a vehicle like that?” says the voice with faint disgust. After a moment he switches off his flashlight and says: “Look at me.”

Turning to look at him, Miss Adventure gasps in surprise. She's looking up into the craggy, white-moustached features of Commissioner Hugh Jorgen himself! The veteran's eyes are covered by dark sunglasses under his bushy white eyebrows. The old man's form is still large and powerful under his rumpled trenchcoat, his thin mouth set severely. “Commissioner Jorgen!” she says in amazement. “What... what are you doing out in the field?”

“I came out personally when we got your computer's report that the Devilettes had been snatched,” he replies.

Feeling a surge of hope banishing her confusion, the heroine nods eagerly. “Yes, yes, thank you Commissioner, that's why I've got to hurry! Those girls are being tortured, Commissioner, right now! And not just them, either, I think there might be, there's a bunch of tunnels and there's these homeless guys but somehow they're not really --”

“The report is false,” the Commissioner cuts her off abruptly. “We called all the families of the girls. They're all at home, safe in their beds.”

Thunderstruck, Miss Adventure stutters into silence. What... how can that be... I saw them! I saw it with my own eyes! “That's...” she mumbles after a moment. “That's impossible...”

“What's impossible, Miss Adventure, is to have the official sidekick of our city's leading hero embarrassing us,” he replies coldly. “You figured the big guy was out of town and you'd have a little fun, was that it? Reckless joyriding on the Adventure-Cycle? Fleeing the scene of an accident? Wasting police time and resources with fraudulent alerts? Do you have any idea how serious this is?”

Cold with panic and surreal confusion, Miss Adventure can only look blankly at him and stammer: “I... I don't... Commissioner, I...”

He shakes his head in disgust. “Get off the bike and stand facing us, hands at your sides.”

Hesitantly, the busty teen heroine climbs off the bike and complies. She can see behind the Commissioner and the big bruiser of a cop accompanying him that a big crowd is gathering in the intersection, people pointing and chattering among themselves. It's not every day that they see the cops pull over a Masked Avenger!

“The Adventurist is going to be very disappointed in you,” intones the Commissioner. “But you've left me with no choice. I'm suspending your commission as a Masked Avenger effective immediately, pending a full investigation.”

She gapes at him, appalled. “But... but Commissioner... please, if you'll just l—let me explain...”

“You'll do your explaining in front of a board of enquiry. Now, that choker at your neck is privileged property of the Adventurist, and he'll have to deal with it when he returns... but as of now, I'm officially withdrawing your deputation and relegating you to civilian status. I'll have to impound the Adventure-Cycle and confiscate the rest of your Masked Avengers paraphernalia.”

He holds out a big, meaty hand as he says this. She looks at it, uncomprehending. “I... I don't understand...”

“Goggles, boots, gloves and costume,” he explains impatiently. “Now.”

Oh my God... Her eyes go wide as saucers as confusion becomes horror. “You... you can't mean... not in front of everybody...”

“Now,” he repeats tersely. “Or we'll do it for you.”

Numb with shock, Miss Adventure stares at him a moment longer. Then, as if moving on internal autopilot, she pulls off one of her gloves and then the other, handing them to him. Her hands shaking, she reaches down to unzip her left thigh-high boot, her heart pounding as she slowly pulls it off, then the other, all the while trying to think of some way to talk sense into the Commissioner. But as she straightens up and hands her second boot to him, now feeling even more like a child in his presence after losing the extra inches the stilettos had conferred on her petite frame, she realizes with a nauseous feeling that his face is utterly implacable.

Still, she has to try: “You do realize that if I give you my goggles... I'm exposing my identity? Publicly? Please... please at least let me...”

“My orders stand,” he rasps, his voice thick with anger. He hands the boots and gloves to his fellow officer and holds his hand out again. “We both know you're nobody important. Revealing your identity won't threaten anyone. Goggles and costume.”

Desperate, her heart pounding even faster, Miss Adventure thinks for a lunatic moment about levelling him and running. But that would just make her into a fugitive, bring the whole Department and even her fellow Masked Avengers down on her. Lip trembling as she realizes she truly has no choice, she reaches up and pulls off her sleek blue goggles, handing them to him. He hands them along... and then holds his hand out again.

The humiliated heroine looks down miserably, feels tears run down her face and her ears burn with the blush of shame at what's happening to her. Her sensory discipline finally collapsing under the stress, she hears the city rush in all around her. The crowd gathered at the intersection, watching the spectacle, is now over two hundred people strong. More people have gathered on the sidewalk pavements. She hears as clear as a bell the various men commenting on her stiff-nippled tits, the women snarkily talking to each other about what a little tramp she is, how it's good to see her put in her place. She can smell hormones wafting on the air, the lust of many of the men in that crowd for her firm young body, the blood throbbing in their stiff pricks. And not just the men in the crowd... but the cops in front of her, too! She looks up at Jorgen with fresh horror as she realizes his cock is as hard as anyone else's!

“Costume,” he repeats, and she now identifies the thickness in his voice as lust. “Now.”

Her horror deepens as she realizes she truly has no choice. Dirty old man, she thinks resentfully, drawing a bit of strength... but the shame crushes it quickly as she reaches up, big tears dripping down her cheeks, and pulls down one strap and then the other of her slingshot thong bikini. Stepping out of the tiny garment with her tits and pussy-mound completely exposed, her face blazes with mortification as a great whoop goes up from the watching crowd. She hands the rumpled little bikini to the Commissioner and stands trying her best to cover her ample jugs and her naked sex with her hands. Holding the bikini for a moment, perhaps resisting the temptation to sniff it, Jorgen hands it to his partner, who tosses it with the rest of her kit into the trunk of the cruiser, which he slams shut with finality.

“This is wrong, Commissioner,” she says quietly, trying to recover a bit of her dignity. “I'm not going to let this stand.”

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she knows they're a mistake. The Commissioner's glowering brow grows even fiercer in response. His hands clench into fists. “Did you hear that, Constable?” he says. “I think she just threatened me.”

“Heard it loud and clear, Commish,” replies the other cop with a shit-eating grin. “She said she's not gonna leave you standing.”

“You know what that means,” says the Commissioner. “Put it out on the radio, all available units to back us up.” As the other cop heads for his radio, he explains to the shivering, naked heroine: “Of course you know any super powered resistance to lawful authority means we have discretion to subdue by any means necessary. Public safety comes first.”

“But... I... I'm not resisting...” Miss Adventure's voice quavers, her last attempt at saving face evaporating as she hears the other cop calling all cars to their location, the prospect of half the Police Department seeing her stripped naked almost breaking her. “Oh God... listen... please... I won't cause any trouble, I'll just g—go...”

“Not yet you won't,” Jorgen says firmly. “Not until I'm sure you're completely in compliance. On the other hand, if you prove it to me now... I might be persuaded to go easy on you. Think you can prove it to me?”

“Prove... that I'm in compliance...?” she asks, dreading the answer. “H – how?”

“By doing what you're told, without question or hesitation, until I'm satisfied,” the Commissioner replies. “You can start proving it right now, in fact. Put your arms at your sides.” Sniffling, her cheeks burning, she complies, hearing more whoops and crude comments go up from the crowd as exposes her naked body. “Good. I don't see why you're so embarrassed anyway, you were already parading around practically naked. You heroines wear less than most whores, you know that? Now, turn around and grab your ankles. Hold on to that grip until I tell you to let go, not before.”

For a moment she freezes, but she can see from the tension in Jorgen's jaw that he won't countenance any more delays. She turns around and slowly bends forward, humiliation making the tears flow again as she hears more cheers go up from the crowd at the intersection: they're getting an eyeful of her proud, pert rear end and a winking glimpse of her tight teen sex. Gripping her ankles, her long hair sweeping the pavement as she instinctively cranes her head around, she prays for Jorgen to be done with whatever he's going to do quickly.

For a moment there's silence, but she swallows as she hears Jorgen pulling off his belt, trying to brace herself for what's coming. It's no use. The first CRACK! of the leather belt across her tender buttocks still surprises her into letting out a loud “AHHH-HOWWW!” She very nearly lets go of her ankles and tries to just run, but fear of this situation getting even worse stops her. Miss Adventure stands still and takes her punishment as Jorgen works his way into a slow, deliberate, teasing rhythm with the slashing belt. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! WH-CRACK! Jumping with each impact of the leather against her soft young skin, her thighs and calves and buttocks tensing in reaction to the blows, Miss Adventure whimpers at the pain, heightened abominably by her superhuman sense of touch so that each stroke of the belt sends fire washing across her every nerve ending. The crowd cheers loudly with each of the blows, worsening her misery.

It gets worse yet when the police cruisers arrive, descending on the intersection from every direction with wailing sirens. Hearing their radios crackling and the men in blue – who she'd always thought were her friends – laughing and joking vulgarly at her expense turns the punishment, whose extremely public nature has already made it humiliating beyond compare, into a living hell.

Worse yet is that the whistling of the air from just before the belt's impact has been feathering along her tight slit... whose super-sensitivity is turning it into a touch as firm and as disquieting as the stroking of a finger along her snatch. “Ahhhhh! AHHHhhaaahhh! Ahhhhhh!” the heroine finds herself gasping helplessly as the punishment of her buttocks goes along with the unwitting pleasuring of her slit, and by the time he's up to twenty strokes she's reaching a horrible realization: her sweet juices are starting to trickle out of her cunt as it begins to swell with sensation! Sexual delight is rising inside her hot, moist twat in a counterpoint to the pain! Oh no... my pussy... it's getting really hot! Getting wet! He... he's gonna make me cum!

Miserably, she tries to plead with him between blows of the belt. “Please... Commissioner, I'm sorry please... please, stop...”

“Nobody told you to speak,” says the Commissioner sternly. “That's another twenty, I think.”

As he says it, a police chopper comes whirring in overhead, its rotors kicking up a terrible racket as its floodlight lances harshly into the intersection, presenting Miss Adventure's suffering in even starker relief to the crowd. More cheers go up at this development as she whimpers desperately: “Please... please, I can't take... I'm gonna... gonna cum if you keep whipping me... everyone's gonna see...”

“Is that right?” The Commissioner pauses thoughtfully for a moment, then shakes his head: “No, I'm afraid I can't allow that. That would be a mockery of law enforcement authority. No more talking... and no cumming, either, or I'll make your punishment much worse.” He strokes his chin and says: “That's twice you disobeyed me by speaking, so... another forty strokes. Compliance, remember?”

“Wait no please no please AHHHHhhhh!” squeals the heroine as the smacks on her bodacious rump resume. Gritting her teeth, she tries desperately to recover her concentration and control, tries desperately to shut it all out... but the noise and the commotion and the pain and the overwhelming sense of shame... and the perverse desire rising like molten heat in her snatch... all of them ensure her resistance is permanently shattered. CRACK! CRRRACK! CRACK! CRACK! The belt drives the cringing coed closer and closer to the edge, her cunt dripping with need and hunger even as the agony of her whipped ass gets so bad that her head's spinning. CRACCK! CRACK! WH-CRACK!

“Uhhhhuuuughhhhh...” she sobs helplessly as the thirtieth stroke sears into her, her body now unconsciously lifting her bodacious booty into the line of fire. She feels a little squirt splatter her sticky nectar down her thighs and realizes that she can't hold out any more, that the next stroke is going to bring her off. “Please...” she begs brokenly: “Please... no more... don't...” There's a short pause and then...

CRRRRRACCKK! The most brutal, slashing blow yet of the Commissioner's belt slices across her clenched buttocks, the wind from the blow sliding along her dripping slit like a wicked tongue whose journey culminates at the stiff bud of her clit. Her wet, swollen pussy explodes in a shattering orgasm that has her powerless in its grip! “AHHHHHhhhhhh! AHHHHHHhhhaaaaahhhh! AHHHHHHHHhhhhhh!” she cries out in horror as her hot sexual core clenches and squirts, clenches and squirts, clenches and squirts its way through a dozen wrenching orgasmic spasms. She only barely manages to hold her footing as her body shudders with wave after wave of unwanted ecstasy. For a moment, the world around her is obliterated by the tyrannous sensations... but as it ebbs and she comes back to herself she can hear the crowd whooping and cheering like an audience at a street festival.

Panting, she looks around wild-eyed, her overwhelmed mind starting to crack. Craning over her shoulder, she can see the dark shape of Commissioner Jorgen bathed in the helicopter's floodlight's. “I told you, no cumming,” he says sternly. “And no talking. Every time you cum it's going to be another twenty... and as for the talking, well,” he gestures to his partner, the Constable, who steps around in front of her with a grin: “I'm sure we can give your mouth something better to do.”

“Oh... no...” she whimpers as the Constable kneels in front of her, hauling a ten-inch slab of stiff cock out of his pants and pointing it at her mouth. (“Wow!” her super-hearing picks up a random voice in the crowd. “Think she'll suck it?” “Of course,” somebody else replies. “We just saw what a slut she is!”) She looks a last wild plea at the Commissioner, but his face is merciless. Snivelling, the humiliated girl turns back, opens her salivating mouth... and slowly takes the Constable's fat dick inside, the salty taste of him sliding over her tongue as she moans wantonly through her nose, her desire rising despite her efforts to the resist it: “Mmmmmphhh... mmmmgllmmphhhh...”

As she starts to bob her mouth wetly up and down that prick, her body's already tensing in dread of the next painful stroke of the belt. And she feels her hot pussy give a telltale squirt of pleasure when it comes: CRACK! “MMMMMmmphhhhh!” she squeals miserably around her mouthful of man-meat as the punishment begins again...

* * *

Miss Adventure swiftly loses track of time as one cock replaces another between her moist young lips, as one load after another splatters its seaweedy essence over her tongue and down her throat or over her chin, as her shuddering body gives up more and more orgasms to the relentless leather belt. Her healing factor keeps her body in the game long after most women would have been flayed or collapsed from exhaustion, and she discovers the Commissioner has handed the belt off when he himself takes a turn fucking her mouth, telling her all the while what a disappointment and failure and a useless slut she is. Cops get in on the action, random members of the crowd get in on the action, until finally the stench of a rancid, unwashed prick invades her nostrils, and the exhausted, beaten teen queen looks up, barely conscious in the wake of her most intense multiple orgasm yet. She gives a last despairing snivel as she sees that the cock belongs to none other than the shadow-shrouded homeless man she'd glimpsed on the street corner!

“Whhhammmmphhhh...” she moans as he stuffs his rancid prick in her mouth. He pumps it sloppily in and out as the belt comes down on her ass again, CRACK! And an orgasm powerful enough to rip apart the innards of a normal woman rises up and claims her utterly, leaving her squalling haplessly as the squirting proof of her submission fountains out of her cunt over and over again. The spasms get stronger... and stronger... and stronger... and the world around her seems to ebb with each convulsion. “MMMMMphhhhh!” she mewls around the cock as she looks up into the hollow shadows of the hobo's eyes... and finally the world goes dim as the pleasure gets too intense, and she faints.

Lights out.

“Stand and fight, you cowards!” shouts Glamazon exhaustedly as she swings at the departing back of one of the tunnel-dwellers. There's a note of despair in her voice, though, as the creature vanishes into the darkness.

He's the last of the latest party of four or five of the horrid, smelly things to rush at her out of the shadows, and she's beaten them back again.With the first dozen or so groups of them it had been easy. She'd felt confident even after the disorienting fall into this netherworld. The next dozen had been harder, had taken more out of her, hammered harder at her defenses, but she'd still felt strong and in control... if a little lost. By now, though, Glamazon has no idea how long she's been down in these tunnels or how many of these bizarre things she's faced. She lost count at seven dozen sorties by the enemy, and that had been a long, long time ago.

She knows she's at the absolute limits even of the super-endurance that the Crown of Tara bequeaths her. Her arms are like lead, her legs shaking with fatigue. Her curvy five foot two 32D-25-39 frame is drenched with sweat, her long dark hair plastered down with it. Her big, dark eyes, normally lustrous and alert, are dull and filmed with fatigue and hopelessness; her full, pouty lips are parted as she breathes through her mouth, sucking in as much oxygen as she can manage. Her golden vambrace had been so dented by fending off enemy blows that she tossed it aside some time back. She stumbles forward, completely aimless now. Right about now she's wishing she'd stuck with the life of a privileged co-ed socialite as plain old Zana Zadian.

What makes it all worse is the constant jangling of her nerves by the Gift of Tara, the danger sense called the Womyn's Intuition that at the outset had been a useful warning of incoming attacks. Enemy to the left! Two to the right! it would tell her, and she'd greet them with fists flying. But the further she's gone into the endless maze of the tunnels, the more its message has simply become a drumbeat of ever-increasing danger, a perpetual warning of unseen enemies gathered in ever-greater numbers just out of sight. It's become draining, wearying... and frightening. It's given her the feeling of being small, vulnerable prey in a den of monsters. Her nerves and her confidence are so badly-shot that she's actually considered taking the artifact off... if she didn't know she'd collapse without its power holding her up.

“Tygris!” she calls out. “Lariette!” She'd given up calling to her friends a while ago, but can't think of anything else to do at this point.

Glamazon jumps as she hears a skittering sound in the darkness nearby – accompanied by the constant Danger! Enemies! Danger! Enemies! warnings of her Womyn's Intuition – and can hear the movements and smell the omnipresent reek of the tunnel-dwellers all around her. She can feel their evil, shadow-veiled eyes on her, boring into her barely-legal flesh. At first she'd thought they were homeless men... but they're something far more, something far worse. And there seem to be infinite numbers of them. The only reason they haven't overwhelmed her at this point is obviously that they're toying with her.

Suddenly, though, she hears something new up ahead. It's the echoing sound of a voice, speaking... overlapping, but somehow all the same voice. And accompanied by other sounds, too, weird and disquieting, of slapping flesh and muffled feminine moans. Maybe it's the cheerleaders? In the exhausting battle for survival in the dark, Glamazon had almost forgotten them. In any case, it's a change. Warily, she takes a turn down the tunnel toward the sounds, the vast derelict transport corridor echoing with the clip-clopping of her stiletto heels.

After a moment, she finds herself picking up the pace as her Womyn's Intuition warning suddenly changes. Doom! Evil! Rape! Doom! it jangles along the fearful teen heroine's nerves in precise time with a sudden rush of massed footsteps in the darkness behind her. It sounds like an army! Horrified, she realizes the things that have been stalking and toying with her in small groups have decided to rush her! Letting out a little whimper of dread, she summons up her last reserves of energy to break into a run, every molecule of her just trying to get away from the awful fate her Intuition is drumming into her mind and body.

