As dusk falls over the city of Newvale, a pair of heroines are on the prowl.

The pair of identical, doll-like blonde emo waifs – sweet, freckle-dusted and fresh-faced at the reported age of eighteen, though people tell them they look at least two years younger in person – stand five foot nothing and look exactly alike. Each measuring 32A-24-34, the nubile nymphets both sport tiny pleated micro mini-skirts, knee-high leather boots and tattered fishnets, tight halter tops bearing the letters "DM" and "EC," bows in their hair and a profusion of costume bracelets around the arm-warmers on their forearms.

Aside from the lettering, it's color that tells them apart: the bangs swept over Electro-Cutie's right eye are highlighted in the same electric blue of her fishnets, her hair-bow, her blue "mask" of eyeshadow, the belt of her micro-skirt, the laces of her boots, the various bangles at her wrists and the thong periodically peeping out under her skirt. Dyna Mite's-signature colour is purple, with her bangs swept over the opposite eye. Together, they're the Twin Dynamos, latest additions to the city's Masked Avengers alliance. Their jaws set bravely, their ice-blue eyes intense, they're out for vengeance as they cruise over the rooftops on a sheet of static electricity provided by Electro-Cutie's lightning powers.

"Damn, Katie," says Dyna-Mite as she looks down over the city. "I hope we find those evil bastards soon. I can't stop thinking about those videos."

"I hear you, Jess," replies her twin sister. "Uhhh, maybe we shouldn't use each other's names, though."

"Shit, sis, you're worried about secret identities at a time like this?"

"There another time I should be worried about them?"

"Look, forget it, we've got to find those girls. You see anything?"

"Not yet..."

Five hours earlier, several limousines full of very beautiful, very rich debutantes had been carjacked by parties unknown on their way to the annual Kirkland Heights Debutantes' Ball. Not three hours after that, the limos had been found abandoned and burned, and harrowing videos had been linked in e-mails sent to the police from an encrypted source: videos that showed each of the two dozen beauties bound with rough rope and ball-gagged, the details of the rooms around them lost in the harsh glare that focused on bodies that were now enticingly revealed through their shredded ballgowns. Dark bruises and smears of grime, red whip-marks and handprints were clearly visible on their firm, supple flesh, and their mascara was smeared with tears of fear and horror. After each lurid image, a voice from off camera had issued the proclamation: "Your daughters are now in the hands of Incubus the Insidious." It had named an outrageous sum for the return of each, and warned that any attempt to rescue the debutantes would result in their vanishing permanently.

The word had gone out to the Newvale chapter of the Masked Avengers, with a stern advisory from The Adventurist – the chapter's president and the city's premier superhero – to steer clear of the case until further intel was available. The Twin Dynamos had looked at that advisory with disbelief. Freshly minted as members of the illustrious superhero alliance not thirty days ago, they already had a sense that the senior membership actively worked to keep junior heroes out of the spotlight. And here it was happening at the expense of twenty-four girls in the most crucial hours immediately after their kidnapping!

Somebody had to do something, they'd decided. And if they happened to score a capture of a mysterious villain into the bargain, well – it just might mean the Masked Avengers would have to acknowledge them as elite heroines sooner than they'd planned. The Twin Dynamos had no doubt they had what it took to play with the big boys. With everyone else sitting on their heels, this was their chance to prove it.

However, they'd made the concession of leaving the emergency beacons in the logos of their suits active. There was no sense cutting themselves off completely from the aid of their fellow heroes if things went wrong – that would just be foolhardy. Now, as they crackle along over the city, they feel confident and ready for anything.

"Look, over there," says Dyna-Mite suddenly, pointing to the east. "That warehouse in the dockside district."

"It looks condemned," agrees Electro-Cutie, "but there's lights on inside. And those are vans out back. I think we might have a winner, Jes – uhhh, Mite."

"At least a contender. Let's check it out."

Cutie's sheet of electricity banks sharply to the east, her hands outstretched to keep it steady as the Twin Dynamos surf the static toward their destination. As they draw nearer the mysteriously well-lit abandoned warehouse, a half dozen men in balaclavas can be seen standing by one of the vans, smoking cigarettes.

The crackling sound of the young heroines is almost on them before one of them looks around in alarm, points, and pulls a pistol from his belt. Hastily, his companions spin around, tossing their smokes and reaching for their weapons, their mouths opening to shout the alarm.

Too late.

Before the first of them can get off a round, a wall of pure kinetic force slams into him, sending him head over heels in a high arc over the circle of vans and slamming him into the dirt in a motionless heap. The others don't even manage to unlimber their guns before Mite, gesturing furiously with her right fist, sends another wall of kinetic energy sweeping through them like a wrecking ball, flattening all five of them before they can make a sound.

As the Twin Dynamos settle to the ground among the inert form of the crooks, Cutie gives a low whistle. "Wow, Mite. Not bad for your first time."

"I just hope I didn't use too much force," Mite grimaces slightly. "We're gonna have to question one of them. Find out if this really is the place we're looking for."

"At least we know something fishy is going on here tonight. Not too subtle of them to be lounging around out in the open in ski masks."

"Yeah." Mite frowns for a moment, disquieted by this. Isn't it almost... suspiciously sloppy? But she shakes off the feeling. No way are these low-rent thugs that smart, there's no sense letting silly doubts dull the joy of the moment. Flattening these bad guys felt good.

Around them, the thugs begin to stir and groan. Shaking her head, Electro-Cutie concentrates for a moment and a ball of lightning forms above her – then sends lightning bolts arcing into the five thugs around them, knocking them out cold again.

Mite curses. "Shit, Katie! I mean, Cutie! Remember questioning one of them?"

"No worries, there's one more," Cutie replies matter-of-factly. And she steps outside the clustering of vehicles and unconscious men toward where the first thug Dyna-Mite hit is also starting to stir, looking groggily around him.

"Oh yeah," says Mite. "Forgot about him. Cool. Can we do good cap, bad cop?"

Cutie gives a wicked little grin. "How about ‘bad girl, worse girl'?"

Mite answers it with a grin of her own and nods. The thug looks up, and the eyes behind his ski mask widen in alarm as he starts to backpedal in the dust, trying desperately to get to his feet as the Twin Dynamos close in on their prey.

In a secret complex in the eastern wing of the vast Busch Manor on the western outskirts of Newvale, another heroine is admiring her look on the mirror, and much like the Twin Dynamos is getting ready to embark on her first real night on the job.

A pair of blue-lensed goggles is perched above her pale, flawless, full-lipped face, and her light sandy hair is bound up in a loose bun behind her head. A blue choker bearing a red metallic letter A is at her neck, and she wears blue fingerless gloves and blue six-inch stiletto boots. She runs her hands over her rich, curvaceous 36D-25-37 frame, at once athletic and gently feminine, just barely clothed in a slingshot bikini done in stars-and-stripes style, the stripes coming up to cover her right nipple while the stars concealed her left. She licks her lips and poses, standing tall at five foot eight, her hazel eyes flashing, thinking of how completely her look will stop villains in their tracks.

"Get ready, world," she tells her reflection with a grin. "It's time to meet Miss Adventure!"

Her real name is Anita Hardman, a senior at the elite Morehead-Givens Collegiate High School in upstate Newvale. She'd been headed for beauty school and a career in hairdressing before she'd gotten drunk one night and taken part in a wet T-shirt contest at a party in the city. Afterwards she'd been approached by a mysterious man with an air of power about him, a man who said he saw "great talent" in her, a man who would change her life forever.

The man, of course, was the mysterious billionaire playboy Peirce Busch, better known to the world as The Adventurist, a founding member of the Masked Avengers from the days before it had become a national superheroes' organization. He explained that after he'd nearly lost his life on a mission in the Middle East, he realized that he couldn't go on working alone. He needed a partner. A sidekick.

She'd been skeptical at first, but his stories of heroism and adventure, his offer of a meaningful life that would make her a symbol to girls across America, finally persuaded her. He had even developed a means of giving that sidekick superpowers much like his own. She had taken up residence with him, arranged to do the remainder of her senior year by correspondence, and started to train for her new life... and in due time, he had revealed his Adventure-Ray, built to imbue ordinary objects with some of the cosmic radiation that had turned him into a near-immortal superhuman.

One such object is around Anita's neck right now, the clasp in the choker that gives her an echo of The Adventurist's abilities: super-senses that let her hear a pin drop across a crowded room, super-healing that will let her recover from almost any injury that doesn't destroy her heart or her brain, super-strength that amounts to the might of five ordinary men. She can feel the energy coursing through her as she looks at it. After all the training, all that work, she thinks, I'm finally ready. I still can't believe he chose me!

She frowns as she notices the camel toe that's bunched up at the crotch of her slingshot suit, barely covering up her tight, virginal cunny. As she's adjusting the material, she marvels at the sensitivity of her skin: even the act of straightening out her suit sends thrills of disquieting sensation through her body. But the Adventurist educated her about this drawback of super-senses, and she's learned to focus and push the sensations to the back of her mind.

As she finishes adjusting, the intercom on her bathroom wall buzzes to life. "Anita, I need you in the Situation Room right away," says the deep baritone voice of the Adventurist.

She smiles her perfect smile, pushes the button and replies: "You're the boss, Mister A. I'm on my way."