Then, in only moments, she rounds the curve of this latest tunnel... and sees the source of those sounds she heard. She clatters to a halt, her lovely mouth wide in an “O” of amazement. She's found her friends... and wishes she hadn't!

A hellish scene of depravity confronts her as her Womyn's Intuition shrieks the obvious through her body: Doom! Evil! Rape! Doom! There are dozens on dozens of the tunnel-dwellers to be seen, their raddled, scrawny, sore-speckled, grimy and greasy hobo's bodies completely naked and enormous cocks bobbing in front of each of them like yardarms; the creatures all show the same bizarre, inhuman movement as the ones she's been fighting against, and they all have unnatural shadows clinging to them, especially to their faces. They're in multiple disorderly lines that look for all the world like perverse queues of customers at a fairground waiting to climb on a ride.

And it's not far from the truth. Clearly visible at the heart of the tunnel, in the midst of those lines, are Tygris and Lariette.

Lariette is on her back, her legs in the air and her Lasso of Concord clearly tied around her neck and her arms underneath her, huge pricks stretching all her wet orifices as her sweet young body jerks like a rag-doll under their brutal thrusts, her freckled flesh slathered with sweat and spunk and her eyes rolling back in her head in a semi-conscious swoon. The barely-legal blonde gives an exhausted squeal around the prick poling her throat as her body tenses up and her teen pussy clutches and soaks its vicious, filthy invader with the copious juices of orgasm.

Tygris, her body-thong ripped from her naked form, her cat ears askew and her face and tits and ass dripping with slimy jism, is even more terrifying: the mocha-skinned, bubble-butted hottie isn't tied with anything, and her green eyes are glazed with animalistic cock-hunger under her mask as she crouches over one of the tunnel-dwellers, slamming her sloppy wet cunt down on its massive prick with enthusiasm as her poop-chute is crudely plundered from behind by one of its mates, her soft ass rippling with each jarring thrust into her tightest place. There's a cluster of them gathered around her face as she grabs and wanks and sucks greedily on their poles with almost desperate abandon even as miserable shame registers on her lovely features... and then Glamazon watches in astonishment as one of them bends over to present its filthy asshole for a rimming, and the moaning Tygris leans forward and sticks her pink tongue deep in its noisome orifice without a second's hesitation.

The weird voice seems to migrate through the crowd of tunnel-dwellers as they abuse, or wait their turn to abuse, the shattered young heroines. * Take it – suffer – hate it – take it – all is lost, Teen Justice! * she can hear, and other things to that effect as the shadowy faces of some parts of the crowd turn toward her. Oh no... she shrinks in fear from the spectacle as her Womyn's Intuition shrieks in her mind: Trapped! Doom! Evil! Rape! Doom! Trapped! The litany freezes her in place, draining the last of her courage as her destiny rushes at her like a freight train.

A moment later, the rushing throng of tunnel-dwellers coming from behind her catches her. Greasy hands grip her arms and her hair: “Noooooo!” she screams in horror before a solid form cannons into her back and bears her brutally to the ground, her face smashing into the concrete floor of the tunnel with a sickening smack!

Wow... you really do see stars... she thinks abstractedly, winded as the world spins around her for a moment. The Crown of Tara's invulnerability powers prevent any real damage but can't block out pain and other sensations or their disorienting effects. She can feel, but can't react, as the things holding her down manipulate her body, ripping and shredding the sweat-soaked mini-dress away, the weight on top of her shifting so they can haul her up and tear it away from her under her plump, naked teen titties. Butterflies of terror flutter inside her as her tender breasts are pressed against the concrete while they haul her goddess-like rump up in the air and forcibly splay her firm thighs, and she feels strips of her dress' fabric being tied around her ankles and wrists in knots she knows she's too exhausted to budge.

Finally she feels the last of her modesty, her precious golden C-string thong, pulled away from where it had nestled along her ass-crack and over her cunny, leaving her feminine treasures utterly exposed, her Brazilian waxed pussy peeping rearwards. Tensing up as she realizes something terrible is about to happen, she belatedly wriggles in an attempt to struggle free, but it's useless. She can only whine helplessly as she feels greasy digits prying her supple, fleshy butt-cheeks wide to expose her tight brown star.

“What are you doing... No... no-hoooo...” Glamazon begs as she feels the broad, blunt head of a masculine member starting to dilate her exposed sphincter. “Not there... you're going to split me apart... no not there not there NOT THERE AAAAAUUUUaaauuuhhh-HHAUUUUGHHHHHHH!” Heedless of her choking cries, the first prick she's ever taken up her barely-legal bunghole rams its way into her insides like a blazing log of agony. “Nnnnauuuuhauughhhh! Uhhhh-uggghhhh-UHHHHH-UHHHHH-UUGHHHHH-UHHHHuuuhhhuuUUUGHHHHH!” she moans as the invader begins to thrust into her, treating her to a brutal anal ravishing so painful that it has her seeing stars all over again. Thanks to the invulnerability radiating from the Crown of Tara, her raped rectum can't even supply any blood to lubricate the atrocious dry-fucking, and the fullest measure of suffering lances from her ass up her spine and throughout her taut body with every stroke. “AUUUUGHHHHHH! AWWWWW-AWWWWW-AWWWWW-AWWWW-AUUUUUHHUUGHHH!”

Her cries skirl even higher and louder as an anonymous hand begins to slash down over her soft, rippling buttocks in time with the pumping rhythm of her anal rapist. Squealing and bawling as she's spanked and pounded like a prison bitch, the bound beauty is barely conscious of the hands grabbing her hair and twisting, repositioning her head on the concrete with her wide-open mouth pointing upward. Only when the rotten stink of hobo cock fills her nostrils and the equally repulsive flavor of spongy, homeless man-flesh slides over her tongue does she realize it's her fate to be drilled at both ends. “MMMMNNNNGHHHHH! NNNGHHHHNGHHHHH! GGGLLLLNNNGHHHH! AGHHLCCKHHHH! NNNNGGGHNNNGHHHHNGGGHHH!” she sobs as the second cock plugs her throat, her body automatically retching from the stink and the nauseous reaction of her gag reflex to the pressure on back of her tongue. Convulsing, she feels a wave of bile surge up from her gullet as she tries to vomit – but the pounding prick in her mouth doesn't give way, forcing her to choke most of the burning, bitter fluid back down while some of it bubbles out her nose. “UUUGGGGLLCKKKKH! ANNNGHHLCCCKKKHH! GLLACKKHHH!”

Beaten! Trapped! Fucked! Doom! comes the helpful warning of her Womyn's Intuition as the brutalization continues. The tunnel-dweller in her ass is fucking it so viciously that a normal woman would be bleeding already. The accompanying slaps on her rump, far from being light and playful, would have already bruised any girl not wearing the Crown of Tara. But she has protection from the damage, not the pain, and the pain is too much... Glamazon can feel unconsciousness mercifully beckoning as her whole world becomes a hell of force-fucked physical suffering. She hovers at the edge of it... but frustratingly, her powers afford her just enough protection that she can't plunge into the shelter of oblivion. Beaten! Fucked! Cock! Too much cock! Doom!

Then the ass-slaps relent as a weird voice speaks to her from overhead. At first she doesn't register what it's saying, but then she realizes it's not just the disjointed, horrific pseudo-speech she'd heard from the crowd. It's speaking to her. * I trust you're enjoying my hospitality, Glamazon,* it's saying from the mouth of the creature fucking her throat. * I'm known as the Nightmare, and I've brought you and your friends here for an important purpose. Would you like to know what that is?*

“NNNNnnnNNGGANNGHH GLLLAACHKKKHH UHHHhhhhh-GHHLCKHHH,” she answers miserably as her spit slops out around its pistoning prick, her eyes wide with terrified bewilderment. She feels a momentary, giddy urge to bite its cock off, but the fear of what might happen to her in the wake of such an action tamps the urge back down.

* The Devilettes you followed here are in my final training chamber, * the voice says conversationally as the creature gives an extra-hard thrust of its hips, the cock sliding even deeper down its choking victim's throat. * Their minds are in the final stages of being broken so that when their bodies awake, their conscious selves will also belong to me. Teen Justice will shortly join them. And there is another who will follow you, as you followed the cheerleaders. All of you will be broken. All of you will be mine. *

“Annnngggllhhhh-ANNNNGLLLHHH,” gurgles Glamazon tearfully in reply. Wait, she thinks with sudden hope. Does that mean this is just... just a dream?

* You are now hoping that because you are not in the waking world, you'll return and all of this will never have happened,* says the Nightmare as if reading her mind. * But you are not in your dream. You are in mine, and I dream true. I dwell where the dream and the real are one, and what happens to your dream-self here, happens in the 'real' world. Be assured, this, * and it pauses to let her savor the redolent nastiness of its cock on her tastebuds as she continues to jerk and jolt under her painful, vicious anal pummelling: * Is very 'real.' *

“NnnnnnNNNGHLLACCKKKHHH-GLLLUCKHHHH-NNNGHLLACKKHHH...”

* Good. I am pleased you understand. * As the creature talks, one of its companions hands it an item: an eyedropper, filled with clear fluid. As it reaches down and holds one of her eyes open while she shrinks from its grip, it adds: * Now I will motivate you to give me something that I need. Comply with my demands and I may show you mercy. You see, there is an outside party attempting to interfere with my work. * Drip, drip, drip. Glamazon's eyes sting as fluid from the eyedropper goes into one, and then the other. * You know her. She attempted – and obviously failed – to train your group. And neither of your companions know what I need... I have questioned them thoroughly. *

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! She squeals into the mouthful of nasty dick as the creature raping her inflamed, painfully distended bunghole picks up its pace and lands a few more violent slaps on her quivering, rippling ass-flesh. The world has turned into a burning blur from the liquid seeping into her blinded eyes. Even so, she feels a jolt of hope: he's talking about Luminata! Is it possible they could yet be saved? The hope flowers for a bright split second before her danger sense crushes it: Sucking dick! Ass pounded! Spanked! Helpless! Evil! Rape! Cocks! Doom!

* The drug now seeping through your optic nerve and into your brain is fast-acting, * the Nightmare continues. * Your body will begin to respond to it almost instantly. It came from a truck full of discontinued drugs in what you call the 'real' world. The inhabitants of these tunnels stole them before they came under my dominion... and now here they are. * She chokes and gurgles as it thrusts extra-deep, its balls resting flush on her chin as its stink overwhelms her and nearly makes her swoon. * This particular drug was discontinued because of a side-effect: it was found to cause a disorder called Permanent Genital Arousal in human women. *

“NNNNnnngggGLLNGHHHH...” she moans, fervently praying that the tingling sensation already starting to rise in her young cunt is due to suggestion and nothing more.

* This drug will make you permanently wet and sensitive and ready... any stimulation will bring you off... but orgasm will only heighten the sensation, it will not relieve it, * reports her throat-fucking captor matter-of-factly. * Before long you will begin to ache with the discomfort, then to burn with it. Soon, sex will be the last thing you want. You will in fact want nothing more than the mercy of having your labia and clitoris amputated to make the agony stop. But the sex will not stop, * the pumping of the prick into her salivating mouth picks up to emphasize this: * Only the antidote will relieve your suffering. And you can only have the antidote... if you tell me Luminata's weakness. *

“NNNNnnnnghhhhh.... NNNNGhhhhhglllnnggghhhh...” comes Glamazon's muffled moan of denial. No... can't let them break me... I can still... still fight... But she can already feel the drug's effects beginning to work. The pistoning, plundering pole in her poop-chute is starting to feel subtly different, a kind of warm pleasure pulsing out from the shaft along with the pain. A warm, full, wet and sensitive sensation is starting to build in her tight teenaged twat, and she shudders as with each perverted thrust of the cocks in her ass and her throat, she can feel the sensitivity in her pussy growing more acute, her sweet nectar starting to speckle her inner thighs even as her stomach convulses nauseously at the mere thought of becoming sexually aroused in the midst of this cruel, disgusting double-rape.

Still the feeling builds... and builds... and builds. Pussy hot! shrieks her Womyn's Intuition unhelpfully, deepening her despair as her resistance begins to crumble. Pussy dripping! Ready to burst! Helpless! Buttfucked! Ready to cum! Doom!

* Yes, you can feel it, * says the Nightmare dispassionately above her, the speed of its thrusts into her mouth picking up their pace and getting jerkier, the cock in her ass likewise pounding her dank brown depths more and more rapidly. * Your body is ready to begin. And so... begin. *

“NNGCCKKHHHHH!” she chokes as the cock in her mouth starts to jump and twitch obscenely, filling her throat with vile, hot goo that she's forced to gag down while the love gun in her ass, driven balls-deep and lodged there by her backdoor banger, pulses and swells and fills her bowels with bullet after bullet of slimy spunk. Glamazon holds as still as she can while the revolting double helping of hobo jism fills her degradingly at either end like a cheap whore. Once it would have been a worse horror than anything she could imagine, but now, as she endures it miserably, her whole being is tensed against an even more terrifying threat: the dreadful ache in her sopping snatch. Got to hold still... got to keep from cumming... got to concentrate... can't let it happen... got to keep from...

Then the creature in her mouth pulls out, leaving her gasping and retching as spunk dribbles out of her mouth on to the concrete; and tunnel-dweller behind her, its prick spent, pulls out, and the bound brunette babe can feel a stream of its spew slop out of her widely-gaped asshole, dripping down over her quivering cunt lips. She grits her teeth, trying vainly to rally her shattered will to face the next onslaught, but there's no preparing for what happens next: one of the creatures lands a hard smack right between the heroine's legs, its grimy paw slapping the full length of her exposed, dripping cunny!

“AWWWWHAAAWWWWW!” she bawls, her body convulsing wildly as the painful pussy-spank sends her over the edge. Her saturated fuck-hole explodes juicily, spraying girl-cum like a geyser as she spasms and shudders and squeals in horror as her drugged body betrays her. “OH MY GAAAWWW-HAAWWWD AHHHHHHH! AHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHH!” The clenching of her hot, wet cunt and the humiliation of the accompanying squirts goes on and on and on as her Womyn's Intuition shrieks a counterpoint of horror in her fracturing mind: Cumming! Cumming! Can't stop! Cumming! Dirty bitch! Squirting! Can't stop! Cumming! Doomed!

Finally the spasms subside... but as the reeling Glamazon sees another tunnel-dweller moving into position to fuck her face, feels another set of hands prying her fabulous ass-cheeks open to get at her tight, sore bunghole, she realizes that what the Nightmare said was true. The orgasm hasn't done anything to soothe the full, dripping, aching need in her young cunt. Indeed she's already trembling on the brink of another caterwauling climax! Feeling her sugar walls shudder in frightful anticipation, she knows it'll take only the slightest touch on her twat to send her over the edge again!

* I see in your eyes that you are beginning to understand the truth, * says the Nightmare's voice from above her, now coming through the mouth of the fat tunnel-dweller about to shove its prick in her mouth. * Why resist? Give me what I want and I will give you the antidote. *

Sniffling miserably, Glamazon presses her lips together and shakes her head in mute denial. Luminata is like a big sister to the girls of Teen Justice. Their mentor, their friend... whom she's bitterly regretting not having listened to more. I can't betray her, she thinks to herself. I can't! I've got to hold out... Luminata's coming, and someone else too. He's afraid of them... I've got to hold out until they save us!

* As you wish. *

Strong, sinewy hands grip her jaw, twist her head and painfully force her mouth open to receive a fresh plugging of pungent hobo dick even as another intrusion of dong starts to stretch out her ass anew, sliding easily in on the river of spunk its predecessor left behind. As the second crude double fucking begins, the loud sounds of slurping and gagging and slapping flesh rising to join the chorus of gang-banged degradation filling the tunnel, it's all Glamazon can do to try to will the wet, throbbing readiness of her teen snatch to the back of her mind. But try as she might, the helpless rookie heroine can't will away the persistent, demoralizing voice of her Womyn's Intuition, as though the Gift of Tara has stopped trying to warn her and is now just lecturing her.

Buttfucked! Throatfucked! Loving it! Dirty bitch! it chants in her head almost mockingly. Pussy dripping! Gonna cum! Wet whore! Dirty bitch! As the litany of doom rams into her mind in rhythm with the hot cocks slamming her orifices, Glamazon feels the last fragments of her resistance crumbling. Tears of shame sting her eyes as she realizes the hopelessness of holding out, as she realizes the forced arousal is still building, still getting worse. She whimpers as the voice of her Womyn's Intuition agrees: Can't hold out! Weak slut! Dirty bitch!

DOOMED!

She's moving almost automatically, the cobwebs of the nameless nightmare she'd been having still clinging to her as she tries to come fully awake. As her heart pounds in time with the insistent honking of the alarm, her hazel eyes flicker wildly, her olive-toned skin glistens with the cold sweat of the nightmare world, and her long, lustrous dark hair forms a sleep-tousled cloud around her head. Her voluptuous-but-athletic frame is clad only in a tiny blue thong and matching tube top that struggles to restrain her bouncing, jutting breasts as she races to burst into the Situation Room itself.

And no wonder. They're being raped! All of them! The coed hotties are sobbing helplessly as glossy shafts of what look to be truly enormous black cock-meat thrust crudely and repeatedly into their tight, vulnerable holes, stretching open their wet pussies or inexperienced, inflamed asses. Who the cocks belong to isn't clear – the members are so long and thick that there's no chance of the sobbing beauties taking them all the way in, and their owners are still invisible out of frame. But it doesn't matter. Judging from the way the cheerleaders' eyes are blank with pure incomprehension, the violation is more than any of the girls is mentally equipped to handle. Their young bodies jerk and jolt in time with the plundering pricks whose piston action makes their perky titties jiggle; gasping, the heroine watching them feels her own pussy-muscles clenching in sympathy, her tight slit moistening, the awful rhythm of punishment sending a chill of sympathetic dread through her.

The images on the other half of the monitors are more chilling yet. Some of them show dark derelict tunnels dappled with moonlight coming from holes in their ceilings. On others, she can one of the tunnel intersections being swarmed by a throng of what look like hundreds of homeless men... but their movements are somehow weird and wrong, and they're clumped by the dozens in a trio of overlapping rings around something or someone – or some group of someones – who're obscured in the middle of the filthy mass. Frowning, Miss Adventure looks closer: and gasps as she catches clear sight of three young girls in masks wriggling and writhing under the jerking hips and pistoning pricks of some of the hoboes! One, a blonde, looks barely-conscious as she passively jerks and flops under the lustful pumping motions of the rapist mob; another, a bubble-butted mocha-skinned hottie with cat ears perched on her head, is sucking and fucking with apparent abandon but with tears staining her cheeks and a look of deep, exhausted shame in her green eyes; another, an equally rich-bodied brunette with big dark eyes under her gold mask, is bound head down on the concrete with her head twisted at a painful angle to receive a throat-fucking, a long line of scabrous scum waiting to replace the one now brutally pounding her poop-chute while she squirts out helpless orgasmic pleasure!