Heading out of the bathroom, Miss Adventure makes her way through a corridor and into the huge chamber – its east wall covered in camera feeds and computer readouts – that serves as the Adventurist's Eyrie. The man himself, square-jawed and silver-haired, his muscular six-foot frame clad in red spandex, red wrap-around sunglasses on his face, the signature silver "A" at his belt and a formidable package clearly outlined at his crotch – she was sure it was the real reason the hero had always been such a hit with the ladies across the world – was standing with his hands on his hips and watching the computer screens, one in particular.

"Suited up as ordered, Mister A," says the teen sidekick brightly. "What's up?"

"We've got a situation," says the hero, looking intently at the screens. "A multiple kidnapping."

"And it's something the police can't handle?"

"Possibly not. I've also advised the Masked Avengers to stay away for now," he replies. "There's two dozen debutantes on the line, the daughters of CEOs, shipping magnates, media moguls, politicians, you name it. A sloppy rescue attempt could lead to a shitstorm like you wouldn't believe." He points to several images on the wall, camera feeds that look like bird's eye views of various parts of the city. "But I've been tracking the kidnappers, too. The Adventure-Cams went out the moment the news came in. I've identified a possible site, and I was ready to take us in."

She nods, trying solemnly to look like she understands the blurred jumbles of images and information he's pointing at. "So, what's the problem, Mister A?" she says. "I'm up for it, you know that."

"The problem," he replies, "is that someone has beaten us to the punch. A couple of rookies who've decided to ignore my advice. The Twin Dynamics or something like that." He points to one camera feed that shows a pair of blonde heroines in ultra-hip attire standing, posed haughtily, over a cowering man in a balaclava. Even to Miss Adventure they look awfully young. "It's a complication. They might get themselves into trouble."

She sees the shapes of unconscious thugs lying in the dust behind them and says, "Well, they may not look like much, but they seem able to take care of themselves pretty well."

"Against normals, yes." He nods. "But I recognize the name in those videos, the man who's claiming the kidnappings. If it really is Incubus the Insidious, there's very serious danger here. We're going to need to go out there and provide them some support. And we'd better get on it right now."

Miss Adventure nods decisively. "Right on, Mister A. I can't wait. How do we do it?"

The Adventurist turns to look at her. "Carefully," he says, his voice stern. "You promise not to get cocky, right?"

His sidekick gives him a winning smile as she pulls her blue goggles down over her eyes. "Safety's my middle name, boss."

"Alright," he says after a moment. "Then you take the Adventure-Cycle and go by ground. I'll take the Adventure-Wing and go by air. The way we do it is you wait for my word, I'll hit them high, and you hit any stragglers low as they come out of the warehouse. You'll have police support outside, too. We'll keep the risk minimal, we'll get these girls home, and I'll have a little talk with our rookies about going off half-cocked."

Her heart leaping in excitement as she realizes the moment has come, the teen superheroine salutes smartly, her smile widening. "You can count on me, Mister A," she says brightly. "I'll head out right away."

"Good luck," he nods. "And again: be careful."

With that, she's dashing out of the Situation Room and into the lift that will take her to the garage. As Miss Adventure claps her eyes on the sleek red, white and blue lines of the Adventure Cycle, she thinks to herself: This is it. This is really it! Time to kick some ass, Miss Adventure!

It doesn't take long for the last thug to give up his bosses: an application of vise-like kinetic force from Dyna-Mite, a few jolts of voltage from Electro-Cutie, and he's singing like a proverbial canary. "The boss," he grits out, his eyes burning with impotent hate. "He's got them... got them inside... in the basement."

Mite cocks her head. "That's this... Incubus guy, right?"

He nods, unable to shift any other part of his body from the grip of her kinetic force field. "Yeah... that's him... hired us all a couple of weeks back..."

"And how many more of you are there?" Cutie has sparks flashing around her fingertips as she asks the question.

The thug swallows nervously. "Like... about fifty guys, I think. I dunno for sure..."

"Are you absolutely sure?" Mite tightens her right fist slightly, and the prisoner cries out in pain.

"Fuucck! Yes yes yes I'm fucking sure!" he gasps, his eyes bugging out. "I swear! Fuck that hurts agghhhh I swear to fucking Christ aggghhhh I'm telling the truth..."

"Okay, easy there, Mite. I believe him. And what about Incubus?"

"What... what about him," moans the masked goon as the crushing grip of the kinetic force field relaxes a bit.

"What does he do? What are his powers?"

"I don't... I don't know... Please, you gotta believe me... He's just this guy in a business suit, like this exec-type guy... He hired us... I never seen him do anything weird, I swear..."

The Twin Dynamos look at him, then back at each other, then share a nod. "Okay, miscreant," says Cutie. "You were smart to cooperate. We'll do our best to get the judge to show mercy on you when you're sent up." Before he can make any reply, she's zapped him back into unconsciousness.

"Well," says Mite. "Wasn't made of very stern stuff, was he? I hope the rest of them are like that."

"Me too. Think we should've done that?"

"Done what?"

"You know, like... tortured him and stuff."

Mite snorts. "You worry too much, Katie. That was just interrogation. You know, like Lance Power does on that show you love so much."

"Yeah, but Timebomb is fiction, you know. I mean, I heard that—"

"Look, you've heard of the Loyalist Act, right? It's all about how we've gotta hit terrorists with everything we got. The cops totally do this stuff to terrorists all the time. And guys like these terrorize half the population, right?"

"Okay, but—"

"Forget about it already!" Mite sighs in exasperation. "We've got a job to do. Let's get in there and bust this Incubus guy already."

Cutie nods, biting her lip. "Cool. So, back door or front door?" She frowns and looks back down at their informant. "Shit. We should've asked him where they've got the security concentrated."

"Doesn't matter," says Mite confidently. "We'll just blast anything they throw at us. I say we go in the front door, they won't be expecting that."

The Dynamos look at each other, nod again, and scoot around the side of the abandoned warehouse, creeping toward the front. As they move, they can hear faint sounds from inside. Coarse, laughing male voices, the sounds of lowlifes sharing jokes, having a beer, generally being relaxed... and totally unprepared for a sneak attack from a pair of mighty superheroines. The toothsome teens grin at the prospect of giving this scum the surprise of their lives.

There are other sounds too, more ominous, echoing sounds. The sounds of leather smacking against flesh. The ever-so-faint sounds of gagged, feminine squeals. Hints of other, ruder sounds, hard to identify but disquieting all the same. Reminders of the urgency of their mission.

As they reach the warehouse's front, the Dynamos ready themselves, air swirling around Mite and a static charge building around Cutie. They take a moment to build it... a moment more...

... and BAMMMMM! Awesome twin walls of electricity and kinetic power slam into the building's front doors, smashing them to smithereens.

The young heroines smile with satisfaction at the shouts of alarm and "What the hell?" that ring out from inside the warehouse. Together they advance into the dust cloud that's resulted from their awesome unleashing of energy, squinting, trying to identify their opponents.

Electro-Cutie frowns as the dust cloud obscures everything, even Dyna-Mite near her side. Damn, she thinks. Didn't think of that. We'll have to dial it down next time. She restrains the urge to shout out at the villains and demand they surrender. That will just pinpoint her location for them. She has to make the dust work for her.

She realizes a bunch of them are shouting in a language other than English, maybe more than one, but she can't make anything out. She inhales and finds herself coughing, can hear Mite doing the same... and suddenly the shouts get louder and more urgent! Something's wrong... she realizes belatedly, and opens her mouth to shout a warning to Mite.

Too late!

WHHHUMMMMP! Cutie feels something very large and heavy wrap around her and bear her brutally to the ground. A net! Some kind of strange fiber... she thinks there might be something weird about it, but doesn't have much chance to pursue the thought. She feels the netting suddenly coil around her like a snake, whipping her up in the air and smashing her down to the floor, stars dancing before her eyes and the air whooshing from her lungs at the impact.

What the... It takes her groggy brain a moment to realize what's happened. Mite must have tried to power her way out of the netting with blunt kinetic force, causing it to deform and wrap even tighter around its quarry, like a boa constrictor tightening around a struggling victim. "Jess..." she croaks out desperately as she hears booted feet and shouts drawing closer. "Jess... wait... I'll get us out..."

Concentrating through the pain, Cutie gathers a ball of electricity above her, thinking their only chance is to burn away the netting and come up fighting. It's only at the very moment that she releases the lightning bolts, sending them arcing toward the netting around her, that she glimpses the bright strands of wire interwoven with the strands of netting. But she's realized her mistake too late.

The electricity hits the netting, setting the hemp fibres alight in places but doing nothing to the copper wiring at their core. The Twin Dynamos give keening twin squeals of agony, thrashing like landed fish as thousands of volts of Electro-Cutie's own electrical power lance through the wiring and into their tender teenaged flesh. Cutie feels herself going rigid, the pain becoming her whole world as her mind shuts down to save itself—

—and then the world vanishes around her, like the flick of a light switch plunging her into numb darkness, and she feels nothing at all. Lights out.

The wind buffets Miss Adventure's exposed skin as she zooms through the streets of Newvale on the Adventure-Cycle.

All her senses are alive, held in check by careful discipline. She can see and react to traffic so fast it's as though her reactions are predictive. She can hear the patterns of cars and pedestrians from more than a block away, picking the fastest path through them... and she can hear the quickening heartbeats and rushing blood of the men and women around her when she has to stop at a light, displaying her goose-pimpling, nearly-naked flesh for their avid eyes, her delightful rump and massive mams thrust out proudly for the admiration of all. She can smell nervous sweat, taste the hormones wafting on the air as people drink in the sight of her. The men especially. She smiles and thinks: Boys will be boys.