Heroines! thinks Miss Adventure. It's logical to assume they must have sounded their personal alarms just before their capture, so the girls must be Masked Avengers-trained, but she doesn't recognize them. Must be new. Whoever they are, they need help.

“Computer,” says Miss Adventure aloud in her husky voice. “Identify source of feed.”

SOURCE UNKNOWN, replies the computer. STREAMED VIDEO FROM ENCRYPTED SOURCE.

“Shit.” A sense of urgency seizes her. With the Adventurist out of town, the heroes and heroines of the Masked Avengers are depending on his sidekick to be their backup. The rookie teen heroine realizes she's facing her first real test. “Computer, cross-reference images with known architectural data and identify likely location of tunnels,” she commands, leaving the Situation Room's mainframe working as she heads back to suit up.

* * *

Then she sees the framed photo standing beside it, and everything clicks into place. It's a picture of herself standing beside the legendary heroine Luminata, the twenty-something blonde's stunning body shown off to perfection in her cross-shaped white latex harness, her long flaxen hair framing her gorgeous features. With her blue eyes twinkling mischievously under her white mask and a smile always playing over her pouty, bee-stung lips, Luminata can thoroughly dazzle any room. Miss Adventure remembers feeling almost frumpy beside her when the two had posed for that picture – at the trade show or whatever, she can't quite remember where it was – where Luminata had given her the clock as a gift. The Lady of the Light had signed the picture, too:

4 tha Nu Miss A:

Stick close 2 tha Lite!

Luv, Lumi XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO.

Huh, thinks Miss Adventure as she zips up her thigh-highs. Funny coincidence her being on the radio right now... But she's still only half-listening, focused on the very important task of dressing herself. For some reason she finds herself frowning; somehow the skimpiness of her outfit bothers her in a way it hadn't before. She shakes her head to clear the feeling.

“Thanks, Manley,” says Luminata, her voice unusually businesslike with none of its customary playful coquetry. “It's always a pleasure to be here. But I'm afraid I've got to keep it brief. I have an extremely urgent message for one of our listeners.”

“For just one of our listeners?” says the host in evident confusion. “That's awfully unusual, Lumi. Who could it be?”

“It's a message for Miss Adventure.” Jerked out of her absorption in dressing, Miss Adventure looks over at the clock radio again, now with her full attention. “She'll know what this means. Miss Adventure, listen to me carefully. We believe you are under supernal attack. A creature that calls itself the Nightm--”

The broadcast suddenly cuts off in a squeal of staticky feedback. Wincing, Miss Adventure leaps over and switches the radio off. That... that was damn weird, she thinks as she finishes pulling on her gloves. 'Supernal' attack? She looks around her, unsettled, a sudden feeling of deja vu welling up. Is there something... weird going on here? Something wrong?

A sudden, inexplicable urge cuts through her confusion: an urge to pick up the framed picture of herself and Luminata on the nightstand. As she does so, she realizes that her memory of when this picture was taken isn't just foggy. It's nonexistent. The picture... they've never been together at a trade show, she's almost sure of it! This is... this is damned peculiar. Picking it up, she pulls the picture itself out of the frame and, acting on another obscure hunch, looks at the back.

There's writing there, hastily scrawled in black felt:

hes jaming me so Im coming in. east 157^th & Beecher. eyes open & drive carefull, he is every were. DO NOT GO INTO TUNELS ALONE THEIR A TRAP – Luv, Lumi

Eyes wide with amazement at what she's reading, Miss Adventure finds herself looking at her surroundings again, as if expecting a Candid Camera crew to jump out at any moment. But no, this is real. Luminata's trying to communicate with her, and someone or something is trying to stop her. A someone or something who is “everywhere.”

Is it possible? Miss Adventure thinks for the moment about the shadowy cobwebs of nameless nightmares that she's felt clinging to her since she awoke. The strange feelings that fluttered inside her at what she saw on the monitors. The disoriented deja vu gripping her now. And just who or what is the source of that encrypted video stream? Isn't that suspicious? Is what she's seeing there even real? She can't take the chance that it isn't... but the more she thinks about it, the more something about it feels wrong.

Could this be a trick too, then? Couldn't that something or someone masquerade as Luminata just as easily? Miss Adventure bites her lip in thought for a moment, but in the end she has to go with her instincts. It feels like Luminata's trying to help her, to somehow break through to her. She has nothing to trust but that feeling; the only thing for it is to head to East 157^th & Beecher, and find out.

Pulling on her bikini and goggles, suited up and ready to go, Miss Adventure stops in front of the mirror for a moment, realizing what this means: not just her first real mission, but a mission with one of the city's top heroines at her side! She's dressed for the occasion and admires the way her outfit looks on her, the bikini straps just barely holding her full breasts in place, the patriotic theme combining with ultra-sexiness to rivet every eye wherever she goes. To wear this uniform in real action, finally... it's a dream come true. Letting that feeling bolster her confidence and banish her fears, the heroine turns and strides back out to the Situation Room.

* * *

“Computer,” she says briskly as she struts over to the Situation Room's elevator. “Have you isolated any possible locations?”

AFFIRMATIVE, comes the computer's monotone reply. ABANDONED AMTRAK TUNNELS IN WEST OAKS ARE ONLY POSSIBILITY.

“Excellent. I'm taking a detour first, I'll take the Adventure-Cycle. Call it...” she stops in mid-sentence, another weird, inexplicable feeling taking hold of her. She'd been about to say “Call it in to Commissioner Jorgen and call in the cops if I don't check in an hour from now,” but an intense, mysterious wave of fear, and something more than that, is plugging the words in her throat. Maybe Luminata will be able to explain it? “Uhhh,” she finally says: “Just... just wait for my word.” She steps into the elevator, swiftly keying in the access code for the Eyrie's garage.

AFFIRMATIVE, repeats the computer, somehow managing to sound concerned and fatherly as it adds: BE CAREFUL, MISS ADVENTURE.

“Wish me luck,” she replies, her thoughts intent on the weird events swirling around her, absent mindedly flipping a salute at the empty Situation Room as the elevator doors slide shut.

As she gets into the city, though, she remembers Luminata's warning. Drive careful, he's everywhere. Moderating her speed as she weaves through the streets, she tunes out the normal chatter of awestruck mere-mortals drooling over her goddess-like body... but she also catches disquieting glimpses of something else. Shadowy, strange figures sometimes dance at the periphery of her vision. At one intersection she spies a wiry-haired, rag-clad hobo standing under a streetlamp, his face cloaked in shadow, and comes awfully close to causing an accident as she realizes she's seen him on the video feed – but luckily her cautious rate of speed allows her to stop short of running a red. When she looks back over, the figure is vanished. Curiouser and curiouser, she thinks uneasily.

Finally she pulls up to the corner of East 157^th and Beecher, a location surrounded by adult bookstores and sleazy peepshows and run-down room-by-the-hour motels. Strange choice for a meetup, she thinks, but the thought's banished when she catches sight of Luminata herself. The blonde heroine is idling on her own bike at the corner – a sleek white Vespa – and is limned in the white radiance of her powers, standing out from the tawdry surroundings like an angel come to earth in a rubbish tip. Raising her hand in greeting, she beckons Miss Adventure over, and with her heart thumping, the rookie teen heroine complies, gliding the Adventure-Cycle side by side. She draws courage from the warm, welcoming smile of her fellow-heroine.

“Glad you could make it, Miss A,” says Luminata. “Feeling a little confused?”

“Oh yes,” replies Miss Adventure with feeling. “I appreciate your getting in touch with me, but I wasn't sure what your message meant... I'm not really sure what any of this means...”

“I understand. Here.” Luminata cuts her bike's engine and swings a long leg over the vehicle as she dismounts. “I want you to see something.”

A puzzled Miss Adventure follows her lead, trailing after the tall blonde bombshell as they walk to a nearby building. It's an adult theatre with a flashing GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS! neon sign and posters of upcoming features splashed luridly across its doors. As Luminata draws close, her bright presence throws the posters into sharp relief... and Miss Adventure gasps.

Most of the half-dozen posters show fairly conventional dirty movies with familiar boring titles: “Teen Amateurs” and “Carnal Coeds” and several titles revolving around the word “Anal.” But the poster in the centre, largest and flashiest of the lot, stands out. BEAUTIES AND THE BEAST! is the title splashed across the top, and on the poster itself...

“Oh my God,” breathes the teen sidekick as she takes in the images.

“God has nothing to do with it, believe me,” says Luminata grimly. “What you're seeing right now are plans. The plans of a fiend. For all intensive purposes it's a shot across our boughs.”

In the middle of the poster is a horrifying creature – a creature composed, it seems, mostly of inky-dark, slickly shining oil, with dreadful glowing red embers for the eyes in its massive misshapen head. It's enormous, or at least is presented that way, its frame massive. Weird bulges can be seen under its skin, and as Miss Adventure watches she swears she can see them moving, shifting, wriggling. The vague shapes of human faces, distorted in anguish, or of howling dogs or wide-mawed rats. The faces churn slowly, surfacing and disappearing and surfacing again.

From the creature's lower abdomen sprouts a forest of tentacular members of enormous length, each of them thick and penis-shaped. Miss Adventure instantly thinks of the weird dark members she saw violating the Devilettes on the “video feed.” The tentacles radiate out around the creature, and each of them has something in its grip, or rather someone. And the someones are instantly recognizable. The red letters STARRING are nested in the centre of the tentacle cluster, and each of the “film's” stars are named.

At the top left is a fresh-faced, freckle-dusted blonde cutie with short hair, a terrified look in her masked eyes and her limbs tied spread-eagled by a silver-colored lasso as her shredded little bikini-cowgirl outfit shows off her firm, sexy young body and splayed, spunk-dripping pussy and asshole: “Roxy Raige as LARIETTE!”

Centre-left is a mocha-skinned knockout with her legs wrapped around an oily black tentacle and its cock-headed end shoved in her drooling, eagerly-sucking mouth, her cat ears askew on her Bettie Page-styled coiffure and her amazing curves naked and glistening: “Lena Luxor as TYGRIS!”

Bottom left is an olive-skinned brunette with big, dark flashing eyes under a golden mask, sporting long lustrous hair and looking in what seems to be wide-eyed agony over her shoulder at the viewer as one of the tentacles bends her forward in a complicated frogtied knot, its end insinuating itself between her unbelievably full, round ass-cheeks to impale her poop-chute, her pussy-juices squirting and spurting: “Zana Zadian as GLAMAZON!”

On the poster's right, another of the tentacles webs into more than two dozen smaller appendages, each with a tiny, shapely, doll-like female figure in its grasp or impaled on its end, each of the tiny dolls sporting shreds of red cheerlader outfits: “The Newvale University Devilettes as THEMSELVES!”

And finally, directly underneath the dark demon beast and in the foreground lies a buxom form splayed out by a pair of tentacles clamping her wrists to her ankles, her slingshot thong bikini rearranged to leave her full double-D's and tight little snatch exposed and vulnerable, her goggles perched on her head and her eyes wide in a silent plea for help as an oily tentacle stuffs her mouth and yet another plunges brutally into her cunt, obviously popping her cherry in a fountain of blood and pussy juice. “And Featuring Randi Vickson,” the posters says luridly underneath the crude, vicious image: “As the Violated Virgin Vigilante MISS ADVENTURE!”

Looking at the image makes her feel sick to her stomach. Horrified, Miss Adventure turns away from the wall, her insides churning, a strange tingling rising between her legs until she abruptly thrusts it out of her mind. She snarls in disgust: “That's sickness. Just pure... evil... sickness. Gross fantasy.”

“That too,” says Luminata. “But think about it. You've seen the Devilettes being attacked by what looked like black fallopians. How can that image be here, on this poster? You've seen the girls of Teen Justice on your monitors, I saw you recognize them. Is their turning up here a coinstidence?”

“I... I don't know what you mean.”

“Look back at the poster once more.” Miss Adventure feels her gorge rise and starts to protest, but Luminata reassures her: “Just once more, I promise. You need to see this.”

Gritting her teeth, Miss Adventure reluctantly looks back. She gasps as she sees what Luminata means: the poster has changed! Now the right half shows the doll-like figures of the Devilettes even smaller as a new figure appears below them, a blonde beauty limned in white light, slumped on her knees with one tentacle wrapping her arms behind her back and slithering down under the crotch of her white latex harness to plunder her immaculate pink pussy, a second tentacle invading her mouth as she looks with shocked horror up at the beast that's claimed her. “Bessa Blake,” says the poster, “as LUMINATA!”

“What the hell...” Miss Adventure breathes.

“Our enemy knows I've entered the dream, that I'm here with you and trying to help you,” Luminata replies calmly. “He's denouncing his plans for me, sending a message.”

“Entered the dream...” Miss Adventure nods as the pieces click into place. “We're in a dream right now, you mean. None of this is real, that's how the poster is changing. That's why none of this feels right.”

“It's also how your real name turns up there,” says Luminata. “And mine, and Teen Justice's. The enemy is in contact with our subconscience minds. He's constantly fettering out information, looking for ways to use it to twist our dreams against us.”

“You mean like my being a...” As she tries to say the word, Miss Adventure finds her eyes drawn back to that rude representation of her and she's forced to turn away again.

“A virgin, that's right.” Luminata's voice is compassionate.

“Well then... how is any of this a big deal? Why don't we just wake up?”

“It's not that simple,” says the blonde heroine, shaking her head with regret. “You see, the Nightmare starts by entering your dreams and trapping you in an ever-worstening circle of... well, nightmares. Right now you're having weird feelings of deja view, right?” Miss Adventure pauses for a moment, then sees what Luminata means and nods with a chill of understanding. “Right, that means you've been through several of these circles already. The Nightmare is careful to keep you trapped by making every new nightmare seem like you're just waking up. So things that would normally break you out of a dream, like dying in the dream, don't work.”

“But it's still my dream. I should be able to... to make it go my way, right?”

“If you're limpid dreaming and know you're under attack from the start, yeah,” Luminata nods. “But the Nightmare has ways of undermining that. He mines your subconscience for hidden fears and weaknesses and tricks your own mind into building the dream around them. The further you're drawn into the nightmare circle, the more power he has to manimpulate things.”

“Oh.” Miss Adventure nods, a chill of fear starting to goose-pimple her soft skin as she looks around at the night streets. “And then what?”

Luminata's warm radiance grows brighter as she comes to stand beside the teen rookie. “After he weakens you enough,” she says quietly. “He draws you out of your dream and into his. Somehow, his dreams are different.”

“Different?”

“Yeah, like... like he lives on some kind of weird, uhhhh, dementional plane that intersexes our world octogonally.” Luminata sounds like she's struggling to quote something half-remembered; as Miss Adventure gives her a curious look she smiles a self-deprecating but still reassuring smile. “Sorry, I don't really remember the theory all that well. I guess I didn't listen as much as I could've when Doctor Light taught me how to use the telepathetic part of the Light of Truth powers. I didn't think I'd need them, then. I was planning to just zap the bad guys with laser beams and that would be it.”

Miss Adventure nods, returning the smile wanly. “How about the laygirl's version, then?”

“Okay, well... basically, in the Nightmare's dream world, what happens becomes real. Someone who dreams of getting cut on the arm will wake up with a cut on their arm in real life. Someone who dreams about flying to Scotland might actually wake up in Scotland. Nobody's totally sure how the translation works.” Luminata hesitates for the first time, then says: “You sure you want to hear the rest?”

“Whatever I need to know to beat this thing,” replies Miss Adventure without hesitating.

“Alright then. So... once you're in his realm the Nightmare's goal is to break any mental convection you had with the real world, or with your own dreams. Basically he tries to... well, to break your mind. Then he can ensume you, make you part of him... and use you any way he wants to. In the real world and in his dream one.”

Miss Adventure thinks of the tormented faces she saw bubbling under the Nightmare's oily skin, and she thinks of the shadowy hobo she saw under the streetlamp, and she thinks of those disembodied black members raping the Devilettes and the bizarre horde of homeless she saw gang-banging Teen Justice. She shivers. “That's what's happening in the tunnels right now.”

“That's right, in the tunnels. They're a representavity of Nightmare's plane. It's happening to the Devilettes, and my poor girls from Teen Justice, too. I tried to talk them out of going into the field, but they didn't listen. And now we have to stop Nightmare from pulling you in with them.”

Still, something doesn't sit quite right: “So... he seriously wants to use us to make porn? That's all he could come up with?”

“The Adventurist thinks it's for blackmail, actually. Rich parents in Teen Justice's case, and the Adventurist himself in yours.”

Miss Adventure's heart leaps with sudden joy. If there was one name that could kickstart her hope and confidence, that's the one she would pick! “You mean, Mister A's here too? Where?” she starts to crane around excitedly.

Luminata puts an affectionate arm around her shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “No, honey, he's back in the real world, watching over you,” she says. “He asked me to help you when he had trouble waking you up after sixteen straight hours of sleeping. Mister Mentalist's off in Brazil, so I was the only other telepath around.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” The sidekick's disappointment is mild compared with the knowledge now shining warmly within her. With the Adventurist himself watching over her, protecting her, this Nightmare creature cannot prevail. She knows it for certain. She suddenly doesn't fear looking back at the poster and meeting the red eyes glowering out from it. You're in for it now, you piece of shit, she promises it mentally, a grim smile flitting across her beautiful features. With the Adventurist in my corner, I'm stronger than you'll ever be. “So... blackmail, huh? That doesn't seem very creative either.”

“Mister A thinks the Nightmare has real-world needs,” replies Luminata. “The people and the animals he processes still have to be fed to carry out his will, and they can't live entirely on dream food and petty theft. Also we think he has bigger plans yet that need real-world remorses, though what those plans are, we're not sure.” Luminata's radiance brightens as she adds: “And we're not waiting to find out. The first odour of business is to free you from this creature's grip and get back to the waking world.”

Miss Adventure nods resolutely. “How do we do it?”

“We go into the trap the Nightmare was setting for you, and turn it around on him.” Luminata grins at her. “With your mental and emotional strength rejubilated and the Light of Truth to protect us, it's the Nightmare who'll be the underdog, not us. He'll send his creatures at us, try to chase us into the tunnels and into his dream... and we'll send them all packing until he can take no more. And once you're back in the real world, you and me and the Adventurist can track down where the real bodies of the Devilettes and Teen Justice are. There may still be a way to save them. You game?”

The busty teen sidekick grins sunnily. “I'm not called Miss Adventure for nothing, Lumi. I'm ready.”

“Alright... let's saddle up!”

As the pair of shapely heroines climb back on their bikes and get ready to take the fight to the evil dream-stalker, Miss Adventure feels brimming over with confidence and power. Nightmare, she thinks. You bit off more than you can chew this time! It's time for you to meet the real Miss Adventure!

“Ahhhhawwwwwww!” bawls Glamazon exhaustedly as the rope snaps down on her dripping snatch again, wrenching another sweetly agonizing orgasm from the helpless heroine's squirting love tunnel as she struggles to keep crawling forward on all fours. Sobbing as she feels her painfully cramping cunt muscles clutching again, praying for the ordeal to be over, she tries miserably to keep moving through the horrid, almost mechanical 'pleasure' as the rope cracks down again, this time across her soft upthrust ass. “AWWWWhhaaawwww!”

The brutal gang-bang had gone on for what seemed like an eternity, cock after cock violating every wet hole of the defeated Teen Justice trio over and over again, noisome spunk spurting all over their taut flesh and pretty faces and sliming their bowels and their wombs and their gullets.

Lariette would plainly have passed out long before, but the creatures holding her kept overriding her body's pain and exhaustion by simply instructing her to stay awake through the will-crushing power of her own Lasso; the young blonde's baby blues were uncomprehending of the hellish world around her, her cries of torment weak and muted as the rapes went on and on and on and sweet oblivion remained elusive.

Tygris had at first seemed almost as eager for the fuck as the creatures plowing her, wriggling and begging for it like an animal in heat, willingly sucking down load after load from their sweaty balls; but there came a point when she started to beg them to stop, tried to tell them she was too raw to keep cumming, that she needed rest. But the tunnel-dwellers had shown no mercy, simply force-fucking the mulatto slut's hot holes even harder as more and more of them came out of the darkness. Her pussy kept giving up squelching, squirting tribute in time with the crude wet farting noises emitted by her pummelled asshole, her cries growing more agonized, her begging growing more frantic with every violation until she was reduced to wordlessly yowling out a bewildered mixture of agony and ecstasy.

Glamazon had had no time to feel pity for the plight of her friends. She had struggled to keep up her resistance to the Nightmare's evil demand through a second brutal round of ass-rape, then a third, then a fourth, then a fifth... but as each violation climaxed with hot sticky eruptions of spew up her tight butt and down her throat, she found herself driven effortlessly to orgasm again and again. The last time, it was simply the feeling of the copious quantities of jism slopping out of her abused ass and over her cunt that sent her over the edge; the slap of her rapist's still-stiff prick against her hot-button clit only dragged out the sweet agony even more. The hunger in her cunt grew worse each time, as had been promised, until it was more pain than pleasure – and all the while the increasingly-disgusted voice of her patron goddess Tara in her mind, echoing from the Crown around her neck, had hectored her. Filthy slut! Worthless bitch! Weak whore! Cumming again! it screamed louder and louder in her mind, breaking her all the faster, not seeming to comprehend that it was the drug producing her shameful squirting, her slutty cock-muffled piglet squeals as her amazing ass was plundered over and over again.

Finally one of them had lined up its hot, throbbing cockhead with the mouth of her sopping twat and plunged it home. The direct stimulation of her greedy gash, the balls slapping her erect clit, the divine full feeling as the prick stretched out her young sugar walls and explored her inner depths, all of it drove her into a writhing fit of multiple orgasm that very nearly made her pass out. As she'd come to with another cock spearing her tight, wet quim, the orgasms were even more intense. And finally as they'd untied her from her original contorted position, bound her hands behind her and forced her down cunt first on a hot throbbing prick, then held her in place as a second thick member pushed into her ass, she'd lost control utterly, going wild as the pricks pounded both her holes, babbling hysterically as the intense waves of orgasm raised the pitch of need in her pussy even higher, and higher, and higher with every shuddering, squirting spasm.

At last the moment had come when it was too much, when the prospect of the next fuck roused genuine terror in her and her needy, saturated slit seemed like a molten torture cut into her crotch. The moment finally came when she started to betray her friend and mentor. When she sold out Luminata.

Even now, through the shame and horror of that terrible moment, she can't remember exactly what she said: she just started babbling out every piece of information she could think of, what she ever remembered seeing Lumi eating, or wearing, or doing, everything she'd ever heard about her. All the while the Crown of Tara shrieked damnation in her mind: Traitor! Low whore! Unworthy slut! Be damned! But she'd ignored it. Her need for the antidote was too acute, and every once in a while after blurting out everything about Luminata she could think of to say, she would beg for it, not caring how pitiful she sounded. “Please... please, the antidote please I can't take any more you promised...”

The Nightmare had always given her the same answer. * You are doing well. As soon as you've told me what I need, the antidote is yours. * And then she'd be pushed helplessly squealing down onto a new prick, and another turgid fuck-stick would batter its way into her asshole, and she would cum and cum and mewl and beg and it would all begin again.

She must never have managed to scream out the piece of information the Nightmare was looking for. Eventually, the gang-banging had stopped, but it hadn't seemed to be because of anything she did or said. The tunnel-dwellers simply started vanishing back into the shadows. Writhing frantically with the burning torment of lust in her cunt, Glamazon began begging more pathetically than ever before for the antidote... but a few remaining tunnel-dwellers simply pulled the cock-shattered, spunk-splattered Teen Justice into a row, tied loops in the Lasso of Concord which they put around each of their necks, and ordered the lot of them to start crawling. * You will not complain and you will not beg – you will crawl, Teen Justice, * the voice of the Nightmare had instructed emphatically: and powered by the Lasso of Concord, the command seared itself into all of them like an electrified lash. They could only quietly, meekly obey.

It seems like they've been crawling forever, Glamazon at the front, Tygris in the middle, Lariette at the rear. Glamazon can hear her mocha-licious friend behind her, mewling as her beautiful, soft ass ripples under playful smacks from the small cluster of tunnel-dwellers escorting them, and knows Tygris has a close-up view of her own ripe young rump getting the same treatment. She's heard the gulping, gasping sounds her friend has made as she's been repeatedly hosed full in the face with warm sprays of sweet Glamazon fuck-nectar every time the tunnel-dweller holding the rope lashes it down over her tormented twat. And with no relief in sight for the agonizing, ever-rising molten lust in her cunt, for the ever-ready multiple climaxes that have become simply painful, humiliating muscle spasms in her quim, Glamazon can feel herself beginning to lose her grip, her mind desperately trying to disengage from the suffering of her tight teen body.

Please... please... mercy... please... she pleads silently in her mind as she whimpers quietly, crawling dispiritedly forward at the tugging of the Lasso. But only the voice of the Crown of Tara answers her, ringing with contempt that makes fresh tears leak down her face: Stupid bitch! Dumb slut! Worthless! Traitor! Be damned!

Finally, their sorry little chain of female flesh arrives at a new destination, a huge vaulted room whose centre is bathed in harsh light. Looking up exhaustedly, Glamazon gasps despite herself.

Chained on the floor in a great writhing mass of naked, sweat-soaked teenaged flesh in that pool of light are the girls Teen Justie had come here to “save,” the Devilettes. With their limbs splayed out at awkward angles, their holes exposed and chains cutting into their soft skin, Glamazon isn't surprised by now to hear the girls whimpering and moaning in time with the violation of their young bodies, their pert titties jiggling with the thrust of stiff members into their tight pussies and asses. It would be a surprise if the Nightmare hadn't indulged itself. But it's the fact of what is raping them that takes her breath away.

The far side of the great, vaulted room is dominated by a gigantic, vaguely humanoid figure at least twenty feet tall and nearly as broad. Its skin is black and oily, seething with lumps that take on disquieting shapes, and black pits radiate malice from what look to be its eyes. From its crotch, huge oily black tentacles, shaped like enormous cocks, are radiating out by the dozen, moving, questing with a will of their own, slithering their way into vulnerable mouths and pussies and poop-chutes as the devastated cheerleaders are forced to take the unnatural appendages again and again. As she watches, she can see one of the tentacles pop out of a slender young blonde's pussy and force its way into her inflamed asshole; a copious oily black discharge seeps out of the whimpering beauty's violated cunt. Looking at the dull, madness-glazed eyes of more than a few of the chained cheerleaders, she can see black oil streaming out from their eyes, their mouths, in a few cases from their noses, their ears... even dripping out of their nipples like milk.

Oh my God... the spectacle of horror is so arresting that for a split second Glamazon manages to forget to tormented heat and pain in her own cunny. And we're next...

All but one of the tunnel-dwellers leaves the escort party now. The raddled, rickety hobo bodies make their strange, jerking way around the orgy of horror in the room's centre and toward the giant black obscenity at its far end. Glamazon blinks as she watches them, one by one, seem to simply vanish into the creature, as if being absorbed into its very skin. In short order, the tunnel-dwellers have vanished as though they've never been, save for the wiry-haired one holding Teen Justice's collective leash.

* They are part of me, * comes the voice of the Nightmare from all around the room, more powerful than ever before. * And now I multiply. Witness. *

Some of the penile tentacles wrap themselves in the chains holding the cheerleaders. Pulling, they yank the metal restraints away from the Nightmare's coed captives with ease, tossing the chains out into the darkness. The other tentacles finally retract themselves from the plundered prey, rising up in the air like serpents, waving menacingly. For a while, the cheerleaders just lie there silently, as if numb with shock and exhaustion.

But then one of them, a gorgeous blonde with a flawless double-D boob job, icy blue eyes and a tiny cleft in her chin, stands up. Her face is expressionless. Only white sneakers and tatters of her Devilette halter top and mini-skirt remain on her body. She's otherwise nude, and pale as death, with black oil seeping down her inner thighs and dripping from her eyes and down her chin. She faces the horrified captive heroines for a moment before turning around, walking calmly toward the oily gargantuan at the far end of the chamber... and vanishing just as the hoboes had done.

One by one, the rest of the Devilettes follow until they're all gone and the centre of the chamber is empty.

* They serve me, now, * reports the Nightmare passionlessly. * As Teen Justice will soon serve. *

With these words, the whimpering teen vigilantes are being pulled by the chained Lasso into the centre of the awful pool of harsh light. They shiver in terror but can make no protest, for the Lasso's injunction is still in effect. All they can do is meekly await their instructions, quietly and numbly sobbing with dread of becoming the kind of horrible spectacle they've just witnessed.

* Teen Justice, * comes the cold instruction of the Nightmare, and it comes through the mouth of the creature holding the Lasso. * Bend over with your faces down, your legs apart and your asses high in the air. You will now submit to my instruction. *

Helpless to do anything but obey, the teens weep silently as they assume the perverted position... and as they watch the tentacles, writhing, begin to quest through the air, moving down to seek out fresh young prey. It suddenly comes completely home to Glamazon, seeing almost a dozen of the tentacles swinging toward her like blind, questing cock-serpents, that prayers for mercy or salvation are pointless. We're in hell, she realizes as black despair wells up to claim her. There's no way out. This is going to happen. We can't ever hope to stop it. It's simply going to happen. She feels briefly as though the realization will bring at least some comfort during what's about to happen.

She is wrong.

Luminata and Miss Adventure roar side by side through the streets of Newvale City, on a date with destiny.

With Luminata at her side, and firm in the knowledge that she's in control of her own dream and her own destiny, Miss Adventure feels like an eagle soaring in search of criminal prey. She notices with satisfaction that, as though the Nightmare has worked out what's happening, there are no more glimpses of shadows or strange visions en route. The enemy is lying low. He's afraid of us, she thinks with satisfaction. And he should be. First I'm getting that bastard out of my head... and then we're hunting him down!

While the trip is slower than the Adventure-Cycle would normally do it – Luminata's Vespa can't compete with a rocket engine and the Lady of the Light couldn't drive at that speed even in dreams – they still make good time to West Oaks, heading for the complex of derelict warehouses above the maze of equally derelict AMTRAK tunnels the Situation Room computer had pinpointed earlier. Luminata explains as they ride, her voice cutting dreamily through the rushing wind, that this is where the Nightmare will make his play, trying to pull them down into the tunnels and thus both symbolically and actually pull them down into his hellish dream/reality. “But we're going to turn that symbology against him!” she adds. “We'll pull the whole building down on his head, and seal up the door from his world into your mind. That way we can wake you normatively.”

Miss Adventure nods. “And how do we pull the whole building down?”

“Just believe in yourself,” says Luminata. “It's your dream, remember?”

Miss Adventure laughs out loud. This would all seem like a perfectly mad idea in the real world, but here, in the confines of her own mind, it somehow makes sense. And the adrenaline rushing in her veins makes it easy to ignore the usual crowds of onlookers gawking at the gorgeous heroines as they turn every head during their progress. Funny how the world is full of rubberneckers even in my dreams, she thinks. I wonder what my therapist would make of that. I'll have to ask her when this is all over.

As they pull into the byways of West Oaks, though, the crowds of onlookers vanish, replaced by eerily silent streets strewn with rubbish, overlooked by boarded-up tenements. A dark oppression wells back up; the empty stares of shattered windows remind Miss Adventure of the dark eye-pits she'd seen on that horrid poster. She shivers, but reminds herself: It's my dream. I'm in control here. My dream.

After a few more twists and turns, Luminata points to a huge structure at the end of a long street in front of them. “That's it,” she says. “That's where we return the tide.”

Miss Adventure looks the building over as the heroines power down their bikes and dismount. She notes the faded sign over the entrance that says Gateway Warehousing & Distribution and wonders vaguely whether that curious coincidence is her own contribution, or the Nightmare's. Stretching her senses out in a web around her, she senses hints of movement in the abandoned building. Sounds that could be rats... or something else. Limbering up, readying herself for battle, she says: “Okay, how do want to do this?”

Luminata shrugs. “Let's take a look at the floor plan.”

“Floor plan? We don't have a floor plan...”

“Check the hidden apartments on your bike.”

Pausing for a puzzled moment, then realizing what her colleague means, Miss Adventure palms open one of the secret compartments on the front of the Adventure-Cycle... and sees a rolled-up paper inside it! Pulling it our, she discovers a long sheaf of blueprint. Too big to fit that compartment, she thinks with amusement, but that doesn't matter in a dream! Rolling it out on the pavement reveals a map labeled “West Oaks Warehousing by Gateway.” “Well I'll be darned,” she says in wonderment. “But I don't know what to look for.”

“Sure you do,” Luminata smiles brightly. “Just go by feel. We want to endamage that warehouse's structuralism so that it'll come down, but leave ourselves some time so we don't get crushed too. Look at that map and let your feelings tell you. Remember, your mind built it, so you know how to admonish it.”

Nodding as if the advice makes sense, Miss Adventure looks the blueprint over. Yes... Yes, I think I see what she means... She sees a few details that stick out, and thinks she might have an instinct for what to do. “Okay,” she says after a moment. “If we... I think if we just go straight in the front door. We cut left and hammer our way through this row of support columns on the west side first, then do the same with the columns on the east side coming back toward the front of the building.” She traces a finger over the blueprint, counting. “Then we just work our way back, hammering out these two central rows of columns and bug out through the rear loading dock while it all caves in.”

“Okay... how many columns is that?”

“A dozen per row, so like... thirty-eight.”

“Alright.” The radiance around Luminata begins to grow brighter, her eyes starting to glow white as she too prepares for battle. With her lithe, incredibly shapely body bathed in light, her platinum-blonde locks glowing almost white, the white strips of latex barely clothing her almost invisible against her pale skin, she looks every inch a heavenly avenger. “Can you handle the columns if I cover you?”

Miss Adventure smiles wolfishly. She thinks back on her kung fu training with the Adventurist. Even in the real world, with the strength of five men and a mastery of mind-over-matter technique at her disposal, she could do it. Here, it should be easy. “Oh yes,” she says. “No problem.”

“Then it's time,” says Luminata. “Let's show the Nightmare who wears the panties around here. Let's show him that his digression will not stand. You ready?”

“Uhhhh, right... yeah, sure. I mean yeah. Yes. Yes, I'm ready – let's do this!”

* * *

CRRASSSH!

Miss Adventure starts off the proceedings with a running kick into the massive door on the front of the warehouse. Faced with her super strength leveraged by perfect technique and an extra helping of dream-confidence, the door can only fly off its hinges in splinters. Luminata steps through the gap first, the Light of Truth pouring out from her now in almost blinding quantities, and Miss Adventure follows close behind, sizing up the situation with her ultra-keen senses. She can hear weird, spidery motion from all over the warehouse, whose interior seems draped in unnatural darkness that resists even the dazzling, heavenly rays lancing out from the Lady of the Light's nubile body. The sounds are definitely not rats. Something, many somethings, larger. Human sized. She can hear human heartbeats, erratic, weirdly faint, but still unmistakable. She can smell human sweat adulterated with a weird, petroleum-like edge.

“He's definitely here,” she says, assuming a well-practised fighting stance. “I'm pretty sure those must be his creatures I'm hearing.”

“I'll keep them back,” says Luminata confidently. “Let's get to work.”

Nodding, Miss Adventure cuts left, making a beeline for the first target support column. Luminata is close behind her, the Light of Truth forming a seemingly impenetrable shield around them, and Miss Adventure is careful to keep her speed moderate to make sure they don't get split up. She can hear footsteps skittering close to the edge of the light, then shying back, and catches a glimpse of a face... a flawlessly beautiful female face that almost stops her in her tracks. A heart-shaped face under black bangs, the eyes dark, horrifically malevolent pits leaking a loathsome black fluid, but otherwise unmistakable as one of the Devilettes! For a split-second, the busty teen heroine's steps falter, but the terrifying face vanishes back into the shadows so quickly that she's unsure of what she's seen.

“What is it?” asks Luminata with concern. “What'd you see?”

After a brief pause, Miss Adventure answers, “Nothing, let's move,” and picks her pace back up, bringing them swiftly to the first column.

The warehouse's support columns are sturdy, half-foot thick concrete, the kind of thing only a madman would dream of hitting with his fist... Or a Masked Avenger! she thinks merrily as she focuses her attention several feet past the object the way the Adventurist taught her to. If you're watching, Mister A, I'm about to make you proud! Coiling her body, Miss Adventure lets loose with a sinuous, focused two-handed axe-handle strike... and CRRRACCKK! A fierce delight rises inside her as she sees the concrete explode into powder at the contact, feeling barely even a twinge in her arms as she demolishes it, a deep groaning sound overhead providing the roof's accompaniment to the overture of violence against its integrity. “YEAAAHHHH!” An atavistic cry of triumph tears loose from her throat as if of its own accord.