But her careful training ensures that none of it is overwhelming. And though her enhanced tactile sensitivity means she keenly feels the purring engine of the Adventure-Cycle reverberating deep into her pelvis, massaging her soft pussy-meat, she stays alert and keeps it to the back of her mind. She's utterly focussed on reaching the dockside district as fast as she can.

It's a feat she manages in record time. It's barely eighteen minutes after leaving the Eyrie that she pulls up in front of the warehouse. As she pulls up, though, her jaw drops at what she sees: the front of the building looks like it's been smashed in by some gigantic force! Wow, she thinks. These Twin Dynamos must be pretty powerful! Maybe there's really nothing left for us to do here.

She doubts that that's the case.

One thing she remembers from the Adventurist's teachings is the cardinal rule: Less Is More. Especially where hostages or unknown numbers of enemy assailants are involved... or both... trying to do too much too quickly can introduce dangerous unknowns into a situation. You could wind up killing the hostages you were sent to save. Or blinding yourself with dust and debris as you tried to smash in on the enemy. Caution is best. Always caution. It's something the Twin Dynamos clearly don't know.

The vans that were visible in the Adventurist's monitors are still there, but the cluster of unconscious thugs the Twin Dynamos had left are gone. Not a good sign. As Miss Adventure stretches out with her super-senses into the apparently condemned building, she can hear very little activity on the main floor... except for the sound of hinges creaking faintly above where the front doors had used to be. An ominous sound – it's a trap door, no doubt meant to unleash something unpleasant on unwanted visitors. Otherwise, the warehouse at first sounds deserted.

But she concentrates, letting her senses stretch out even further. The basement. Ahhhh, the warehouse basement is a different story.

It's full of humming equipment, tramping boots, heartbeats, snarling voices, the clank and clatter associated with cleaning and loading firearms. Those are the sounds of criminals. At least seventy of them, maybe more. She can catch snatches of conversation, but very little of it is in English. Guttural. It's all very guttural. Have to ask Mister A what language that is.

Then she catches her breath as she sorts out other sounds, far more blood-chilling. Weird squelching sounds, slapping sounds, the sounds of stifled moans of despair, the sounds of men groaning in animalistic pleasure. At least three dozen more men. The debutantes, she realizes as cold anger floods through her. They're taking turns on the debutantes. They're... they're using them...

And another sound penetrates through the complicated din, in the very midst of that perverted racket. The sound of a voice, deep and harsh, clearly enunciated, speaking in clipped English. "Very good, my friends," it's saying. "Very good. You can put them in those stocks over there. What a lovely pair of new guests. And how nice of them to give us an excuse to sell this whole batch off shore, hmmm? A much bigger cut for everyone that way. I do love superheroines... especially the stupid ones."

She feels the cold anger growing into hot fury as she recognizes the voice. It's the same voice from those horrible internet broadcasts. "Incubus the Insidious," she says under her breath. "Aren't you in for a surprise." She feels her fists balling at her sides in anticipation. She can't wait to get her hands on that scumbag.

The sound of dragging, as though inert forms are being pulled across a concrete floor. Unconscious forms. Groggy moans in high, girlish voices. The sound of keys in locks, creaking wood. Miss Adventure thinks about that trapdoor at the entrance and realizes what must have happened. The Twin Dynamos have indeed, despite their evidently awesome power, fallen into some kind of trap. At this very moment they're being bound into stocks, wooden frames, the kinds of frame used for displaying convicts. Or captured enemies.

It's as bad as the Adventurist feared, maybe worse. It's going to be necessary to breach, and soon, before the twins suffer some awful fate. No doubt the same awful fate already undergone by the writhing, moaning debutantes under an onslaught of leather paddles, slashing hands and... and...

It doesn't bear thinking about.

Yes, we have to breach very soon. But not yet, Miss Adventure reminds herself. Not yet. The police backup is surprisingly slow – they still haven't arrived. Nor has the Adventure-Wing. She's going to have to hang back until they do. She's under the strictest possible orders not to go in alone.

And so she climbs off the Adventure-Cycle, rolls it out of sight in the shadow of a nearby building and stands poised, waiting, ready. And she listens as the conversation in the basement continues to progress. "Okay, Thad," says the voice of Incubus distinctly. "Revive them." And with the sound of splashing water—

—the frigid impact of water in her face jerks Dyna-Mite out of her numb, unconscious state and rudely into the world of the living.

Shuddering, she jerks her body to find, to her horror, that she's immobilized. Her head and hands are locked into a wooden contraption that has her bent forward, unable to see behind her. She realizes with a jolt of fear that her ankles have been locked apart, bound to some kind of a bar that keeps her legs spread wide and that must ensure that anyone behind her is getting a top-rate view of her hindquarters.

"What the fuck—" she says, or tries to say. But there's something wedged in her mouth, holding her jaws wide apart and muffling her voice... a gag! All she gets out is: "Mmmmphhh-mmm-mmmmmphhh!"

Whoever threw the bucket of water has moved away from in front of her. Outside a circle of glaring light, there's nothing but darkness visible to the fore. Mite cranes around as much as her confinement will allow and spies Cutie a few feet to her left.

Mite's fellow Twin Dynamo is trapped in her own pillories and looking much as she herself must look. Bedraggled, terrified, tear-streaks of make-up running down her face and her eyeshadow "mask" partly obliterated by the water, her hair plastered to her lovely face, drool dripping around the huge red ball-gag in her mouth.

"Mmmmmphhh-hhhmmmmphhhh," Cutie sniffles miserably around the gag, her eyes speaking volumes. Mite can relate.

How long have we been out? We've got to get out of here. Mite closes her eyes and reaches for her power for a moment. She realizes she can feel it, there, undiminished. Ready to be wielded. Even getting nearly-fried by her sister's powers hasn't slowed her down. These assholes have underestimated us, she realizes with sudden elation. And she gets ready to bust her way free.

As she does so, though, she hears sounds coming from the darkness. The same vaguely disquieting sounds that had so faintly been audible before, only louder this time. Squelching. Slapping. Moaning. Low laughter. Grunts of passion. And then she hears the voice.

"Ahhhh, my lovely Twin Dynamos," it says. "My catch of the day. So glad you're awake and with us."

The voice is coming from behind them. It sends a chill down her spine; it's the same voice that called itself "Incubus the Insidious" in the frightening videos that had been sent to the police. Mite starts to gather a kinetic force-field, clenching her jaw furiously around the ball-gag as she does so. She throws a pleading look at Cutie. Come on, Katie! she tries to think at her. Power up! Together we can fight our way out of here!

But Cutie seems to have been made gun-shy by the experience with the net. Wide-eyed with terror, she shakes her head emphatically. "Mmmm-mmmmphhh."

"No doubt you are right now gathering your formidable powers to break yourselves free of those restraints," goes on the voice of Incubus conversationally. "Completely understandable. But before you do so... I should like to introduce you to the hostages you came here to rescue. Thad, the lights if you please."

Abruptly, a switch is thrown and the darkness surrounding their circle of light lifts... to reveal a scene from Hell.

A semi-circle of twelve young, nubile girls is visible in front of them. The debutantes, half of them at least. They're tied in various uncomfortable positions, gagged, virtually naked save for little sweat-soaked shreds of what used to be cocktail gowns hanging from their arms or midriffs:

... a slender redhead is forced up on one leg with the other tied up behind her with rope, suspended along with her strictly-bound arms from a hook over her head, weights dangling from her tits and her alabaster skin covered in red welts... a long-haired blonde is frog-tied, her trembling legs holding her up on her haunches and revealing the bruises and handprints on her once-flawless skin... a mocha-skinned cutie lies crudely exposed with her ankles tied behind her head and her hands behind her back... a beautiful black girl whimpers on her stomach with her arms tied in a brutally strict "reverse prayer" position and her ankles locked wide apart in steel rings on the floor... it's like a smorgasbord of vicious barely-legal bondage.

And circulating among the girls are men in balaclavas. Most of them are in nothing but balaclavas, their huge, tumescent pricks bouncing as they stroll casually from victim to victim, leather whips or straps or belts in their hands. One will stop and lay an instrument of pain across the calves or back or breasts or buttocks of a whimpering victim. Another will stop in front of one girl or another, briefly yanking out her gag to replace it with a slimy prick, using her mouth wetly. Another will, on a whim, sink his cock into an easily-accessible ass or pussy, ramming it home and fucking furiously as the spunk of a dozen or so previous users slops out of the orifice and around his cock to splatter all over the concrete floor.

The debutantes are moaning in horror, their eyes filled with despair as they're used and used. But even that isn't the worst of the blood-chilling scene that confronts Dyna-Mite's shocked gaze. No, the worst is the fully-clothed men, a dozen of them, one standing by each of the bound hotties with a cocked pistol, fully automatic, aimed at her head.

Only a dozen in their field of vision. Judging from the noises, Mite figures there are that many behind them as well. Mite realizes with a sinking feeling in her gut that she has no way of taking out all the men without harming the hostages herself or getting at least a few of them shot.

Reluctantly, she lets her power drain out of her. She'll have to wait for a chance.

"Please don't judge us too harshly on the treatment of our lovely young ladies here," adds Incubus, his voice growing closer behind them. Mite can feel herself tensing as a warm finger runs intimately over her thong-clad ass, a large, strong hand copping a thorough feel of her taut, delectable young rump. "We knew someone would disobey us and make some idiotic rescue attempt, after all. So we took the liberty of training them for their new lives before we ship them off."

"Get away from me, you sick fuck," she tries to say: "Mmmmmphhhhh-hmmmphhhhh-mmmmphhhhh... mmmmmphhhh...." She hears muffled protests coming from Cutie, too. A chill sinks in as she starts to realize how ugly their predicament really is.

There are deliberate footsteps as the hand slides down alarmingly to stroke her virginal sex, then up over the small of Mite's back before it's finally removed. A man steps into view, unremarkable looking for the most part at first: average height, pale skin, dark hair in a carefully-coiffed helmet on his head, smart black business suit like a G-man or a mortician. It's as he turns around that something strange is in evidence. Not his slightly-too-expressive mouth, not even the slightly-too-sharp-looking teeth revealed in his smile, but rather his eyes. Green eyes, too bright and with something decidedly strange about them.

It takes a moment before she realizes that they have split pupils, like the eyes of a lizard or a snake. This guy is definitely not human.

"As you have guessed by now," he says benevolently: "I am Incubus the Insidious. And you are the newest members of our beloved Masked Avengers local. As we all know, this means you have ‘emergency beacons' secreted on your persons, no doubt designed to summon that Great Red Nincompoop himself, The Adventurist, superhero to the superheroes. Isn't that so?"

"Fuck you," Mite does her best to spit out around the gag: "Mmmmummphhh-mphhhhh!"

Incubus' smile widens until it's just slightly too wide to be normal. "And so perhaps you might hope to get a hand free to activate these devices, and bring him and your other caped crusading friends to the rescue. Yes?" He steps forward, grips Cutie's chin in his hand and pulls her eyes up to meet his. Mite can hear her sister whining in fear as she's forced to meet that inhuman gaze. Stay strong, Katie! "A shame about the way we captured you, then. All that electricity must have shorted out those beacons completely. I guess you had better hope you told someone you were coming here, tried to cooperate with your fellow Masked Avengers. Because if you didn't," he says with clear relish: "Nobody now has any chance of finding you. There will be no-one riding to your rescue."

Cutie gives a loud whimper of despair. Mite barely suppresses one herself as her heart starts racing. This is ugly, so ugly, gotta think of something fast... something... think of something...

But as Incubus goes on speaking, continuing to gloat over his captives' predicament, Dyna-Mite is suddenly aware of a weird sensation. A dizziness and light-headedness is taking over her senses, an odd sensation as though she were just on the edge of an out of body experience. Some kind of drug? she wonders vaguely... but the distracted thought disappears like a piece of flotsam in a stream as the feeling intensifies.

A strange tingling is rising in her body now. She suddenly finds her eyes drawn forward to the depraved spectacle of the abused debutantes. The red-head is jerking under the whip, her muscles tensing rhythmically, fresh tears running down her face. But Mite realizes for the first time that the girl's cunt is clearly, visibly wet. She hears for the first time the throaty undertone of desire in the girl's muffled moans. She realizes suddenly that this is true of all of them, every one of the debutantes she can see... and she feels the tingling growing stronger, especially in her own sex, as she watches the redhead's tormentor replace the punishment of the whip with the punishment of his hard cock. Mite squirms, unconsciously twisting her own hips and putting her own ripe peach of an ass and thong-covered pussy mound on display under the hem of her micro-mini as she watches the thug's victim grinding back against him while he reams out her ass with sadistic delight.

Not understanding the feelings – neither of the Dynamos has ever let a boy past first base – makes Mite instinctively clench her jaws against the ballgag and try to resist whatever's happening to her. She can feel the crotch of her panties getting wet. What... she wonders in confusion. She seems to be hearing the echo of a distant voice in the back of her mind. It sounds like... like her own voice, chanting something.

Being helpless makes me hot... the voice, her voice is saying. I've always been a slut inside... I've always wanted a big, strong Daddy to take me... To take whatever he wants from me... To hit me... To hurt me... To defeat me... To dominate me... To humiliate me... To punish me... I need a Master to beat me... To fuck me... To force me... I'm a rape slut... A submissive little fuck toy... A dirty little whore... Being helpless makes me hot... I've always been a slut inside...

"Mmmmphhhh-hmmmmphhhh," moans Mite into her gag in miserable denial as the inner voice starts to repeat its humiliating, demoralizing message on an endless loop. It's not true, she tries to counter it. I'm a good girl! I'm a superhero! I'm strong and confident! I don't want to be dominated! I'm not a slut! She concentrates, vaguely hearing that Incubus is still talking but more concerned with fighting down this weird betrayal from inside her own skull. But the voice goes on repeating itself, merciless, relentless, on and on. Always been a slut inside... hit me... hurt me... need a Master to beat me... force me... rape slut... fuck toy... dirty little whore... Being helpless makes me hot...

Combined with the visual and aural onslaught of the bound debutantes being thrashed and fucked, the effect is devastating. The perverse litany starts to wear at Dyna-Mite's mind, each phrase coming in rhythm with the pulsing of her stiff clit in her increasingly soaked thong panties. She keeps trying to fight back in her mind, but everywhere she looks she sees firm young asses being spanked, tight wet snatches and assholes being brutally forced, and each new depravity saps her will and concentration. She finds herself openly sobbing in bewildered incomprehension as her snatch just gets hotter, as she hears her own voice in her head getting louder: Defeat me... dominate me... humiliate me... punish me...

She realizes suddenly that Incubus has broken off his gloating speech and is just laughing. She looks up at him, hears herself moan in fear as his cold, inhuman eyes meet hers. "You seem to be enjoying the show, my lovely little teen vigilantes," he chuckles. "Perhaps... it's time to make your own debut." He gestures to someone behind them.

Cutie and Mite share a look of panicked dismay as their trembling bodies tense in agonized anticipation. And then, after a long moment: "Mmmmmphhhh!" Mite squeals as she feels a powerful hand grip her thongs and rip them away from her body, exposing her tight teen sexual treasures to the world, her pussy shamefully wet and dripping fat droplets of honey down her widely-spread thighs.

And just like that, the real nightmare begins.

The order is for strict radio silence, and for no cell phones. The Adventurist said that Incubus and his men might be sophisticated enough to have scanners and phone decoders. Transmission silence is of paramount importance.

It means that Miss Adventure can't call anyone as she paces restlessly outside the warehouse. She can't find out what's happened to the Adventurist and the police backup. She's waited fifteen long minutes, listening with her super-hearing as Incubus ramblingly taunts his teenaged prey, listening as the kidnap victims are brutally whipped and raped and degraded. Listening and doing nothing. She paces, clenching her fists, unclenching them, clenching him again, her jaw grinding.

Come on, come on, she silently urges her backup, her mentor. Where are you? We can't wait any longer! We can't wait!

A key advantage is slipping through their fingers, she knows. She's heard Incubus boast about how nobody can possibly know where the Twin Dynamos are, about how no-one will ride to their rescue. He's underestimated the Adventurist, and he also plainly doesn't know that another superheroine is waiting in the wings, ready to storm in on him and his goons. But that advantage won't persist forever. What happens when a patrol of the goons comes out and sees her? She's considered withdrawing well out of sight to be on the safe side... but then she couldn't be sure of her super-hearing picking up everything she needs to hear. She's torn. She paces in frustration.

Two more minutes, she thinks finally after a long, long spell of pacing. Two more minutes, and then I'll pull out. Miss Adventure knows she might have to redeploy almost all the way out of the dockside district, get to a locale where she can find out what happened to everyone else. Maybe there's been an ambush? Some other major event that's focused their attention? What could be more important than rescuing the precious daughters of some of the most powerful people in the state? If she has to leave the warehouse... Incubus might get away completely. But I can't go in alone. I can't!

Then her blood freezes as she hears Incubus laughingly say: "You seem to be enjoying the show, my lovely little teen vigilantes. Perhaps... it's time to make your own debut."

She stops. After an agonizing moment, her hearing picks up the pitiful gagged whimpers of Electro-Cutie and Dyna-Mite over the sound of shredding fabric. Probably their panties. That's not good.

And then: "Mmmmmphhh! Mmmmm-hmmmmmphhh! Mmmmummmmmphhh! Mmmmm-HHMMMmmmphhh!" The rookie heroines' high-pitched squeals of pain and humiliation start to come in rhythm with the WHACK! THWACK! CRACK! WHACK! of what sound like wooden paddles hitting tender skin. They can be heard sobbing, the wooden frames in which they're immobilized creaking as the twin sisters clearly struggle to get the inviting target of their taut young asses out of the line of fire. But to no avail. WHACK! SMACK! CRRRACK! WHACK! The onslaught goes on, relentless, the despairing cries of the Dynamos getting louder with every unforgiving blow.

Despondently, Miss Adventure looks around, scans the sky. Still no sign of anyone. She can't do this alone... but she can't walk away from the suffering of the hostages and the Twin Dynamos either.

She realizes she has no choice. She'll have to do it alone.

No, she thinks suddenly. Not alone! She can't fight the small army of goons in that building and hope to win. But she might be able get into that basement room fast enough and take the Dynamos' assailants by surprise, setting the twins free. They might be able to blast an escape route out of the warehouse, to suppress the gangsters long enough for the group of them to hot-wire one of those vans and get the debutantes away to safety.