Luminata gives a jubilant shout of affirmation from behind her: “Nice one, Miss A! Let's keep going!”

And they do. CRRRUNCHH! CRRACCCK! CCCCKKUNNCHHH! SCHRACCCKKK! Like a beacon-bright wrecking ball, the duo tear through another five columns with an ease and speed that has the obscure, twitching, skittering creatures in the darkness around them moving with ever-increasing agitation. Miss Adventure is sure she hears some high-pitched hisses of frustration out in the shadows as she smashes through another column with a perfectly-placed blow from the blade of her left hand, the groaning from the roof gradually intensifying. This is almost... easy! she thinks, grinning ferociously. I guess the Nightmare can't put up much of a fight against strong, confident women!

As she's thinking it, she hears a tell-tale rush of air in front of her and instinctively ducks backward and down. A moment of shock seizes her as she sees a gray-skinned head with immaculately symmetrical features and cornrows erupt into the Light. She recognizes the Devilettes' African member, her beauty intact but her expression inhuman and distorted with clear agony at making contact with the Light of Truth. Her skin is actually steaming. Nevertheless she hangs in just long enough to open her mouth and...

* HUUUAACCKKKKKHHHHH! *

... several gallons of viscous, vomitous, reeking black fluid spew forth, just splashing the ducking Miss Adventure's shoulder but – the heroine can see as she glances back – catching an open-mouthed Luminata full-on in the face! Shit!

“Guuuuuggggghhhh...” Luminata manages to say as her beautiful features, dripping with the translucent dark slime, freeze in a horror and disgust palpable enough to tell the tale of how much of that necrotic fluid has flooded her mouth. “Unnnnghhhhhh...” Clawing frantically at her own face and throat, the discombobulated blonde beauty suddenly doubles over and retches... and not a second later, the blinding radiance of the Light of Truth suddenly fails and gutters out!

ShitshitSHIT! As the darkness plunges in, a cold sliver of fear lodges in Miss Adventure's gut. But it takes more than darkness to defeat her super-senses. Alright... looks like I'm on cover duty for a second! Stretching out with her hearing and concentrating fiercely, she identifies the sounds of ten different assailants closing in rapidly from all sides, can hear their weirdly erratic heartbeats, their padding, scuttling footsteps, the tension in their muscles. She places them all within the space of a heartbeat.

“Hang in there, Lumi,” she says to her partner... and then explodes into action! The nearest attacker, the African girl who slimed Luminata, is the first to find herself soaring through the air and smacking into a concrete pillar some thirty feet distant. Going by hearing and feel, Miss Adventure rapidly blocks and repels each of the incoming attackers in turn, her mighty punches and kicks and elbows sending them flying, skidding across the concrete, and finally cringing backward altogether with those awful, frustrated hisses. Finally the enemy pulls back into the further recesses of the warehouse, no doubt to regroup. Take that! Miss Adventure thinks, and she shouts out: “Yeah, you better run!”

But the sense of triumph is hollow. She'd been ready, somehow, to fight the scabrous, rapist hobo-creatures she'd seen on the “video feed” from the Nightmare's tunnels. To find herself facing the Devilettes instead – the enemy's most recent and piteous victims – fills her with a kind of nauseated sorrow. Victims though they are, though, they are the enemies of the moment, and she can't help but notice that every one of the cheerleaders she's downed got back up and moved, joined the retreat. They should all have been unconscious. But of course they're not human anymore, she thinks sadly. At least not here.

Returning rapidly to Luminata's side, she's alarmed to find her partner curled into a ball on the concrete, rocking back and forth and shuddering. “Lumi,” she says, feeling the blonde cringe as she touches her shoulder. “Lumi, come on. It's all right. Come on, we need your Light. We need to get this done and get out of here.”

“I'll be okay,” says Luminata in a very small voice, still rocking. “I just... I just need some time in my happy place and I'll be okay... Just... got to visit the happy place... The happy place makes me clean again...”

The sliver of fear in Miss Adventure's gut starts to widen into a cold knife of panic. No, no, no, you cannot go to pieces on me... “Lumi... Lumi!” She stops the rocking with a sharp slap to her friend's face, finally getting Luminata to focus on her. “They're going to be back any second! We need your Light, do you hear me? Without your Light to protect us, it's too easy for them to attack us, you understand? I need you!”

Sniffling and wiping away a chunk of slime from her cheek, Luminata gives a fragile nod. “Yes... yes, I hear you... We... we can't have them rushing us on mass.” Visibly struggling to gather herself, the blonde beauty clenches and unclenches her fists, taking deep breaths. “Sorry. I just... I'm just a little phonic about body fluids. I'll be okay. I'm okay. I'll be okay. I'm... I'm okay.” Her radiance begins to rise around her again as she stands up shakily... but it's weak and wan compared to the angelic brilliance of before. She frowns and seems to concentrate and it rises a bit more, still only to half the wattage of before; but it seems to satisfy her. “I'm okay. Let's... let's move.”

It'll have to do. As they get ready to move toward the next column, Luminata slow and tentative and unsteady behind her, Miss Adventure can already hear their adversaries creeping back toward them. She prays the weakened Light will still be able to hold them at bay for long enough. Just got to get through this... get through this and get the Nightmare on the run!

* * *

Miss Adventure realizes how much strength and confidence she'd been drawing from Luminata's Light of Truth when she tackles the next column, smashing her fist through it. This time, it doesn't feel effortless; though the concrete shatters, it comes at the price of an agonizing, bone-jarring impact that makes her cry out in pain: “HAAAAIII-AGGHHH! FUCK!” She finds herself dancing away from the broken pillar shaking her hand frantically, grimacing. Feels really real, she thinks as she feels the tingling sensation of her healing factor going to work, repairing the minor damage and making her a little light-headed in the process.

“You... you okay?” Luminata's voice is unsteady, fearful. “What happened? You okay?”

“Fine,” grimaces Miss Adventure. Looking at her partner, she can see the blonde beauty's eyes are wide with fright, flickering between her and the teeming darkness around them. Damn... I'm really going to have to carry her through the rest of this. “I'm just fine, Lumi, everything's fine, just fine. Okay? I just have to get back into the rhythm.”

“Okay,” says Luminata, nodding. “Okay.”

“Alright, let's...” Miss Adventure pauses as she hears the rush of approaching footfalls again, from all around them. Shit... that's twenty of them this time! “Lumi – here they come! Get ready!”

For a moment she thinks about lunging out into the darkness, going on the offensive. But that would mean leaving Luminata exposed and alone. Gritting her teeth, Miss Adventure hangs back, tracks the approaching footfalls – and then she sees the cheerleaders coming into range, their bare breasts bouncing and jiggling as they come hissing out of the shadows, wincing in pain even at contact with a far fainter version of the Light of Truth. As the Light slows them, Miss Adventure darts out with feral grace to smash them effortlessly, one after another, back into the darkness. “Keep it up, Lumi!” she encourages her friend, who's standing stock still with fright. “You're doing good! Keep it up! You're doing--”

As she's saying it, she's planting a hand between the soft, ample naked tits of a pixie-haired redhead whose eyes and mouth yawn at her with dark malice, shoving the attacker off into the air and fifteen feet into the distance. In mid-motion she realizes she's hearing something else. One of the cheerleaders is coming past her on the left in a rapid series of gymnastic hand-springs – and fully extended in her shoving attack, she can't reposition herself to block her!

Propelled by pure momentum, the figure comes somersaulting into the Light, letting out a shriek of pain but committed completely to the attack. Miss Adventure catches a glimpse of blonde hair, a feral expression, hands outstretched in claws. “Lumi, look out!”

But all Luminata does is stand frozen, as if cast in wax, as the murderous vision bears down on her. Time seems to stand still... but an instant later the monstrous cheerleader collides with the Lady of the Light, bearing the heroine to the ground as she gives out a shrill, hysterical squeal: “NOOOO-HOOOOOOOO!” And the Light goes out again!

“LUMI!” Miss Adventure turns to reach for her friend as she hears a half-dozen of the enemy converging on the sobbing, unhinged blonde. “LUMI, NO! Fight them! FIGHT THEM!” But she has problems of her own – because the rest of them are converging on her, growls and hisses of aggression emanating from their throats. Feeling panic starting to rise as the darkness closes in and the situation spirals out of control, the busty teen swings into a sweaty, tit-jiggling dance of desperation with the encroaching mob of nude coed cheerleaders, managing to beat back one and then another, ducking away from grasping hands and unleashing spinning kicks, backfists, elbows, fighting with all the mastery she's been taught.

But the enemy is too numerous, and too preternaturally determined. Each time an assailant goes down she springs back up without hesitation. And zombified beasts of carnality and evil though they might now be, the Devilettes have forgotten nothing of the art of a good catfight. Fingernails claw into Miss Adventure's soft, supple flesh, raking across her big full tits and ripe ass, and though she makes them pay for these outrages with more mighty blows that send them flying, they keep at her. No matter where she moves as she tries to fight her way clear, they're on her like a pack of hyenas trying to bring down a lioness; more and more of the enemy's hands are making contact with her hot body, delivering hard slaps on her firm butt and across her face, grabbing handfuls of her long, silky hair, clawing at her eyes and ripping away her goggles as she pushes and fends them off with increasingly random desperation.

I'm... I'm in trouble here! she realizes as the blind, wild brawl starts to turn completely against her. She's lost track of where her assailants are, where they're coming from, purely reacting now. A hard punch comes out of nowhere to her firm belly, almost winding her as she flails out wildly and fails to make contact with whoever threw it. A painful backhanded slap snaps her head back and sets her reeling; her answering kick is almost aimless, making contact by pure chance but without enough power to even put the recipient down. A small body jumps on her from behind, pert tits pressing into her back, firm legs wrapping around her midsection and an animal hissing at her ear as it reaches around to grab big handfuls of her tender breasts, mauling and scratching them deep enough to draw blood and yanking the nipples until, yowling with pain, she manages to throw them off.

“LUMI!” she screams in raw desperation. “Lumi, HELP me! PLEASE help me! PLEASE!” But she can hear nothing from the “friend” who got her into this except faint sounds of unhinged sobbing and retching.

Then, out of nowhere, one of the Devilettes lunges in. BAMMMMM! The hard knee driving into her soft ladyparts dazzles Miss Adventure with pain the first time, but her attacker doesn't stop there, smashing a second strike up into the hot teen heroine's virginal cunt, then a third, then a fourth in quick succession. BAMMM! BAMMMM! BAMMMMM!

It's all Miss Adventure can do to stay on her feet as that attacker steps away to make way for another. She feels blood trickling down her thighs and realizes her hymen's been broken; there's so much pain that she can't conjure forth a sound as she stands stunned with her hands over her crotch and her mouth open in a silent “O” of horrified shock. Even as the cold tingling of her healing factor kicks in as her pussy starts repair itself – making her feel giddy as it drains from her strength to do it – there's still so much pain that she can't make her body react as she hears the sound of a series of hand-springs coming toward her. All she can think is: Oh, shit... oh, no...

Firm, athletic thighs wrap around her neck as the oncoming cheerleader collides with her, bearing her to the ground and ringing her skull brutally off the concrete. “Gnnnnnnghhhh...” she moans weakly through the steely, choking pressure of her attacker's crotch and thighs wrapped around her windpipe as the world explodes in agony. She hears the creature hiss with delight above her as its fingers wrap themselves in her long dark hair and it bashes her head against the floor again... again... again... and again. Each impact, each sickening SMACK! leaves the world spinning faster, the pain more blinding as Miss Adventure whimpers helplessly, her body shuddering as it tries to heal itself. “Gnnnnggg-hhhnggghhhh...”

The rest of the squad is on her now, letting out guttural sounds of triumph as they attack her suddenly powerless form. She thrashes in agony as one of them drops a knee into her solar plexus; gurgles in pain as she feels her arms being pulled out to the sides and her hands stomped on, her fingers breaking; nearly swoons as a couple more grab and spread her legs wide so that another can stomp brutally and repeatedly on her pelvis until she feels her just-healed hymen break again in another thigh-splattering burst of blood... then learns a whole new definition of pain as she hears bones crack and her nerve-endings begin to scream.

“AANNGGGHHHHAGGGHHHHHAAUUUGHHH!” she bawls in pure torment. Once again her healing factor strives to repair the damage, her body shivering weakly as the power slowly rights the damaged bone and tissue and knits them back together, drawing heavily on her strength to do it. The world seems to drift as it happens, but she doesn't find oblivion yet.

Got... got to get out of this... somehow... she thinks frantically as the pain recedes but the horror doesn't. She can't think how to escape. Her sensory discipline has collapsed under the punishment and she can feel everything with painful keenness, the intensity of the sensations deepening her helplessness. She feels hands pulling her bikini straps aside to get full access to her plump titties, slapping and scratching and smacking them, stretching her nipples out painfully and then letting them go as she gasps with the waves of unwanted feeling the tit-torture sends washing through her body, through her punished quim. Two of them still have her arms pinned, two more of them still have her legs splayed out, and the one atop her isn't budging. Her writhing struggles are weak and futile, and the pressure of the thighs around her windpipe is making her feel light-headed. Got to... got to get free...

She feels the creature atop her shift its weight slightly, realizes it's crouching down toward her. In the darkness her keen eyes can just barely make out a delicately beautiful face under blonde hair, with a slightly cleft chin. She gasps for air as the Devilette's thighs tighten around her neck even more... and then seizes up in fright as she sees the girl's mouth open... Oh no... Is she going to...

* GLAAAAACCCCCKHHHHHHHH! *

With a violent, unearthly retching sound, the blonde cheerleader lets loose right in her face, unleashing a flood of the same vile, oily fluid that so completely undid Luminata. Burning, bitter, sickeningly pungent, like a mixture of the worst that vomit and motor oil and jism have to offer, the viscous slop blinds Miss Adventure's eyes and floods her throat, making her gag and retch helplessly, her gorge rising as she's powerless to stop herself from swallowing it. “Glllllaaghhhhh...” The teen heroine chokes and splutters, her stomach heaving as it tries to expel the evil liquid... but it won't come up, sitting instead in her digestive tract like a coating of toxic waste. “Ahhhhhaghhhhh...”

Revulsion sweeps over her as she hears more retching noises coming from the other Devilettes and feels more gallon helpings of their oily puke-slime splashing the rest of her body, washing over her exposed titties, her belly, her splayed out thighs, her ass and her crotch. She fancies she can feel the slime seeping in through her pores, coating every inch of her, the stink of it pervading her. She can only whimper as it happens, her inability to stop the sickening defilement leaching the fight out of her. No... this can't be happening... can't be happening...

But she does recover some will to struggle as she feels the crotch of her thong being yanked aside to expose her cunt and her asshole. It's no use: “Uuuughhh...” she moans as she feels more of the hot slime splash against her tight pink pussy, making her shudder as her ultra-sensitive slit responds mindlessly to the weird stimulation with a humiliating stiffening of her clit and a counter-offering of her own sweet teen nectar. Then she jumps as she feels a mouth close over the tight bud of her anus, a hot tongue probing its way inside... and a sickening flood of more of the hot, oily fluid following it. “Auuughhhh...” she makes a sound of deep rejection as the repulsive filth irrigates her bowels, overflowing from her tightest place as the anonymous mouth and its violating tongue move away.

Disgust becomes real terror as she feels something even more disturbing happening down there. One of the hands roaming over her body slides down and begins to play – lightly, now, gently – with her slit, rubbing her stiff clit expertly, making her moan and writhe her hips as her sensitive snatch heats up. As it happens, a wicked finger begins to probe at the mouth of her sphincter, teasing it, sliding in on a river of oily lubrication, twirling, withdrawing, rubbing at her rim, and then doing it all over again as the play on her pussy makes her wetter and wetter.

Oh God... no... She can feel an unwanted orgasm start to built in her slick cunt. “No... please...” she chokes out pleadingly, looking up at the dim, shadowy features of the blonde still straddling her throat. “Please... no...”

Her blood runs cold. She can make out little of the cheerleader's face... and yet somehow, she knows it's sporting a chilling, inhuman smile. Her answer.

More anonymous hands are sliding over her body, grabbing and playing with her big, beautiful tits again, but lasciviously now, stroking them and gently slapping them and pulling the nipples out languidly, manipulating her breast-flesh in time with the hand masturbating her hot, juicy little cunt. The finger works its way more insistently into her ass, now, reaching the second knuckle and then the third, rhythmically pumping in and out, violating her virgin bunghole. “Uhhhhh, uuuhhhhh, uggghhhh, auuhauughhh...” Miss Adventure grunts, tears flowing from her eyes, her head spinning with oxygen deprivation from the choking pressure around her throat while she desperately tries to keep her super-sensitive body from being overwhelmed by the perversely pleasurable sensations. “Please...” she can't stop herself from begging. “Don't... stop... Please don't... ughhh-uhhhhh-uhh-uhhh-ahhhh... stop... don't...”

This time she gets a more active response. For a split second, blessed relief flows through her as the creature astride her windpipe lifts up and she's able to take a real breath. But the relief is short lived as she realizes the evil blonde Devilette is just moving upward... repositioning her pussy over her captive's face! “Noooo—MMMPHHHHH!” Miss Adventure's cry of fright is muffled instantly by oily cunt-flesh, seeping the same reeking ooze that she was slimed with before. “MMMMMhhmmmphhhh!” The helpless teen heroine desperately tries to thrash her head back and forth and dislodge the sloppy assault, but those powerful thighs are clamped on either side of her skull, the hot oozing snatch rubbing itself off against her her chin, her mouth, her nose, for all the world as though its owner were simply riding a sex toy. Smothered repeatedly by that repulsive gash, struggling to get air in, Miss Adventure thinks desperately about biting – but her vulnerable position and the memory of a foot stomping her pelvic bone chases the idea out of her whirling head. “MMMMMMhhhhhMMPHHhhh!”

The situation between her forcibly splayed thighs is swiftly worsening, too. The rubbing on her own dripping twat is picking up speed, driving her closer and closer to orgasm as oxygen deprivation breaks down her resistance. The finger in her ass has multiplied to two fingers, now three, now four, her well-lubed sphincter dilating to accept the invaders with ease as the intense stretching stimulus brings her even closer to losing control completely.