It's not much of a plan, she thinks. But at least it's something. She squares her shoulders, sets her flawless features and makes her decision. Now scanning intently for possible routes inward, she darts out of her hiding place and runs for the building, moving with astonishing speed and confidence in her stiletto boots. Her ample breasts heave, bounce, jiggle and try mightily to pop free of the thin straps that pass for their confinement as she pelts toward the warehouse's rear entrance. I'm not called Miss Adventure for nothing. Time to roll the dice.

She's sensed the pair of guards at the back entrance of the warehouse long before she sees them, and more importantly long before they see her. She appears around the building's corner at an oblique angle designed to give them as little reaction time as possible.

It works. The guards' jaws drop at the spectacle of the nearly-naked young beauty sprinting toward them, her eyes bright with violent intent. Neither of them gets his automatic rifle up before Miss Adventure has closed the gap and flattened both of them with a single perfectly placed haymaker. As the pair slump unconscious to the ground, the barely-legal heroine doesn't pause for a moment. She smashes open the door they'd been guarding with one booted foot.

"Hey! It's another one!" shouts a coarse thug's voice from her left as she tucks and rolls into the building. "Get her!" And there's a gabble of that guttural language she heard before, too.

Miss Adventure already knows all the guards' positions, having sensed them before she broke the door. She's guessed, too, where the stairway to the basement is: off in the cavernous space to her left, beside an old abandoned foreman's office where a thug now nests holding an AK-47. He's trying to train it on her as she ducks and dodges, punches and kicks her way through the dozen men who've descended on her wielding knives and crowbars.

She knows what she has to do. Smashing a knee here, a solar plexus there, throwing one man into another, dislocating an arm, knocking out an assailant with his own crowbar and then taking out the pair behind him with a splits kick, the heroine fights cannily, carefully ensuring that the gunman won't have a clear shot until the moment the last of his comrades has fallen. She'll have to work quickly: a klaxon is sounding and the small army holed up down in the basement is heading for the stairs itself.

It seems like an eternity but is really only a few seconds before eleven of her assailants are incapacitated on the ground around her. She rips the crowbar out of the hands of the twelfth and sends him soaring toward the gunman's nest with a vicious kick. As the machine gunner curses, his line of fire still obscure, she sends the crowbar flying in a slightly curved arc around the flying thug. THUNK! It collides brutally with the gunner's skull, knocking him out cold.

With the coast clear, Miss Adventure now sprints for the stairs, her heart in her throat at the riskiness of what she's about to try. Her senses have told her of the forbidding mass of well-muscled men roaring up those stairs – but also of an important small office behind them, where the working alarm and P.A. system is connected. Having sensed it brought to mind a trick the Adventurist once told her about, one that he'd used on a mission in Algeria. She wonders if she'll be able to make it work.

She sees the wide stairs and the close-packed mass of men coming up them. Clubs, crowbars, knives and chains brandished menacingly, huge meathooks reaching for her, murderous eyes glaring at her from behind their ski masks, they're almost like a single huge beast with many heads.

If you can't go through something, she thinks on her mentor's advice: Go over it!

Catching the thugs unawares, the plucky teen do-gooder simply leaps up and runs across the top of her mob of assailants like Jesus running across a pond. Her stiletto heels digging into scalps and shoulders, her ankles somehow always an inch ahead of grasping hands as the men curse and yelp in pain, she makes it look easy as she evades the suddenly clumsy mob of bruisers. Some are trying to turn and grab her: "Get that bitch!" But the momentum of their own crushing crowd is against them, still bearing them upward as she bounds down and over them. She's past one, three, seven, nine, twelve, fifteen steps and more than fifty men as she sprints for her target.

There it is, guarded by a relatively small group of stragglers: the office, Incubus' command centre. To her right is the corridor to the terrible chamber where even now, the sounds of feminine torment ring out. Those sounds put her blood up; the guards in her path don't stand a chance.

As she kicks and smashes her way through them, though, she can hear the voice of Incubus talking again: "Why, I believe we have another hero with us. How interesting. I wonder if they know we have pistols trained on our hostages at this very moment. I wonder if they know we'll start killing those hostages if there are any more sounds of fighting."

Indeed she does, thinks Miss Adventure grimly. Time to do something about that. Knocking the last of the command centre's guards unconscious, the horde of men from the stairs now boiling back toward her with utter fury, the heroine grabs a nearby knife and sends it arcing into the P.A. equipment. Only got one chance at this...

The throw is good! The knife strikes the P.A. system's microphone, hitting its activate button and simultaneously throwing it into the path of one of the speakers. Miss Adventure claps her hands over her hears and focuses on suppressing the higher frequencies of her super-hearing as a punishing howl of feedback displaces the blaring klaxon and rips into the eardrums of everyone in the facility.

"Aggghhhh..." The heroine grits her teeth, still sprinting through the pain toward the door into that hellish improvised sex dungeon. She has only seconds before one of the guards hot on her heels disables the punishing screech. Will it be enough? Will it distract the pistoleros covering the hostages long enough for one of the Twin Dynamos to take a shot? Everything depends on it.

WHHHUMPPHH! WHHUMPHHH! Even over the viciously screeching speakers, the series of muffled concussions from inside the chamber can be heard and felt, like distant artillery. As Miss Adventure smashes through the door, she can see that the pistoleros – and the various naked thugs, too – all have their hands clapped over their ears in pain. So does the black-suited figure, standing in front of the pillories, who must be Incubus the Insidious. One of the Twin Dynamos, bedraggled purple bangs trailing into her face and a ball-gag still in her mouth, has turned her pillories into a shower of splinters. She's keeping her balance awkwardly, tottering with her legs locked wide by an ankle-spreader bar... and she's wild-eyed, like a cornered animal. There's a man down behind her, another one of the naked thugs who'd been wielding a whip. Miss Adventure sees her thrust a fist out at a pistolero across from her, sees the man plowed off his feet by an invisible force and tossed like ragdoll into the concrete wall behind him.

Then, as if in slow motion, she sees the young Dynamo turn, her eyes glassy and terrified, and flail a panicked fist out at whatever had just burst through the door.

Oh shit I didn't think of that—Miss Adventure barely has time to think before the potent blast of concussive energy smashes into her, sending her soaring head-over-heels back out of the room. Lights out.

"Wakey, wakey," says a sardonic voice, stirring Miss Adventure out of her unconsciousness. "Early bird catches the worm."

Groggily, the teen heroine opens her eyes.

Still in the sex dungeon. Standing in front of her in the circle of light is the man she'd glimpsed ever-so-briefly before Dyna-Mite had accidentally smashed her into oblivion. His suit and hair are unruffled, his smile smooth and unperturbed, his inhuman green eyes cold and terrifying.

The teen heroine stirs and groans. With a faint shock, she realizes that she isn't bound as she'd expected to be. Her skimpy little bikini and goggles are intact... and so is her choker. They've left me my powers, she thinks, frowning. Why? Maybe they didn't know the choker's significance.

Looking around her, she can see telling evidence of Dyna-Mite's brief rampage. There's a smear of blood on the wall where the gunsel she'd smashed had made his impact. In all probability he's dead. An all-body ache and sense of fatigue tells Miss Adventure that she herself had healed some pretty serious injuries while she was out. The Dynamo packs a punch.

She's in the chamber's centre, where the Dynamos had been pilloried... but can now see the pillories have been removed. The debutantes are still tied in their various obscene positions in a circle around her, but there are two new additions to the circle. To the right, the purple-banged Dyna-Mite can be seen lying on her back, sporting a bruise on her left cheek where someone's struck her, her top and micro-mini stripped away and ankles tied securely to her wrists in order to splay her out in obscene vulnerability, her firm rump and juicy young cunny facing outward. To the left, Electro-Cutie is in a similar predicament. Both girls can be heard whimpering and moaning through their gags – but now, they're ring gags, big circles of plastic designed to hold their mouths open for depraved exploitation.

Each bound beauty is now covered by extremely pissed-off looking thugs wielding automatic rifles. But it's beyond the circle that the really terrifying sight is: a crowd of eighty or more thugs in balaclavas, otherwise stripped down, their pricks big and angrily tumescent, an assorted of whips and canes and riding crops and straps clenched in their fists. Each and every one of them looks enraged and ready for payback.

Not good, thinks Miss Adventure uneasily, a chill of fear going through her. But she straightens her back and thinks to herself: A Masked Avenger never gives up! What would the Adventurist say at a time like this?

"That was a valiant attempt you made, young lady," says the cold-eyed creature who can only be Incubus. "Truly valiant. If poor little Dyna-Mite there hadn't made the mistake of blasting you and then hesitating long enough for me to knock her out, it might even have worked. A shame your fellow heroines should prove so worthless."

"Don't call them worthless," she replies instantly, firmly. "Those girls are trying to do good in the world. They're worth a thousand of you. Now," she thinks back to pictures she's seen of her mentor victorious and strikes a confident heroic pose, hands on her hips. "Release us, and release these innocents you've kidnapped, and I might try to get the courts to go easy on you."

Incubus smiles toothily. "Heroically said, Miss Adventure," he replies. "Your mentor has taught you well. But I'm afraid you're going to have to earn your friends' release if you want it."

She frowns, suddenly uncertain. "Wait – how did you know my—"

"Your name? Why, it's simple, my dear. My old friend the Adventurist isn't the only man in America with surveillance equipment."

Miss Adventure goes cold. She remembers a detail she hadn't had time to stop and think about when she first stormed in here: she'd heard Incubus saying something about the hostages, apparently for her benefit. But how had he known she would hear him... unless he knew about her powers? Unless he knew about her?

Infiltration. Somehow he's infiltrated the Eyrie!

"You scum," she grits through her teeth. "What have you done to the Adventurist?"

"Oh, just... neutralized him for a while," replies Incubus airily, waving a hand, his grin widening. "Nothing serious. My target all along has been you, Miss Adventure. Or should I say... Anita Hardman?"

She stares at him for a moment in open-mouthed shock. My very first mission and already my secret identity is exposed to the enemy! Getting out of this is going to be very tricky. But she quickly regathers herself, tilts her chin haughtily and replies: "You don't frighten me, Incubus. Anyone who actually brags about being ‘insidious' isn't worthy of fear. I will defeat you. The Masked Avengers always prevail."

"Is that right," he replies nonchalantly. "I'm pleased to hear you say that... because in fact I have it in mind to put it to the test."

"What do you mean?" she asks warily. He's begun to pace slowly in a circle toward her – and she keeps her distance, circling away from him at the same pace.

"Well you see, Anita – do you mind if I call you Anita?"

"Yes. I mind."

"Ah. Very well, Miss Adventure," he goes on, an edge of mockery creeping into his tone. "You will have noticed that my name is ‘Incubus the Insidious,' not ‘Incubus the Unsportsmanlike.' I was serious with my earlier compliment about the bravery of your attempt. In fact, you've so impressed me that I've decided to give you a chance to win your freedom, the freedom of your fellow Masked Avengers here, and even the freedom of the lovely debutantes who brought you all to me in the first place."

"I don't believe you," she says immediately. "It's a trick."

"Now, now, Miss Adventure. What need have I of tricks? If I wished, I could simply have my men crate the lot of you up and ship you offshore right now."

"You might find it wouldn't be that easy." But she finds herself looking uneasily around at the feral, waiting eyes of Incubus' men. "Well, get on with it. What do you propose?"

"It's simple, really. I propose a duel. Between you and me."

She catches her breath. It sounds too good to be true. "You... you'd fight me?"

"I will. With all of you as the stakes. I've already given my men the order that if you knock me out, they're to set you free – all of you – and give you custody of two of the vans outside so you can get to a police station." His smile widens. "But it gets better. I'll even fight with a handicap. My condition for victory won't be simply knocking you out. It won't even be raping you... though rest assured I intend to do so. No, for me to take the victory I will have to defeat you, rape you and make you climax until you call me ‘daddy.' In that event, all of you go into a shipping container for sex-slave auction in Bastakiya, effective immediately."

As he describes the lurid terms of the contest, Miss Adventure feels her fury heating up. "You bastard," she says coldly. "You aren't going to touch me, do you hear? Much less rape me. Your days of abusing young girls are done, I swear it. If you know so much about me, you must know that I can snap you in half."

"Does that mean you accept my generous terms?" Incubus asks blandly.

She looks around again at the wall of goons, the crudely bound and exposed debutantes, the beaten and terrified faces of the Twin Dynamos with their doll-like blue eyes wide and shimmering with tears above their ring gags, the grim gunmen looming over the hostages with their automatic rifles. No way is he going to release us, she thinks. That's a lie for sure. And boy do I ever not like the sound of "sex-slave auction in Bastakiya." But it's not like I have much choice, and at least while I'm fighting him, I might be able to create another opening. Give us one more shot at escaping. Besides, she looks back at his smug, subtly inhuman face: I really, really want to clean this guy's cock. I mean, clock. Clean his clock.

Licking her lips, Miss Adventure nods. "I accept."

A stir goes through the crowd of goons, a kind of anticipatory growl. It's an animalistic, blood-chilling sound... but for all the surreal ugliness of the situation, Miss Adventure realizes she isn't truly afraid. Deep down in the core of her is a hard rock of faith: she knows that the very first mission of the Adventurist's sidekick isn't going to end in failure and disgrace. She knows it. It won't turn out that way because it can't. And the knowledge gives her strength.

Incubus' grin grows into an unnatural, savage rictus. "Very good," he rasps. "So let the games begin." He adds something for the benefit of the goons in the guttural language she'd heard before, which given the mention of Bastakiya is probably Arabic. Laughter echoes around her.

The villain strips off his suit jacket as Miss Adventure takes on a fighting stance. She notes that he's well-muscled under his shirt... but that, just like the rest of him, there's something ever-so-slightly off about his musculature. It's hard to put a finger on it, but he looks wrong... and so for that matter does the almost cartoonishly outsized package clearly visible in his pants.

He certainly doesn't lack for training, though. He bows smartly and settles into a clearly well-practiced kung fu stance of his own, his slit-pupiled eyes shining.

"The rules of engagement," he says: "Are that there are no rules but victory. Do you understand?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Then defend yourself, my brave young heroine. Hai!"

Incubus uncoils a vicious claw strike at her face with the speed of a striking snake. Fortunately for her, he hasn't reckoned with her super-senses. She can hear his muscles and joints moving before he attacks, use the sounds to predict the attack, and dodge it with the skill of a seasoned master even despite the slightly-slowed reflexes of her sore body. Good thing, too, she thinks as she dodges and parries another strike, and another, four in rapid succession, then another six, the speed of the villain's movements blinding. He could kill a normal human with just one of these blows.

As she spins, bounces and jiggles away from the Insidious One's onslaught, sweat starting to bead her smooth, flawless skin, the animalistic groans from the audience come again. Even with the smorgasbord of helpless female flesh on display, all eyes are fixed on Miss Adventure's voluptuous, imperiled figure. Several of the naked thugs have started stroking their stiff pricks. Even a few of the fiercely-concentrating gunmen are watching her and rubbing their crotches.

She doesn't have time to take any real note of this, though; she's too busy dodging blows that could crush bricks. Finally she gets the opening she's been waiting for, sees him extending a right just a little bit more than he should... and she counterattacks with a high-sweeping elbow strike!

Incubus is able to block it, but just barely, and now is on the defensive as Miss Adventure presses the attack with a flurry of vicious punches and kicks of her own. He, too, seems to have masterful skill or a superpower that can simulate it, because he too seems to be able almost to predict her movements. Nothing seems able to penetrate his defenses.

But now it's Miss Adventure's turn to make a small mistake. It's a minuscule distraction as she feels her left breast, having jostled against the meagre covering of her sling bikini once too often, spring free of its covering and reveal all its stiff-nippled glory to the crowd. Whooops, she thinks as she hears a rude cheer go up, and almost automatically reaches a hand back to recover her bared nip.

It's all the opening Incubus needs.

WHAMMMM! "Ughhhhh..." Miss Adventure's head snaps back as one of his claw strikes finally connects. Her head spinning in pain, she's unable to hear or dodge the next strike, a front kick that connects with her solar plexus and sends her flying to lie in a heap several feet distant, writhing in agony. BAMMM! "Unnnnghhhhhh... oh God..."

The pain is incredible. She flops like a landed fish as she feels her body working desperately to heal a fractured cheekbone and several broken ribs. Her healing factor saps her of energy as it works, though, and makes it impossible for her to recover and regain her feet in time to stop the next blow.

BAMMMM! It's a vicious kick to her side that winds her again and breaks several more ribs, leaving her gasping for air and whimpering with pain. She holds out her arms dumbly in a desperate attempt to ward off the next attack, but it's useless against the next bone-crunching kick that thunders into her side without mercy. BAMMMMMM! "Ugghhhhackhhh..." The pain is too much. Most of the ribs on her left side are now crushed. Miss Adventure finds herself rolling onto her stomach and almost retching with the agony, curled into a near-fetal position as her beaten body shudders, trying to heal itself. Even as it does so, her tender feminine form is already cringing in anticipation of the next attack. Luckily, though, Incubus seems to have broken off to acknowledge the cheers of his men, and their vicious jeers of his fetchingly buxom teenaged foe.

After another few long moments, she feels the agony recede and her senses start to reassert themselves. She hears Incubus circling back around, and this time is just barely able to block the punishing kick he launches at her, lifting his foot and thrusting him away as she gets shakily back to her feet.

"A taste of real combat, my pretty," grins Incubus at her as he shrugs off her momentary triumph and gets ready to go on the attack again. "A taste of real pain. How do you like it?"

"I'm still standing, vile villain," replies Miss Adventure bravely, managing to keep her voice steady. "If that's the best you can do, you should surrender now!"

She settles back into a fighting stance, trying to recover some of her earlier poise... but for all her show of resilience, much of the confidence has been beaten out of her by that handful of terrible blows. She's had to use her healing factor to recover from minor injuries before, but she's never faced pain like that in a fight. She can feel herself trembling with fear. She doesn't want to feel that again, her whole body wants to flee at the prospect.

And she knows that Incubus can't help but see her unsteadiness. Her face is streaked with tears. Her limbs are weak and rubbery, her stamina drained away by the effort her body expended in its ultra-fast healing process. Her disciplined hold over her senses is starting to fray. Everything in the room is starting to become a distraction, especially the sounds of drumming heartbeats, hands moving on and blood throbbing in dozens of rampant pricks as the villain's thugs leer at her fabulous body.

Reading the tiny, frantic, distracted movements of her eyes, it's this last fact that Incubus keys in on. "Well, perhaps you've been taking it easy on me," he says. "Perhaps I haven't... motivated you enough to fight your hardest. We can fix that. Men!" A vicious cheer comes from the watching goons. "You can be excused for finding a good fight fascinating, but I can't help but think we're neglecting our guests." Incubus gestures to the bound and gagged girls in their circle as he says it, giving another savage grin. "Entertain them. Just don't break our lovely twin heroines... yet."