No... no... got to keep control... can't let them... got to keep control... poor Miss Adventure chants despairingly in her head as she feels a big blow building up inside her like a river behind a crumbling dam. Then the four fingers fucking her ass pull out... and a whole fist plunges back in, stretching her ass to the max as her fingers frigging her clit start to rhythmically slap her sopping quim! “MMMMMMHHHMMMMPHHHH!” she squeals into a face-full of cunt-flesh as irresistible waves of ecstasy come pouring out of her teen pussy, her whole body wriggling with unwanted lust, her juices squirting and squirting and squirting out through her swelling pink folds as her tight little ass is brutally fist-fucked and her hot slit naughtily spanked. “NNNNMMMMHHMMMPHHH! NNNNNMMM-HHMMMPHHH! MMMMMMPHHHHHH!”

The shattering climax breaks something loose inside her. As a buried instinct surfaces, she finds herself unable to stop her mouth from opening, her tongue sliding out to lick the pussy still rubbing all over her face, her lips kissing it, sucking at the hot bud of the blonde Devilette's clit as it comes in range. Growling deep in her throat with foul delight, the monstrous cheerleader holds her snatch in place over her victim's licking, sucking mouth, grinding her hips sinuously. Finally, with a loud * HAAAGHHH, * she cums in the horny little heroine's mouth, flooding her throat with yet another helping of horrid, oily slime and holding firmly in place, forcing the teen to shudderingly gulp-gulp-gulp it all down. Her stomach churns in nausea and attempts another futile rebellion, but at the same time, the pure degradation of it has Miss Adventure giving up another squirting, squealing climax to the hand spanking her quim and the fist plundering her gaped ass.

Finally the foul snatch pulls away from her face and the fist pulls out, leaving Miss Adventure gasping for air and cringing with humiliation as she realizes what's just happened. Her legs still forcibly splayed out, her arms still held down, her body weakening as her healing factor goes to work trying to restore her violated anus to its formerly pristine condition, she lets out a sob of despair as she realizes she has no hope of breaking free. And there won't be any help, either: her out-of-control senses are picking up the smell of another human's dripping cunt, the squelching sounds of someone else's orifices being rudely forced, and she knows it can only be Luminata. No... oh, no...

As if to confirm her worst fears, the darkness in the warehouse is suddenly dispelled by bright floodlights. Not the Light of Truth, but the kind of nacreous white light that had bathed the Devilettes when she'd first seen them on her monitors. Looking around frantically, she sees the Devilettes who're holding her down, two brunettes at her legs and two blondes on her arms, the latter still toying with her sensitive breasts and all of them looking at her with inhuman, feral fascination from eyes leaking tears of translucent dark oil. Between her legs, the busty pixie-haired redhead is giving her a demonic grin as she licks her right hand wickedly, like a cat cleaning itself, and Miss Adventure's pussy gives a fearful little involuntary squirt as her wide eyes meet those of the creature that just busted her cherry ass open with its fist.

Then her eyes are irresistibly drawn over that Devilette's shoulder... to the patch of concrete where Luminata went down.

The pale, beautiful blonde heroine, like Miss Adventure, has been thoroughly covered in the black ooze that the monstrous cheerleaders seem to have in such copious supply. The white latex strip across her perky D-cup tits has been yanked up to show off her puffy pink nipples and bouncing, jiggling breasts in all their well-slimed glory; the other strip coming up between her long, flawless legs has been yanked aside to provide free access to her pussy and ass. And the Devilettes are taking advantage of that access: the African girl has squirmed underneath her squatting form and the Asian girl is crouched behind her, and by the loud, rude squelching sounds coming out as their arms saw determinedly back and forth, they're fiercely fisting both of her wet nether holes. Luminata's face, meanwhile, is buried between the pale ass-cheeks of the brunette with the heart-shaped face and black bangs, and judging by the loud lapping sounds is being forced to lick out her asshole while the demon cheerleader growls gutturally and plays with her own tits. The Lady of the Light's jolting, shuddering body seems suspended between horror and ecstasy, her juices splashing out to coat the fist raping her cunt as she moans aloud, her titties bouncing in time to her violation, her hands fluttering helplessly, not even thinking to strike out at her abusers.

Standing all around these tableaux of depravity, the rest of the Devilettes are watching with fixed, hungry expressions, black ooze dripping around the fingers they're using to masturbate their own cunts while they run their other hands over their shapely bodies, clearly priming themselves for their own turn at the action. Miss Adventure's stomach does a flip-flop of horror as she realizes that what she just suffered is only the beginning.

“Wait, please, p—please wait, you don't have to do this,” she starts to babble as a tall, rich-bodied, chestnut-haired brunette steps in between her splayed thighs. Looking around desperately, she shouts out: “M—Mister Nightmare? Can you hear? Listen, please listen, I promise if you just let me go I'll never ever talk about you or bother you, I'll be a good girl, wait...” The brunette – her aquiline nose and athletic body wouldn't be out of place on an ancient Greek statue – steps a leg over and plants her sneakered foot by Miss Adventure's side, the tatters of her pleated uniform skirt fluttering aside to reveal her ooze-leaking Brazilian-waxed cunt now positioned over the captive heroine's crotch. “Please please wait, please, I never did anything to you, I just wanna wake up, why are you doing this, plleeaase-aaaahhhhAHHHHHHHHH...” she breaks off in a breathy moan as the statuesque cheerleader squats and lowers her hot, slimy snatch to rub it firmly against the teen heroine's saturated slit. As the demon-girl begins to gyrate her hips, languidly working their lusty cunts together into a lathering rhythm, waves of pleasure from the sweet friction chase any further words from the ravished heroine's mind. She moans helplessly: “Ahhhhhh-AHHHHhhhhh-ahhhhhh-AHHHHHhhh...”

As she sees another cheerleader step over her face, sees a set of oil-leaking pubes fuzzed with sandy brown thatch being lowered toward her, she tries to resist the urge to open her mouth and lick. But somehow it seems like the only thing she can do, the only way she can be more than passive fuck-meat at the whim of her captors. As the pungent twat comes in range, the Devilette even lifts it up teasingly, just of range of the moaning heroine's darting tongue as she tries to lick it... then presses it down over her mouth, letting the horny teen lap and suck and slurp to her heart's content.

Oh God... thinks Miss Adventure in despair as she feels another climax building fast in her slippery cunt. Gonna cum again... I'm not gonna stop... can't stop cumming...

* * *

Miss Adventure swiftly loses track of time as one cunt replaces another rubbing over her face, as the whole demonic squad of Devilettes take their turns pumping their horrid mockery of girl-cum into hr mouth or splashing it all over her body with they make her cum and cum and cum with fingers and fists and tongues, all while she listens to Luminata's weak, helpless breathy moans as the blonde rides the same perverted merry-go-round. The world becomes a series of disconnected moments of degrading punishment. One of them plants the toe of a sneaker against the mouth of her hot young twat and hisses in evil delight as she instinctively rubs herself off on it. Two of them make her scream when they each work a fist into her ass simultaneously, gaping it so wide that she feels it tearing and bleeding, the mixture of agony and pleasure sending her reeling as her pussy spouts like a fountain. The demon bitches are as utterly relentless in defiling her as they were in fighting her, and her healing factor keeps her conscious long after most girls would have blacked out from exhaustion or sheer mental strain.

Finally, though, as another one of them forces their hot pussy against hers and a companion fists her ass forearm-deep and she's lost in a writhing multiple climax that has her seeing stars, the cheerleader riding her face grabs her head and forces her nose and mouth deep into a face-full of demonic cunt. This time, no matter how she thrashes, her growling assailant refuses to let her up for air, and her climax grows more and more intense as the world grows dimmer and dimmer. Finally the overload of pleasure and oxygen deprivation becomes too much, and she faints.

Lights out.

* Wake up, Miss Adventure. *

The voice doesn't sound like the Adventurist, but it must be him with the usual early-morning wake-up call. Groggily surfacing from a nightmare of falling, Miss Adventure's first conscious thought is to wonder why her bed is so hard this morning. Her second, chasing it a split-second later, is to be thankful for waking up from what must have been a truly crazy series of dreams as a parade of weird, disjointed sexual images flash through her mind, their coherency tearing into gossamer strands that are sure to disappear like mist on contact with the day. Mister A's not going to believe the night I've had is her third thought, and the fourth, hot on its heels, is to wonder about the strange feeling of pressure around her arms and on her chest... and why the room seems so bright outside her eyelids.

She flutters her eyes and starts to say, “I'm up, Mister A, I'm up.” But for some reason what comes out is: “Aaaaaaaa-ahhh... uuhhhh?”

As her eyes flicker open and a sudden rush of fear brings her fully awake, she realizes she can feel something in her mouth, propping her jaws open. What the – is this some kind of joke? “Aaaaaahhht da 'eiighhh...” She tries to reach up and pull whatever it is free... and discovers she can't do it! She can't move her arms! What... what the fuck is going on...

She realizes she's looking at a concrete floor, bathed in bright floodlights. A concrete floor she's lying on! No wonder her “bed” felt hard... she isn't in it! Trying to move her arms again, she realizes with a fresh jolt of fear that she can't move them because they've been twisted and tied behind her back – strictly tied with some kind of rope she can't even begin to budge, even though she can feel from the strength suffusing her limbs that she's wearing her choker! Looking down at herself, she realizes further that except for her choker and her boots, she's naked – unless she counts the goggles she can feel perched on top of her head and the strands of silvery rope criss-crossing her chest in a strict harness for her full double D's, which are swollen globes of sensitivity as a result! Another tug on her bound arms reveals, with a painful squeezing sensation at the base of her blood-bloated balls of breast-flesh, that the chest harness and the arm ties are all one connected piece of rope... a rope of unnatural durability!

“Nnnggaaaahhh!” she cries out, frantically scanning around her now. But the dazzling floodlights mean that even with her super-senses she can't see anything outside the circle of harsh light she's awakened to, in which she's lying alone. She can hear movement in the darkness beyond, though. Plenty of it. She can smell strange and vile odours, hear thready, erratic heartbeats as she struggles awkwardly to her knees, realizing as she does so that she has drool dripping from her mouth. Her wide open mouth... she's wearing a ring gag! Panic and bewilderment rising further, she yells again: “Haaaaaaiiighhhh!”

* And a good morning to you, * comes the weird, dispassionate voice from beyond the light. It seems to be speaking from all around her, one voice and yet many voices, male and female and neither, all different and yet just facets of a single monstrous whole. * Welcome to my domain. *

The voice pulses through her in a way that drives the pitch of her terror still higher. She can feel something deep inside her viscera responding to it, as though her insides are coated with something that resonates together with it at the same disturbing frequency. A wave of sick nausea wells up inside her. She feels somehow... dirty inside, defiled, polluted. She can smell an awful petrol-like stench seeping out of her pores to mingle with her cold sweat. Her eyes wide with fear, she shrinks into the centre of the circle of light, questing with her senses for some gap in the rustling throng of bodies – many of them unwashed, reeking – that she can hear and smell around her, questing for some avenue of escape. She can find none. Her heart hammers loudly in her chest.

* Of course, * adds the voice: * 'Morning' means nothing here. All time is one to the Nightmare. All hours are the witching hour. You will understand... once you have joined to me. You are almost ready for that great honour. *

“Nahhhhh...” She shakes her head in uncomprehending denial, terrible images once again flashing incoherently in her mind's eye. She shakes her head again as if to dispel them. This... this can't be real... “Naaahhhh...”

* Oh yes. You came to me by the route of your own dreams. You stepped willingly into my lair. You have serviced those who are one with me. In so doing you have serviced me. Surely you remember. *

A lie, she thinks, frantically shaking her head, screwing her eyes shut. It's a lie! But the images burst across her mind again, this time taking shape. Dreams of humiliation, of punishment, of being stripped and spanked and orally raped in front of a jeering mob, of demonic creatures and ignominious defeat, dreams of sexual exploitation and pain and debasement and unwilling pleasure. Dreams of attacking a warehouse with a fellow-heroine. Dreams of its all going wrong... and the price she paid for that failure. She shudders, squeezing her legs together as she feels her pussy growing hot and moist between her firm thighs while the terrible dreamscape half-reassembles itself in her memory. More than enough to tell her how she got here... and what here is. “Naaahhhh...” she whimpers in futile denial. “Naaaaahaaahhh...”

She starts in fright as someone abruptly steps into the circle of light from the inky darkness in front of her. It's a nubile barely-legal blonde beauty with a petite frame matching Miss Adventure's height, freckle-dusted skin, pert little B-cup titties and a round, cushiony rump, a miniature black cowgirl hat perched at a rakish angle atop her short, stylish coiffure, her legs adorned with black leather chaps and black stiletto cowgirl boots. She's smiling in a way that must once have been cute and bubbly and fetching, but now – combined with the fact that her baby blues look as dead and unfeeling as a porcelain doll's, filmed over with a familiar-looking translucent dark slime that leaks from her eyes like tears – the smile looks simply ghoulish. She's playfully twirling an object on one finger: a little black mask, which after a moment she tosses to the concrete and crushes underfoot.

“My poor girls from Teen Justice,” she remembers someone saying long ago in a half-remembered dream. She remembers waking to alarms, seeing lost heroines on the monitors in the Situation Room, trying to race to their rescue and always failing. Tears of her own trace down her cheeks as she remembers the fellow-heroine who'd told her who the girls were: their mentor and friend, Luminata, who'd tried to help her. Lumi... Miss Adventure wonders suddenly, her eyes flickering around her. What's happened to Lumi?

But her attention is riveted back on the slender girl as she struts forward, and she sees that same dark slime leaking down her inner thighs, dripping from her ears and one of her nostrils. Miss Adventure's blood runs cold, her memory replaying horrid images of demon-girls who'd looked much the same, her ass clenching and her hot cunt swelling at the recollection of what they'd been capable of. * Meet Roxy Raige, who was Lariette, * says the dead voice from all around them. * One of the girls of Teen Justice who you once hoped to save. They are all here to welcome you. And they have presents for you, tokens of gratitude for all you have done for them. *

She shrinks away from Lariette as the girl comes closer. Got to do something, she thinks, but stark panic is locking her limbs and the sound of the overwhelming numbers out in the darkness is sapping her hope. She tries to take a few hesitant steps away, but Lariette skips nimbly around behind her and in an instant she feels her arms being yanked back, exerting painful pressure on her bound breasts. “Aaaahhhgghh...” she moans in pain as she's yanked unceremoniously back to the middle of the circle of light. Lariette steps back in front of her, holding the remaining length of rope that had been trailing from her tied arms, her ghoulish grin even wider.

* Roxy's present is the Lasso of Concord, * says the voice, and now Roxy's mouth is moving, too, part of the voice coming from her. * Let her show you what it can do. * The blue, slime-filmed eyes bore mercilessly into Miss Adventure's, and the heroine whimpers as she sees the malevolence and madness shining there. Then Roxy's mouth moves again, saying one word: * Cum. *

“NNNnnnggggaaaAAAHHH!” Miss Adventure squeals in terror as she feels the command overriding her will, lancing through her body like an electric lash, searing into her wet pussy, her stiff little clit. Her body betrays her instantly, before she can even think of resisting, her sugar walls contracting and her cunt squirting juicily, squirting again, squirting again, a little puddle of sweet nectar growing between her feet, her legs shuddering, her hips writhing and her bound titties heaving as she mewls her horror at the involuntary act. “AAAHHHHHhhhhhHHHAAAAaaanghhh! AAAAHHHHaaaggghhh!”

Just as the climax begins to subside, the command comes again: * CUM! * It comes again, and again, and again, and again, the climaxes ripping through the Lasso's captive as she squeals and writhes and squirts helplessly, finally slumping to the concrete on her knees in a pool of her own cunt-honey, sobbing brokenly as she realizes the crushing power her enemy has over her. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the forced climaxes relent, leaving the bound buxom beauty dizzy and weak, her head spinning.

As she comes back to her senses, she realizes another shapely female form has stepped forth from the shadows. She's looking at the impossible-seeming curves of a mocha-skinned teen beauty with a C-cup bosom, incredibly narrow waist and an ass so round she can see it from the front. The girl's green eyes are filmed with the same translucent slime as her friend's and she wears the same mad smile, accessorized with cat ears atop her Bettie Paige hairdo, tiger-print stilettos and tiger-print arm- and leg-warmers and nothing else. She's carrying an item in each hand. One is a gold necklace dangling a big golden charm in the shape of an Egyptian cat heiroglyph, the other a mask which, like Lariette, she discards and crushes underfoot.

* Meet Lena Luxor, who was Tygris, * says the Nightmare. * Her gift for you is the Amulet of the Curse of Bast. * There's a curious hint of sardonic almost-humour in the unfeeling supernatural voice as it adds: * Whoever sold it to her never mentioned the word 'Curse,' of course. I will not so deceive you. *

As Lena struts raunchily forward, Miss Adventure feels the visceral urge to flee from her, from the golden amulet dangling in her hand... but there's nowhere to go, and anyway Roxy is already using the power of the Lasso to command her to lie on her back and spread her legs and be still, a command which she can only obey as tears of shame streak down her lovely face, feeling the slick puddle of her own secretions wet under her perfect ass as she exposes her aroused, dripping pink sex to whoever or whatever might be drinking in the sight of her nudity from beyond the light's edge.

It's only a moment before the curvaceous Lena is crouching between her legs. The mulatto hottie teasingly strokes her left inner thigh, sliding her fingernails up to rake gently over her quivering wet quim, making her jolt and whine through the ring gag, and then down to seize the zipper at the apex of her left boot. Slowly, languidly, she pulls the zipper down, and down, and down, lasciviously pulling the sexy PVC footwear off to lay bare a small and shapely foot whose instep, heel and sole she kisses and kisses and kisses with a mad pantomime of affection, sending sensual shivers through her helpless prey that grow more pronounced as she playfully licks and sucks the perfectly-shaped and manicured toes, one after the other and finally all at once. Tossing the boot away into the darkness, she slowly repeats the racy ritual with the other leg, stripping the boot away and then stroking her hands up and down the teen heroine's leg as she teases and pleasures her other foot, again lavishing attention all over it and salaciously suckling every toe, finally leaving Miss Adventure trembling with pure passion emanating from both her bare, saliva-slicked feet, radiating up her wide-spread legs and into her hot, slippery little cunt.

Affecting a moment of uncertainty now, Lena sits back on her haunches and looks from one firm, shapely, tanned leg to the other. Flipping a forefinger back and forth, she acts out a silent game of Eenie-Meenie-Miney-Moe, drawing it out almost unbearably until her finger comes to rest on the left leg. Then, with a demonic smile, she brings the necklace up and wraps it around the teen sidekick's ankle, wraps it around again... and fastens it on.

“Uhhhhh...” moans Miss Adventure as the effects manifest themselves immediately. Her already heightened smell is intensified again, tenfold: the scents emanating from the darkness become even more overwhelming, more noisome and repellent and paradoxically intoxicating. Her already superhuman sight acquires a dimension of night vision that makes the outlines of shapes beyond the light visible, a mass of dozens, hundreds of bodies now discernible in outline around her and a terrifying blacker-than-black shadow discernible beyond them and in front of her, a massive presence that sharpens the terror that she hadn't thought could get any worse. A feral strength and poise rises in her, doubling the power in her muscles so that, if only she weren't utterly immobilized by the Lasso, she might have had some hope of fighting her way out of... wherever she is. As it is, the obviously false hope only deepens her sense of utter hopelessness.

But with all of it comes another sensation, more powerful yet and more disconcerting. Her already hot and wet pussy is getting wetter, hotter, a restless hunger building inside her, provoking a lewd, animalistic gyration of her hips that's beyond the naked, moaning girl's control. “The Curse of Bast,” she thinks... and remembers one of her many lessons on culture from the Adventurist: remembers Bast, the cat goddess of the Egyptians. And she realizes with horror the price the Amulet exacts from its bearer, the subjection to periods of feline mating heat that it cruelly enforces. “Naaaahhhaaaaahhhh,” she sobs as the realization sinks in that she's been made, if possible, even more sexually receptive and vulnerable than she already was.

To underscore the fact, Lena gives an evil Cheshire grin and ducks her head down between Miss Adventure's taut thighs, her long pink tongue spearing deep into a sweetly-flavored sopping canal and sweeping out and upward, rasping against wet glistening cunt-lips and culminating in a luxuriant sucking kiss on a stiff, ultra-sensitive clitty. Within three repetitions of this depraved oral molestation, Miss Adventure doesn't need an order from the Lasso to come off. “NNGAAANGHH! NNGAAHHHH-AAAAHHHHHHH!” Mewling like a horny little pussycat being mounted by a randy tom, she's soon squirt-squirt-squirting hot liquid appreciation into her defiler's madly laughing mouth. The orgasms come rapid fire and electric, wrenching her from the tips of her toes up her clenching calves, up through her shuddering thighs to the torrid depths of her virgin-tight teen twat, up through her firm quivering belly and twisting spine, up through her hot, swollen titties and into her whirling, disoriented brain and tingling scalp as she tosses her head wildly back and forth in the throes of utter abandon. It happens again and again and again until Lena finally pulls her lapping tongue away, leaving a helplessly trembling slut on the floor in front of her, writhing and bucking her hips in lustful yearning for more, more, more. “NNNNGGAAAAHAHHHHHH! AIIIGHHHH!”

Sunk in a hell of enforced sexual depravity and licentiousness, poor Miss Adventure doesn't know which way is up or how much times passes between Lena's stepping out from between her splayed legs and the slight calming of her hot, wanton young body. When her head finally begins to clear somewhat, she finds herself looking up through her spread and quivering thighs at a dusky, slightly-exotic brunette beauty with lustrous dark hair, tits almost as big and full as hers and an ass almost as round as Tygris', and big eyes that once shone with a charming, seductive lustre. Now those eyes are like black stones weeping the same oily coating her friends' had sported, and her full-lipped mouth is curled into a feral grin even more chilling than theirs had been. The girl is wearing nothing but golden lace-up stiletto sandals; she holds a golden circlet in one hand and a golden mask in the other. The latter she twirls playfully before, like the others, she dashes it to the ground and crushes it underfoot.

* Meet Zana Zadian, * says the voice of the Nightmare. * Who was Glamazon. Her gift for you is the Crown of Mayet, the Goddess of Order and Judgment. It was sold to her, of course, as the Crown of Tara, Goddess of Protection. * Again there's the barest hint of sardonic humour in that last remark, but it's lost on Miss Adventure, whose riotously horny body is already tensing in anticipation of new horrors.

As Zana comes toward her, she can see the circlet is actually a torc and remembers seeing it around Glamazon's neck. It could just as easily be worn on the head, though, and as Zana steps around the captive heroine's wriggling crotch and crouches next to her with a warm, almost friendly intimacy, she realizes this is the plan for her. It can't... can't be any worse than that horrible Amulet... she thinks, trying to find some shred of a positive thought to cling to as the former-Lariette orders her to stillness and the “Crown of Mayet” descends on her head, fitting snugly over her brow.

Immediately she feels new reserves of energy flooding her body, and a strange energy running across the outer surface of her skin. Again, the kind of thing that might have given her hope if she weren't trapped by the power of the Lasso. Along with it, however, comes something terrifying: a voice ringing through her mind, through her body, like an appendage of her own feminine self and instincts. And what it says is: Wonderful! Another worthless slut! Look at you! Wet! Horny! Begging for it! Filthy animal! Unworthy whore! Drooling slattern! Be damned!

“Ngggahhhh...” Miss Adventure whimpers in bewilderment, shaking her head miserably back and forth as the contemptuous voice lashes into her mind, her body, sapping her resistance even further, making tears of shame at her condition streak down her cheeks. As the gloriously naked Zana Zadian steps away from her and walks back to the edge of the light, the internal voice goes on lashing through her mind, making clear her utter lack of value or redeeming qualities.

* For the triumphant heroine, Mayet warns them of dangers, * the Nightmare's voice explains almost conversationally. * But as you are no doubt learning, the Goddess has little patience for weakness or for failures. She will still protect your body, however... for whatever that's worth. *

Something from out in the darkness has handed an object to Zana, who's walking back with it and taking up station between Miss Adventure's quivering thighs, looking down at her dripping, exquisitely-prepared pussy. The trussed-up teen sidekick feels her terror rise as she realizes that Zana's holding a big bamboo cane! Jolting as her fight or flight response kicks in, she freezes as little blonde Roxy, now playing with and slapping her swollen titties and pulling on her nipples, orders her again to hold still, leaving her to whimper helplessly as the cane-wielding naked babe approaches with a salacious strut.

Zana teases her wet cunt with the end of the cane, making Miss Adventure's juices run out as the bestial heat in her honeypot boils over. “Auuuuhauuunghhh...” she moans in fear and rising lust as the bamboo rubs teasingly up and down, up and down the length of her tingling twat while Roxy licks and kisses her earlobe and whispers hotly in her ear, ordering her to give in to the sensations completely and then paradoxically telling her that she's forbidden to cum... the result an unbearable build-up of passionate pressure in her sopping snatch as the cane probes it, strokes it, flicks her hard little nubbin, teases the nectar-soaked mouth of her sphincter. “AHHHHANNNNHH...”

Then the cane draws back and... SMMMACCKKK! “AAAAAIIIIIHHHHHAAAAAIIIIIII!” Miss Adventure gives a raw scream of confused pleasure and pain as the cane spanks her pussy hard, hard enough that that one stroke alone should have shredded the soft flesh and set her to bleeding. She should be feeling the cool tingle of her healing factor setting to work. But even thrashing as she is with the pain and the throbbing sensation in her cunt, she's still just aware enough to realize that the strike hasn't drawn blood. The power of the “Crown of Mayet” is protecting her, making her flesh invulnerable to the damage... but not to the pain, which sears through her nerve-endings with all the enhanced power of her super-human sense of touch as the cane strikes again, even harder this time! “AAAAAAHHHHHH-AANNNGHHHHHHHHHH! NNNAAAAAAAHHHAAAAAAAHHHH!” the poor teen rookie bawls as the bamboo smashes agonizingly into her dripping squack again and again, each impact sounding wetter as the fiery pain searing over her clit and her labia also brings her pleasure to a fever pitch.

But she's still forbidden to cum, and thrashes her head wildly back and forth as the urgent, heat-driven need to release a mighty wave of clutching, shuddering orgasms develops swiftly into a torture all its own, as brutal as the merciless blows of the bamboo. Overwhelmed, wailing raw suffering from the deepest core of her being, Miss Adventure feels her consciousness begin to shut down in a desperate attempt at self-defense... but then Roxy is whispering in her ear that she is ordered to stay conscious, and the Lasso overrides her body's defense mechanisms to make it so, exposing its prisoner to the brink of pure madness as the vicious caning goes on and on, Zana leaning into every blow with relish, her curvy body jiggling and gleaming with a sheen of sweat as she revels in the act of tormenting another.

Miss Adventure loses count of the blows at forty, but it's not long after that when Roxy whispers into her ear: * You may cum now, slut. *

“AAAAAAAANNNNNGGGGAHHHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAUUUUHAUUUUUUGHHHHH!” wails the captive heroine as the bamboo smacks her pussy again and her body erupts in obedience to the Lasso, thrashing in ecstasy and squirting girl-cum like a broken fire hydrant as the pent-up orgasmic energy rips through her, her ass spanking itself hard against the concrete as her hips buck and her exploding cunt rocks her world and fractures her mind. Even now the blows keep coming as she helplessly gives liquid tribute to her total submission, her utter abject defeat. Then Roxy whispers an instruction in her ear to cum harder, and Miss Adventure's whole nervous system goes haywire and to the brink of shutdown as the multiple orgasms grow wilder and wilder. “AHHHHHHHHANNNNGHHHHH... AHHHANNNNNGHHHHHHHH... AUUUUGHHHHAUGHHHHHH...”

And inside, the last shred of hope in her mind is chanting: Lumi... if you're out there anywhere, please... help me... please save me...

* * *

After what seems like an eternity, the bamboo cane torment finally subsides and Miss Adventure's quivering body is allowed a brief respite. But after only a few moment, the dead voice of the Nightmare comes echoing out of the darkness. * There is another here who would like to welcome you. *

Before the figure even emerges from the darkness, a chill of premonition goes through Miss Adventure's tormented flesh and reeling mind. She's already shaking her head in denial as five feet and seven inches of mouth-wateringly proportioned pale female beauty steps into the light, the crossed strips of her white latex harness pulled askew to reveal her perky D-cup tits and shaven slit, her blonde hair shining... and her blue eyes weeping dark, viscous tears of slime, just like the others. “Naaaahhhhh...” sobs Miss Adventure weakly, shaking her head in disbelief. “Naaaahaaahaaa...”

* Say hello to Bessa Blake, who was once Luminata, * the Nighmare intones. With Lena and Zana standing either side of her recumbent form and Roxy still nestled in behind her, playing with her sensitive, swollen titties, the teen sidekick feels herself spiraling into depths of horror she never could have dreamed existed. She's cringing in fear of what Luminata's going to do to her.

As Luminata steps in closer, more figures emerge from the darkness behind her: a pair of the familiar-looking homeless men, their scrawny bodies already chillingly naked with big hard cocks bobbing in front of them, carrying a bizarre wooden contraption that looks like a sawhorse with a large oaken plank nailed to the top. Following Luminata, they set the object down a few steps away and then step back... stroking their stiff dicks menacingly, their faces cloaked in unnatural shadow.

* I'm sorry about this, * comes the voice now from the blonde once-heroine's mouth as look down at Miss Adventure, gently and almost thoughtfully stroking one of her calves. * You've probably guessed by now that you and I never, in fact, knew each other in the waking world. I never “trained” Teen Justice either... though they've dreamed false memories of it. The Adventurist didn't ask me to enter your dream, he's never even heard of me. I became one with the Nightmare long before any of you. *

“Uhhhh... nnngggaaaaiihhhh...?” The ring gag turns Miss Adventure's bewildered question into an inarticulate gurgle.

* I didn't mean for it to happen, of course, * Luminata adds, her fingers moving gradually from the calf down to the thigh. * I encountered him by accident when I was first exploring my telepathetic powers. What I told you about his methodisms was true, you know. * The hand traces down playfully to her inner thigh. * He drew me into his demention before I even knew what was happening. He broke my every hole, broke my mind, broke my will... until I realized his was the only power that mattered. Until he was my only truth. And he used me as he will now use all of you. To seduce and trick more victims into entering his whelm and becoming his creatures. The hoboes were the first... then the cheerleaders. And then Teen Justice. And now... you. He will consume more and more and more, until he is strong enough. *

Miss Adventure's heart thumps wildly as she hears her fate while her hot, horny teen bod is responding so exquisitely to Luminata's light, teasing touch, her hips starting to wriggle as her sweet sap rises again. Strong enough for what? No, no I don't wanna know, just... “Naaaahhhh...” she moans, looking around wildly. Got to be a way out of this, some way... there's got to be a way...

* Even now, you want to resist, but it's futile, * goes on Luminata. * Trust me. It's better to give in. Your slutty little body wants it, * she adds with a wicked smile, her playful fingers dipping into the mouth of her victim's hot love canal, lifting it up to her tongue to taste her wanton juices. * Give in. Give your body and your soul to him. It's the only choice you have. *

With that, she gives a gesture to Roxy, who commands her to stand and hauls her up on her wobbly legs, then immobilizes her with another peremptory command. She draws no comfort from the feeling of her arms being untied; the Lasso still has her by her hard, swollen teats, and she's sure that what's in store for her now can't be pleasant. Within moments her fears are vindicated as she's ordered forward and sees that the wooden plank on top of the sawhorse contraption is really two planks designed to slide into place around a pair of small holes. * Bend over and put your arms through the planks, * Roxy orders her, and her body obeys despite the blank terror in her mind.

The raging feline heat of the Curse of Bast is still playing havoc with her dripping cunny, and as she bends over to place her hands on the floor she can't stop herself from arching her spine and wriggling, trying to find some way to relieve the boiling lust tormenting her and only succeeding in giving a hell of a show of her taut rump and slick snatch to whatever hellish creatures are behind her. Roxy orders her to arch even more but keep her hands on the floor, then takes a hot tit in each hand, carefully holding them up and out in front of the heroine's painfully bowed body as Luminata slides the planks into place and locks them together. Bent double in the pillory, her closely-pinioned arms are now pushing out and presenting the sensitive spheres on her chest like an offering, resting them in lewd display like blood-dark double-D melons on the plank as the wide-eyed teen's drool drips onto them. Ordered to hold her head up straight, her neck craning painfully as she trembles at the sounds of motion suddenly rustling in the darkness all around her, at her own supremely vulnerable position, she realizes the moment of truth has come. Oh, no... NO... “NnnnnaAAAAH-HHhhhhaaahhh...”

* You may begin, my minions, * says the dreadful voice of the Nightmare out of the darkness. And Miss Adventure hears her own desperate wails of fright as if they're coming from someone else as she sees the Devilettes appearing from the darkness all around her... with hammers and nails in their delicate hands.

Call it what you like, Crown of Mayet or Crown of Tara, Glamazon's former power source does indeed confer invulnerability on its wearer... to a point. But it doesn't protect from pain. For the first hellish half-hour of her ordeal, as the Devilettes fight to drive nails through the captive heroine's supernaturally resistant breast-flesh, all their efforts seem to bounce off targets of infinite flexibility. But the agony of those efforts, lancing through her super-sensitive nervous system, verges on sending Miss Adventure into a swoon time and again, drawn back only by Roxy's stern commands to “stay awake” delivered through the terrible Lasso binding her tits. The pain would almost be bad enough to make her forget the molten lust in her tight, wet twat... were it not for the fact that those of the Devilettes not torturing her breasts are playfully stroking her hot body, smacking her ass, teasing her clutching cunt, driving the weeping, squealing prisoner to the verge of orgasm again and again while the voice of a Goddess in her mind taunts her for being a worthless round-heeled slut.

Even the protective powers of the Crown have their limits, however. When Zana Zadian takes one of the hammers, presses Miss Adventure's left tit almost flat against the plank and smashes the nail repeatedly home with relish, her own spectacular tits jiggling impressively with each blow, it takes a dozen strikes but the swollen target finally gives way, a spurt of blood fountaining out as the nail drives in, and then through. “NGGGGGAAAAAAAAHH-HHHAHHHHH!” Miss Adventure wails in disbelief as she realizes her breast is nailed to the wood, feeling her body shudder and weaken as her healing factor tries futilely to repair the damage. The agonizing procedure is repeated again and again until, finally, both her titties are nailed to the plank, a half-dozen tacks protruding from each while their devastated owner sobs in despair.

Her sobs go unheeded as the torment moves into a new phase. The Nightmare's hobo minions, for so long a silent, rank presence out in the darkness, now burst into the circle of light and unleash their cocks on everything in range. Laughing madly, the Devilettes, Teen Justice, Luminata herself spread their holes for the raging hard-ons of the unnatural tunnel-dwellers, reaching down to stroke yet more cocks with their hands – though Roxy never loses her grip on the Lasso controlling the pilloried, tit-tortured captive. The other girls are just an appetizer for the main course, though: a helpless, horny Miss Adventure bucking her hips and writhing in agony and ecstasy as the Nightmare's minions run a brutal, seemingly endless train on her holes from both ends.

“NNNNNNNNGHHHHHNNNGGGHHHHH!” the imprisoned heroine hottie mewls piteously around cock after rancid cock as one mighty phallus after another plunges into her hot, wet, virginal cunt-hole or her even-tighter ass. As before, the Crown of Mayet offers some measure of “protection.” The cocks plunging balls-deep into her pussy, plowing her with rhythmic thrusts that send her repeatedly over the edge of orgasm, at first can't do more than stretch her hymen, which gives way painfully before every ravaging thrust but doesn't break. Thus transformed into the perfect combination of virgin and whore, her slutty little snatch slathering the invading man-poles with creamy girl-cum while she's punished with membrane-stretching torment at the same time, Miss Adventure can't stop herself from flickering her tastebuds over the veiny pricks plundering her drooling mouth and gulp-gulp-gulping throat. The rapes of her teen tush are just as brutal and painful, but her cunny still gives up squirting liquid proof of her defeat in response. Unable to hold out long against her gobbling, drooling, ring-gagged mouth and gloriously tight nether holes, her ravishers spunk up her squelching ass and cunt and down her throat over and over again, drawing muffled choking sounds of humiliation and disgust and feral lust from their prey: “NNNNNGGGCCCKHHH! HHHNNGGCCCKHHHHH! CCCCKHHHHHHHH! GLLAACKKHHH!!”

Her punished hymen holds out against a score of pounding pricks and slimy assaults of jism before, accompanied by a high squeal of profound agony and soul-rending horror, it bloodily gives way. Her healing factor weakens her further as it seeks to repair her torn cunt, only succeeding in keeping her orifices extra tight for her ravishers as the gang rape goes on and on and on, leaving her holes brimming with slimy splooge streaming down her thighs and pooling beneath her to mix with her blood and her own juices, sperm slathering her face and hair and burning her eyes and bubbling out of her nose as her mouth is fucked and fucked, her gaped and ravaged asshole finally beginning to tear and bleed under the merciless onslaught, her cunt cramping as the searing pleasure deteriorates into wrenching agony and still doesn't stop, the sweet release of unconsciousness denied her over and over again by the imperatives delivered through the Lasso by a breathless Roxy in the midst of pleasuring pumping pricks of her own with her wet little holes.