Her stomach flutters in horror as the import of his words sinks in. Emitting another cheer, the horde of naked thugs outside the "barrier" of bound, naked teenaged flesh begin to flow forward, jockeying for position, like surf pounding against a shore. Exhausted moans come from the debutantes as their seemingly endless punishment resumes, whips and paddles starting to fall once more across their tender flesh, stiff pricks ramming into their sopping cunts and well-stretched asses. Miss Adventure gasps as the depraved sounds assault her hearing: the sounds of muscles cringing from hard smacks, welts rising on young skin, wet orifices being forced, pussy muscles clenching helplessly around invading man-flesh, defeated sobbing as slabs of cock-meat plunder tender poop-chutes.

The most intense jockeying comes, though, around each of the Twin Dynamos. With their pussies and asses so intimately displayed, their sweet and delicate faces full of fear, they're the freshest morsels on the line... but Incubus' instruction is clear: toy with them, but don't fuck them. A frustrating command, but fortunately, the ring gags leave open an orifice for plundering that doesn't involve taking their virginity, and two of the thugs quickly take full advantage. The girls' squeals of horror are quickly turned to ragged choking and gagging by the enormous dicks that thrust through the plastic rings and into their warm, wet mouths, raping their faces as hands and tongues roam salaciously over their exposed and wriggling flesh, especially stoking the unwanted heat in their inexperienced snatches.

Miss Adventure fights the impulse to clap her hands over her ears as she hears the sound of balls slapping against the noses of the helpless twins as they struggle to breathe through their crude throat-fucking. She tries to keep her eyes on Incubus and away from the wild gazes of the thugs, who even as they rape and whip and fondle their victims are still gazing hungrily at her, waiting to do the same thing to her.

"I hope you don't find our recreation too distracting, Miss Adventure," taunts Incubus as he dances toward her, feinting left and right.

"Y–you can't intimidate me, you foul f–fiend," she replies, hating the stammer and quaver that creeps into her voice as she tries desperately to focus, to filter out the sounds of female degradation and rampant, joyful male dominance surrounding her. She ducks awkwardly away from another bone-crushing claw strike and stumbles, just recovering herself in time to duck under a mighty kick and recover her stance.

Incubus' grin has grown so wide that his face seems half composed of white teeth. His eyes are glowing. "Can't I?" he says ominously, in a way that makes the teen heroine's knees feel suddenly weak. "Let's find out."

At first, sheer desperation and adrenaline give Miss Adventure back some of the speed and strength of which her setback had robbed her. But it's a close thing. She can feel Incubus' vicious, crushing blows whistling past her bare skin, far too fast and too close for comfort. Every ounce of her effort and concentration goes into escaping those blows... and keeping herself from stumbling out into the cruel orgy that now surrounds the combatants.

It isn't long before she feels herself beginning to tire, though. I don't... I don't know how much longer I can keep this up! She feels despair rising within her as, thanks to her flagging endurance, her control over her senses frays even further. She can smell the salty sweat of the men fucking and whipping their teenaged prizes, can practically taste it on her tongue, can hear the sperm churning in their balls and getting ready to be unleashed into defenseless mouths, pussies and asses...

The distraction comes within a hair of costing her a broken jaw as Incubus nearly connects. She flattens herself, rolls out of the path of a vicious kick and springs to her feet... but she's increasingly shaky, feeling like a rabbit trapped in a cage with a fox as Incubus implacably advances on her again.

It's at that moment that Miss Adventure becomes aware of a weird sensation. A dizziness and light-headedness is taking over her senses... in fact her whole body feels light, as though she were suddenly on the verge of floating in the air like a balloon. She shakes her head and tries to ignore it as she barely escapes another series of blows from her opponent, but the sensation doesn't go away.

In fact it's intensifying. A strange tingling is rising in her body. The depraved spectacle of abuse around her is starting to swamp her senses completely. Those pussies, she realizes suddenly: Their pussies are all so wet... So wet... She shakes her head again, trying to banish the stray thought, but feels the tingling growing stronger throughout her own body, and especially in her own virginal cunt. Suddenly, the gusset of her little slingshot thong bikini is becoming a delicious torment as it rubs against the super-sensitive flesh of her snatch, making her wetter with every movement as she gasps, her eyes widening. The straps of the bikini stimulate her stiffening nipples relentlessly. The sounds of sex and punishment shaft into her like knives.

What... she wonders in confusion. She seems to be hearing the echo of a distant voice in the back of her mind. It sounds like... like her own voice, chanting.

Being defeated makes me hot... the voice, her voice is saying. I've always been a slut inside... I've always wanted a big, strong Daddy to take me... To take whatever he wants from me... To hit me... To hurt me... To bind me... To dominate me... To humiliate me... To punish me... I need men to beat me... To fuck me... To force me... I'm a rape slut... A submissive little fuck pig... A dirty little whore... Being defeated makes me hot... I've always been a slut inside...

NOOO! She focuses her will on pushing the voice out, realizing instantly was must be happening. Incubus is some kind of telepath, assaulting her psychically in tandem with his physical attack. "Insidious" is right – his power is designed to speak in her voice make her feel like the betrayal comes from within her rather than from him. I can't let it happen! "I am NOT a slut!" she finds herself shouting aloud in defiance. "I won't give in—"

Unfortunately, the mental struggle has taken crucial attention away from the physical contest. As Miss Adventure is midway through yelling her defiance, Incubus connects again... to devastating effect.

CRRUNCHH! "—WAUUHAUUUGHHHHH!" the poor teen heroine wails in agony as his foot lashes out and smashes solidly into her pelvis. She folds like a cheap card table around the horrid torment, so much worse than anything he'd done to her before. She can feel broken pieces of bone grating together, and a warm, sticky fluid coating her thighs. He – he's shattered my pelvis and broken my hymen! Oh my God...

As her mind reels in shock from what's just happened, her superhuman body again throws all its energy into healing the brutal damage, a much harder task than last time. She lies shuddering as it does so, helpless as a kitten as she feels Incubus standing over her, shouting something to his crowd of goons. And all the while the traitorous voice in her mind is whispering: Being defeated makes me hot... always been a slut inside... hit me... hurt me... fuck me... force me... dirty little whore...

She's unable to do anything as Incubus leans down, grabs her bikini and shreds it away from her with a mighty rrrrrip! The brief added pressure it places on her still-healing pelvis almost causes her to pass out... but there will be no such reprieve. Miss Adventure can do nothing but moan in pain and humiliation as Incubus prods her roughly onto her belly, her tits pressing into the cold concrete as he pulls her hands behind her and binds them with the shreds of her own costume!

"Ughhhh... aghhhhh..." she moans as she feel her bones knitting back together, the abused and swollen flesh of her quim returning to normal, her ruptured hymen regrowing. Makes me hot... always been a slut... hurt me... force me... The ruinous voice is growing in her head, her mind and body betraying her as the pain gradually fades and her super-senses plunge her back into the hellish scene of depravity all around her. By now her resistance, her concentration and discipline, is almost completely shredded. Her vulnerable pussy, restored by her healing factor to its pristine virginity, starts to heat up and drip with very impure lust as she hears the thug rapidly fucking poor Electro-Cutie's mouth give a ragged groan of release, burying his pole deep in the teen's raw throat and pumping his ejaculate down her gullet. She hears the helpless girl moan as she involuntarily swallows around the pole, sending thrills of pleasure up the shaft of her face-rapist...

... and all around her, other girls trapped in the rape royale are starting to take hot loads of spunk from their assailants. Many of them give out broken sounds of unwilling orgasm as their insides are coated with spurting jizz. Humiliate me... rape slut... dirty little whore... chants Miss Adventure's mind at her as the sounds overwhelm her from one direction, then another.

Shaking her head in a desperate attempt to refocus, Miss Adventure tries to recover some of her will. Shut up! She tries to repress the inner voice of depravity and its dark chanting, the horrible orgiastic din around her. It won't end like this! Slowly, the naked heroine wobbles to her feet. She tries her strength against the improvised bindings on her hands, but Incubus knows his knots and she can't so much as budge them – her healing power has sapped too much strength from her.

Her guts watery with fear, she turns to face Incubus... and gasps.

The villain has stripped off his own shirt, now, and the weird musculature is revealed. His torso looks too long for his body, and he has what looks like a second set of pecs connected to something at his backbone. His face is even more frankly inhuman, the savage rictus now stretching almost literally from ear to ear and fixed as though it's the natural shape of his mouth; a long, misshapen tongue comes slavering out over those teeth. The whites have completely vanished from his glowing, utterly reptilian eyes.

But all of that isn't what brings her horrified intake of breath. What terrifies her the most is his crotch.

For the villain has unzipped has pants and freed the monster member within, stroking and wobbling it salaciously. And a monster member it most certainly is: at least fourteen inches from base to tip, covered in ridges and whorls and warts, its veins pulsing a weird green color, it's as repulsive as it is impressive. Poor Miss Adventure can't take her eyes off it. Humiliate me... punish me... force me... fuck me...

"Oh no..." she says in a small voice.

"Oh yes," replies Incubus with a sinister laugh. "Oh yes indeed, my little superheroine morsel."

Overwhelmed, the winsome beauty looks around her vainly for some avenue of escape. There is none. Through it all, the gunmen still have their aim on each of the hostages, and on the Twin Dynamos. Bolting would mean risking all their lives even if it worked.