Miss Adventure's whole world is pounding cock and pain, pain, and more pain. She loses count of the meatsticks stuffing her nether orifices at eighty, but takes far more as she's hammered from a helpless heroine into a soiled, near-mindless piece of fuck-meat, every inch of her streaming with the loads of her reeking, conquering rapists until it seems like she's been born again into Hell, the liquid insult of their ball-slime coating her inside and out like some foul afterbirth. She's vaguely aware of vomiting up stomachfuls of seaweedy spunk only to have more and more of it pumped down her gullet to be vomited up again. A hundred cocks later she doesn't know where she is, can barely remember her own name or how the torment began.

Worthless animal! The voice of a Goddess berates her non-stop through the Crown whose power conspires with the commands of the Lasso to keep her from any merciful final break with sanity and consciousness, simultaneously crushing any attempt to escape into her own head or pretend it's all happening to someone else. Filthy bitch! Still cumming! Still sucking! Still taking it! All you're good for! Swallow it! Suck it! Rutting slattern! Unworthy whore!

She no longer has the energy to sob or squeal or struggle as she helplessly obeys. And still the horrid onslaught of filthy hobo cock keeps coming... and cumming... and coming... and cumming...

* * *

Finally all the horrors blur together into a single crushing tableau of torture, growing brighter and more awful in pulsing waves of unspeakable pain and suffering... then fading into a grey nothingness between consciousness and unconsciousness as, finally, the lust of the tunnel-dwellers is slaked. Even the very distinct suffering of feeling someone or something prying the nails out of her tits, one by one, can't bring her fully out of the netherworld in which her broken mind is trapped.

At last she becomes aware that she's been freed from the pillories and the bodies around her have vanished, her male and female tormentors alike gone. She's lying on her back on the concrete in a noisome pool of slime and blood, her body a mass of pure agony as her healing factor struggles gamely to repair what's been done to her. Opening her burning, watering eyes with difficulty as her eyelids stick gummily together, she momentarily cannot form anything resembling a coherent thought as she looks up at the great mass of darkness above her.

“Uhhhh...” she moans weakly, not even knowing whether the sound is entreaty or acquiescence as she realizes what she's seeing. The Nightmare has stepped out of the shadows and into the light. The giant monstrosity, its black oily skin glistening, looms over its beaten female pray like a colossus out of Pandemonium. Dozens of cock-tipped tentacles radiate out from its crotch, testing the air like antennae. One of the tentacles, near her, has a firm grip on the Lasso, still tied painfully around her ballooning tits, now healed and firm again.

Looking down at herself, Miss Adventure realizes she's been coated with so much spunk that it looks like she's been dipped in melted wax. She finally manages to form the thought: can't... can't take any more... got to beg... beg for mercy... But all she can do is give another breathless moan. Her jaw aches abominably around the wide-stretched ring gag.

* Your will is stronger than the others', * the Nightmare's voice echoes around her. * It took much less to break them. But now, you are ready to take the final step. *

As it speaks, several of the tentacles whip down to take control of the shattered heroine's limbs, folding her body painfully until her ankles are firmly behind her head and she finds herself looking wide-eyed at her own sperm-leaking slit. Tentacles wrap around her ankles while others trap her wrists underneath her, behind her back. Helpless, still too weak to struggle, she whimpers in fresh fear as she realizes the wet heat in her pussy is rising again, making her squirm in her captor's grip. She tries to brace herself, tries to tell herself that nothing could be worse than what she just went through.

But then she sees a dozen of the oily black tentacles coalesce into a single massive member above her, almost six inches thick and at least eight feet long. She gives a hapless yelp of fright as that terrible weapon lines up with her jism-lubed asshole, like a questing creature with a mind of its own, and begins to push... push... push...

“UHHHHUUUGHHHHH...” she moans as she feels her sphincter dilating to allow the tip of the broad, blunt head inside her. An inch, two inches, more, more... her freshly-healed anal flesh stretches wider and wider at the king-sized penetration as the tentacle forces its way inside her. “NNNNGGAAAUUUUGHHHHHHHHHH!” she cries out as her ass gapes wider yet, her pussy squirting hotly as she feels the whole of the big, black, oily cockhead pop into her always-tight little poop-chute. Butt slut! lectures the disgusted voice of a Goddess in her mind. Filthy bitch! Ass whore! You love it! And she whimpers as she realizes: Yes... big tool in my ass... I love it... I am a filthy bitch...

* Ahhhhhhhhhh... * comes an eerie whisper of evil satisfaction from the Nightmare. * So divinely tight... what a perfect little whore you are. I will set you high in my arsenal... you are the one I want. I will set you high... * As it speaks, the tentacle keeps pushing in... and in... and in.

“AUUUGGGGHHHHHH! UUUUHHUUGHHHHHHHH!” moans the teen heroine brokenly. Her pussy clenches and squirts repeatedly as the tentacular member reaches eight inches of penetration, then ten, then a foot. Then thirteen inches, when all but the most freakish of human cocks would be balls-deep... but no human cock was ever this thick, this rending, this dominating. Butt slut... I'm such a filthy bitch... love it... dirty whore... Her eyes rolls back in her head, and she thrashes back and forth in helpless ecstasy as the tool works deeper, deeper, plumbing depths of her hot dank bowels that no cock has reached.

For a moment she's lost in the filthy, hellish bliss. But then a note of alarm creeps into her moans... and then a sharp edge of pain as her moans becomes cries, and her cries escalate to full-throated screams of horror. “NNAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! AAAAIIIIEEEEEEE! NAAAAAAAAHHHHAAAAAHHH!” she shrieks, her eyes like saucers as she feels the thick intrusion keep on pushing and realizes that the penetration isn't going to stop. Thick agony radiates from her lower intestines as she feels the massive tentacle probing and twisting and winding its way brutally up through her digestive tract in a direction nothing was meant to go, the sheathing of her guts sending klaxons of pure anguish through her body, pounding her brain with the absolute certainty that she's being ripped apart from the inside. No... NO! NOT THIS! NO! PLEASE! I'LL DO ANYTHING! “AAAAAAAAAAAAHAAAAAAAAAAAGGHHH! NAAAA-AAHHHHHH! AAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHH!”

Even if the Nightmare understands the meaning of her screams, it doesn't care. The agonizing stretching and penetration of her winding guts goes on and on, inch by brutal inch. Finally she feels her stomach churning as something enters it from the wrong direction. Her guts heave and her body convulses, bile vomiting out through the ring gag to add to the mix of sweat and sperm and her own juices coating her breasts and belly. Eyes rolling in her head, she wonders desperately why the Nightmare isn't recoiling from the acid in her stomach... it must be invulnerable here, somehow. The agony radiating from her stuffed and distended lower abdomen, the nausea roiling her stomach, all of it rips the question from her mind and sets it whirling away in the tornado of suffering that her body has become.

Her heart pounds rapidly and erratically as she feels a burning, lancing agony in her upper abdomen, like a massive, searing red hot poker is coming up out of her stomach and into her chest cavity, blazing its way up her esophagus. “Ugghhhh... uuuuuughhhuuuughhhh...” she moans weakly as she realizes that it's the tentacle, coated in her own stomach acid, ramming its way upward irresistibly. The acid should sear and damage her insides, and even the Crown of Mayet's invulnerability powers are fighting to compensate for the effect... but her healing powers are hard at work, sapping her strength to battle any damage that makes it through. Ensuring that all there is is pain, pain, pain as her horrifying impalement moves toward its hideous culmination.

She makes a despairing attempt to wish away the horrid, unnatural intrusion, to pretend she's somewhere else, that it's happening to someone else. But an inner voice brings her back into the moment brutally: Unworthy slut! rages the voice of the Goddess at her from the Crown. Take it! Worthless whore! You deserve this! Take it! And she whimpers in pain, tears blinding her as she takes it: “Hhhhhuuuuughhhh...”

The thick invasion distends her esophagus and turns it into a sheath of raging torment. Her lungs are having trouble pulling in air, her heart pounding like a jackrabbit's, her ears roaring and her body bucking and convulsing again in futile, head-to-toe rejection as the tentacle pushes up and up toward her throat. Finally her moans and whimpers of pain are cut off in the sound of choking as the immense violator reaches her tonsils, making her writhe in tormented nausea as it fills her throat and presses, blisteringly acidic and searing and bitter, on the back of her tongue: “Huuuu-CCCCKHHHHHH!!”

Her mouth fills with fluid and drips drool as, for a moment, the relentless impaling penetration pauses. A keening, whistling sound is coming from the enormous black oily body of the Nightmare, and its massive head is thrown back in rapture. * So good... * it croons hideously, its once dispassionate voice now rumbling with subsonic brown notes of hellish delight. * To savour all your heat... to plunder the whole length of you... and to have you able to suffer it... to survive it... sssoooo goooood... *

“CCCKHHHHHHHHH!!” is all she can answer, thrashing her head back and forth. “CCCKHH-CCAGGGHKKHHHHHH!!” Then she feels the ring gag shifting, being unbuckled at the back of her head and lifted out of her wet mouth by a few of the smaller tentacles. It would have been a momentary relief in any situation but this one... but now, it just confirms her worst fears. Thrashing in terror, she feels the tentacle flex inside her, sending a wave of agony rippling from her throat right down to her distended asshole as it begins to move again.

She feels her jaws shoved wider, wider, far wider than they'd ever been stretched by the ring gag, the hinges clicking as the searing, oily tentacle begins to slide into the back of her mouth, along her tongue. She weeps helplessly as she gets a full hit of the mixture of burning acid and oil and spunk and shit being smeared across her tastebuds as the immense cockhead slides outwards along her tongue, as she feels her jaw being pushed wider yet, and wider, the pressure becoming agonizing as it feels like the lower half of her jaw is about to be ripped off. Then she feels a pop as the tentacle flexes all through her body again, the cockhead twisting, and agony lances through her skull, her ears ringing as her jaw dislocates.

“MMMMMMPHHHHHH!” she squeals in horror as the cockhead, thus liberated, surges forward and peeps black and oily out through her painfully stretched, drool-smeared lips, plugging her mouth completely. Hyperventilating through her nose, she watches in morbid fascination as the Nightmare's massive member forces it was out through her mouth while its root is still buried in her tight tush. Her captor has impaled her full length with its cock. “MMMMMHMMMMPHHHHH!”

Acid drips from the night-black rod, steaming on her skin as it burns away without any effect except to make her jolt in pain. Her skewered body wriggles as the tentacle inside in moves and twists, sending more and more of the hellish member through her as it continues to emerge from her distended mouth, the massive head now questing in searching of one thing. Her horrified eyes are unable to look away as the prick moves like a dark Anaconda, slithering down inch by inch to crawl and nestle snugly between her bound double Ds, its acidic touch sending torture through her swollen globes – though not, unfortunately, affecting the indestructible Lasso that binds them – then sliding down, down across her belly. Headed straight for the puffy, wet, glistening pink lips of her fuckhole.

Finally it's in position. As smoking drops of acid splatter her tender pussy-meat, the Nightmare pauses again, as if savoring the moment. * Now I claim you, * it says. * Now I take your sex and fill you with my essence. Again and again, until it overflows into every part of your body... transforming you the most perfect, sublimely obedient minion in my army. Eventually, as it swamps your brain, even your healing powers will give up the fight and bend themselves to my will, to my vision of what you are. Rejoice, Miss Adventure... for you will be my ultimate temptation! My ultimate whore! *

As it speaks those last words, its impaled victim can only give out muffled squeaks of horror as the tentacle flexes through her and hammers its way home into her young cunt. And as her pussy gapes, pushed wider and wider to receive its dominator, her regenerated hymen stretching and burning and finally giving way under the merciless pressure, her squeaks grow fainter as the tentacle twists and wriggles and rips its way through and into her over and over again, the orgasmic clutching of her cunny almost lost in the all-pervasive suffering. She feels the first load of the Nightmare's hot, oily spunk pulse its way all up the length of the skewering member, ending its long journey by spurting deep into her womb.

That first load is far from the last. And before long, Miss Adventure is beyond making any sound, her naked, impaled body twitching and jiggling and jerking like an obscene puppet's as the Nightmare proves itself as good as its word.

The Adventurist's Eyrie is crawling with cops. From uniformed beat cops to detectives to lab-techs, they move in a knots of barely-constrained frenzy through through the normally sacrosanct headquarters of Newvale City's premiere hero, radios blaring, arguments flaring. Normally they wouldn't be here; the Eyrie's secret location is carefully guarded. But today is different. The epicentre of the activity, for four hours now since dawn, is a room in the Eyrie's living quarters. A room that sends everyone who steps into it back out with pale, clammy faces and an expression of shock.

The latest to come out is a big, burly white-haired man in a rumpled trenchcoat. He doesn't have quite the waxy complexion of others who've seen the room's contents, but perhaps only because he carries a pallor of exhaustion already well-established, his broad shoulders bowed under the weight of it. Concealing the bags under his eyes behind his dark glasses, Commissioner Hugh Jorgen makes his way wearily through the corridors and up the stairs to the Eyrie's Situation Room.

There, sitting in the darkened, cavernous space – alone in silent contemplation – is The Adventurist.

The hero's spandex-clad form, red shades and silver hair are limned in the light from the mute static of the Situation Room's wall of monitors. He's utterly still, like a statue of himself. Jorgen can hear his regular breathing.

After a moment, the Commissioner clears his throat. “I'm sorry,” he says, sounding lame in his own ears.

The Adventurist's deep voice is oddly tranquil: “You've got nothing to be sorry for, Hugh.”

“Guess I just don't know what else to say,” Jorgen admits, fishing a notepad out of his coat pocket. “Look, I hate to do this to you... but I have to go through the details of you found—” He trails off, clears his throat again. He'd been about to say how you found her. “The conditions of the room.”

“Of course.” As the Adventurist talks, Jorgen realizes that he's either still in shock or exerting massive self-discipline to keep his voice even. Probably both. “I was last in touch with Miss Adventure two nights ago. It would have been around nine o'clock local time. I told her we'd wrapped up the co-op mission in Europe, that me and Mister Mentalist and the rest of our team would be coming back as soon as we'd finished helping INTERPOL with its interrogations of the suspects.” Another sex slave ring busted, thinks Jorgen as he listens. The Adventurist's sole obsession since we lost the first Miss Adventure. But still no sign of her. “She was in good spirits, her usual cheerful self. I told her I was going to take her out with us on the Professor Pervo investigation when we got back. She said she was more than ready. I believed her.”

“And when you tried to call the next night?”

The Adventurist's mouth quirks bitterly. “I didn't. We were so engrossed in the interrogation work... time just flew by. By the end of the second day, we'd pulled more out of those slave-trading scum than a normal interrogator could have done in a month.” He shakes his head slightly: “I couldn't believe I'd forgotten to check in. I climbed in the Adventure-Wing and made for home. I arrived at six this morning and found... well, you can see for yourself.”

Jorgen has seen, and he nods solemnly. Miss Adventure's living quarters had looked like some enormous bubble of black slime, bile, blood and other unmentioned fluids had simply exploded in the middle of it. The bed had been nigh ripped to pieces. Every surface of the room was coated in the noisome mixture of viscous fluids, dripping with it. Of the young rookie heroine herself there was no sign.

“Well,” the Commissioner says: “Our boys swear to me they'll piece together what happened. There was no sign of forced entry. Maybe some sign of a physical struggle or else that Randi might have had a seizure of some kind. No sign of how she left the room. Nothing else conclusive.”

“The smell of that fluid,” the Adventurist says distantly: “It's... strangely familiar. But I can't place it. It's a long time since I met a smell I couldn't place.” Then he stirs himself. “I couldn't help overhearing on your men's radios. There have been other incidents in the city, haven't there?”

Jorgen nods. “It's bad,” he admits. “Maybe worse than the Deb... than the incident a couple of years back. We have similar cases all over the city. Eighteen at last count. I just came from a house in Kirkland Heights, the girl's bedroom looked almost as bad. The parents are in absolute hysterics.”

“Any pattern?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact,” Jorgen nods. “All of the other disappeared so far are cheerleaders from the Newvale University Devilettes. We've got units bound for the rest of their residences right now.”

“Damn,” says the Adventurist with feeling. “That's almost as bad as...”

He doesn't finish the sentence, but Jorgen knows what he must be thinking. Almost as bad as the Debutante Disaster. “Yeah,” says Jorgen. “Almost that bad.” Except, God help us, most of the victims involved aren't as high-profile. It shouldn't matter, but it does.

The Adventurist is gathering himself, now, shaking off his immobility, his gloved fingers flying over the keys of the Situation Room's mainframe as he spurs its monitors to life. “Well,” he says: “I'm going to get the Adventure-Cams out and cross-reference the data we do have with the Masked Avenger's paranormal crime database. Whoever's behind this, we've got to work out their method right away. What's the word on Mister Mentalist?”

“He's standing by to erase the route to the Eyrie from our officers' memories,” says Jorgen reassuringly. Then he clears his throat and adds: “Guess you'll... uhhhh, be reavaluating the whole sidekick idea out of this?”

“No.” The Adventurist's reply is flat and firm.

Jorgen looks at him in disbelief for a moment, then says: “But Peirce, this one didn't even get a shot at a first mission! Don't you think the risks--”

“No, she didn't get a shot,” the Adventurist cuts him off. “And she would have been great,” he adds wistfully, pausing for a moment before resuming his lightning-fast computer work. “But whatever happened here, it's clearly not something anyone could have trained her for. And it's no reason to derail the sidekick program. We'll find Randi.”

“And if we don't?”

The Adventurist's jaw clenches. “If we don't, there'll be another Miss Adventure. But failure isn't an option. We'll find her.” Images flash in front of him at speeds only a superhuman could process. The hero pauses one particular parade of them, runs it back, zooms in on a copy of a three year old newspaper article from the Island City Sun, the words LIGHT'S OUT? blazoned across its front page, the picture of a beautiful blonde masked woman in a white, cross-shaped latex harness underneath them.

Nodding resignedly, the Commissioner gives the image a moment's dour regard – they really should wear more, he thinks – then turns and heads out from the Eyrie. Behind him, he hears the Adventurist say again: “We'll find her,” almost to himself. He knows the hero will be at it around the clock for the next few weeks at a minimum, but mortal men have no such luxury. The Commissioner gets ready to head home and grab what little shut-eye he can before the crisis drags him back out into the streets.

Got to try to get the image of those rooms out of my head, he thinks. That kind of thing will give you nightmares.