This can't be happening, she thinks in numb shock as she backs slowly away from the advancing villain, her enticingly naked flesh goose-pimpling under his inhuman gaze, her double D's rising and falling with her panicked breaths, her nipples rock-hard, her wet pussy throbbing and leaking its juices down her thighs. Mister A will come. He'll save me. I just have to stay strong. He's on his way, he won't let this happen to me... he won't let Incubus make me into a... a rape slut... a submissive little fuck pig... a dirty little whore...

"Now, we begin our real battle, Miss Adventure," says Incubus. "But I can't be so rude as to neglect my other super-guests while we play. All that cock around them and still virgins? Not for much longer."

The Twin Dynamos, their mouths already plugged with fresh cocks, give out loud muffled squeals and jerk at their ropes as they hear this pronouncement. Miss Adventure hears the torment in those voices. She knows there's one last thing she must try to do to help them. Licking her lips, she pleads, despairingly: "Listen, Mister Incubus, you s—said I was your target all along. Well, you have me. Why not let them—"

The villain cuts her off with a long laugh, throwing his head back in amusement. "The self-sacrificing heroine, is it? Ahhh, he really taught you all the clichés, didn't he?" And he cackles again, loud and long...

... and Miss Adventure recognizes an opening.

Am I strong enough? No choice! But I've never tried this move with my hands tied... With a last-ditch, desperate surge, she leaps forward, compensating awkwardly for her tied arms as she swings her legs around in a scything spin-kick. She'll let skill and momentum compensate for her failed strength. Her naked body is a glorious spectacle as she aims her boots at the laughing villain's head... and catches him off guard as he realizes his mistake just a split second before impact!

WHACK! Even with her super-strength drained, Miss Adventure's training makes it a powerful blow, her left foot connecting flush on her enemy's jaw. His laughter abruptly cut off, Incubus sprawls to the concrete, his member flapping obscenely above him... and a weird, tense quiet suddenly descends on the room.

Did he really order them to release us if I knock him out? It can't be! thinks Miss Adventure with a sudden surge of hope. Can't take any chances! Swiftly, she moves to stomp the Insidious One's deformed genitals, hoping to take him out of the game once and for all.

But he's anticipated her. "Noooo!" she cries out shrilly as she feels one of his powerful hands catch her foot. He rises up off the floor smoothly, unnaturally, as though a cable is pulling him by the top of his skull, and she hops back, off-balance, as her captive foot lifts too. He's laughing again, and a chorus of cheers comes up from his men.

"Naughty, naughty," slavers the inhuman scoundrel as he steps in close toward his naked teen heroine prey. "You must want to get punished extra hard, Miss Adventure."

Her position has worsened. Her captured leg is now vertical against her taut body, crushed between them, leaving her tight holes splayed open for exploitation. He's reached a powerful arm around behind her bound hands and wrapped it around her, playfully stroking and squeezing a massive tit. Like it or not, Miss Adventure is utterly helpless in the hands of her perverted foe.

Yes... the voice inside her whispers: Punish me... humiliate me... But she whimpers aloud: "No, please, please don't do this..." Shivers of dread run through her body as she can feel the monstrous erection nudging up against her hot, wet vagina. She flinches in disgust from the long, slimy tongue that laps over her neck, her cheek, her ear, coating her in reeking spittle.

"First things first," says Incubus as he savors the taste of her salty skin. "Let's see how you resist a little... added stimulation. Men, it's time! Break the Dynamos!"

Raw screams of horror come from the cock-plugged throats of the slender, tiny-titted rookie heroines as they hear their fate. To Miss Adventure's dismay, she finds her own cries of denial locked in her throat by the powerful pulsation in her dripping, sensitive quim. Her sex thrills to the teasing, rubbing contact of Incubus' demonic shaft and to the thought of what's about to happen to the bound blonde super-beauties. A sense of shame rises inside her like a wave, so powerful that it brings nausea with it.

Because of my failure, she thinks, fresh tears dampening her cheeks, those poor girls are going to lose their virginity by rape, to a crowd of leering goons. All because they tried to make the world a better place. Oh, the horror... it should be happening to me... those horrible men should be penetrating me with their big hard penises... making me their submissive little fuck toy... She sniffles as she recognizes the signs of the Insidious One's perversion and warping of her thought patterns, but it's getting hard to keep separating out what's coming from him and what's coming from her own despair.

The first rank of rapists, the virgin-breakers, comes forward to take up station between the firm, slender, creamy young thighs of the Twin Dynamos. Incubus grabs Miss Adventure by the hair and twists her head, forcing her to look back and forth and see each of the big, swarthy goons taking his place. The men crouched over the girls' faces pull out and step away. The better to make their screams audible when they take their first cock, she realizes with horror.

The fresh-faced blondes' features are befouled with spittle and splatters of spunk, eyeshadow and mascara smeared and dappled all over them by sweat and tears. Their heads are shaking back and forth in helpless negation, their eyes glazed as though they're waiting to wake from a nightmare. With their wrists bound to their ankles and the trigger men all around holding the debauched debutantes as hostages against their use of their powers, the twin hotties can do nothing to stop the impending plunder of their virginal cunts. Nothing but wail weakly through their ring gags: "Nahhhhh.... ngggaahhhhhhh..."

The room quiets for a moment, as though the thugs are all holding their collective breath. The Dynamos' paramours line up their cocks with their targets and grin as though waiting for a signal.

After a moment that seems like an eternity, Incubus shouts: "Now!"

And the Twin Dynamos wail like damned souls as the stiff members of their rapists plunge home.

Poor Dyna-Mite tugs helplessly at the ropes that bind her, squealing as the massive man-shaft slams into her. She can feel the agony bursting in her loins, the warm blood pulsing out as the ravaging member rips away the last of her innocence, the dull horror freezing her limbs as she screams and screams and screams again, sobbing disconsolately. She can hear her agonies echoed in the shrieks of her twin sister not a few feet distant. In a single moment, she realizes with a sense of utter doom, they've both lost something precious, a piece of their souls that they'll never have back. They've made the transition into a darker, more terrible world.

For all that, she's not surprised at how quickly the pain gives way to a profoundly shaming pleasure, her already-wet pussy clutching at its crude intruder like a desperate lover as it thrusts, thrusts, thrusts its way into her core.

The warning came first in her body's reaction to the whip, the instrument whose punishing kiss still blazes red across her buttocks. She remembers how the pain and helplessness of the lashing awakened urges deep within, how she'd involuntarily twisted and lifted up her firm buttocks to greet it as her traitorous mind chanted: punish me... punish me...

Then came their fellow-heroine's failed rescue, her own disastrous accidental thwarting of it, followed by a seeming eternity of salty cocks sliding over her tongue and deep down her throat, gagging her to the point of nausea while devilish hands played over her body and stroked her glistening pussy flesh. The hands had been expert, frigging her clitty in ways she'd never thought of doing herself, working her to the edge of a pleasure she'd never dreamed of... and leaving her stranded, frustratingly, on its shore as they shifted to spanking her raw, painful ass, over and over and over again, the abuse working its own kind of havoc on her splintering consciousness. Then they'd shift back to stroking and teasing her pussy and clit, making her body jerk and twitch on the verge of ecstasy as she was forced to suck reeking, rancid cock.

She realizes now that it's all left her exquisitely, horribly ready for this moment. As her virginally tight fuckhole grips the anonymous goon's ravaging member, every thrust gets wetter, hotter, and the agony alchemizes into waves of divine sensuality washing through her body from her plundered sex. "Nggaahhhhaaahhh," she mewls pitifully through the ring gag, shutting her eyes against the gloating gaze of her rapist, trying to hold out and preserve some vestige of her long-departed dignity. But her body is betraying her in its animal greed for release, writhing and bucking with the pounding of the big throbbing prick, and the awful voice is there, inside, chanting. Dirty little rape slut... submissive little fuck pig... fuck me... force me... punish me...

"Ughhh," grunts the thug above her in delight as her little pussy clutches wetly at his cock, sending thrills of pleasure up the shaft. "You like this, yes, bitch?" he says in heavily-accented English. "Only fucking slut like this. Only nasty whore."

He punctuates the words slut and nasty with open-handed slaps across her face, sending her brain reeling as the waves of lust swamp her young flesh, smashing through the last of her resistance like water bursting through a crumbling dam. "Naaaaahaaaaahhhh!" she wails in denial as more slaps come from the right and the left, sending her spinning into a nightmare delirium as the cock pounds and pounds and pounds her sopping hole. She writhes and sobs as the terrible moment comes at her like a freight train, the sensations radiating out from her tight young snatch building to an unbearable intensity while she's slapped and cursed like a two-dollar whore, until finally, instinctively, she knows the moment is here... here... here....

"AIIIEEEEEE!" Dyna-Mite plunges over the edge into an almighty screaming orgasm, her body convulsing around the ramming rod of her ravisher as though she were once again having thousands of volts of electric current pumped through her. The world vanishes for a moment in the incandescence of ecstasy, as though her mind is floating and all there is anywhere is her internal voice, saying: Yes... yes... this is what I deserve... this is what I am... a fuck toy for a big strong Daddy... a fuck toy for my Master... yes... yes... cumming on that cock... dirty little slut... filthy little whore... punish me... force me... humiliate me...

She feels light, floating. Light-headed. As the tsunami of climax passes and she comes back into herself, she realizes it's not coincidence. Her rapist has taken hold of her throat with a big hamhock of a hand and is gazing hard into her eyes as his prick continues to hammer away. He's choking her, ever-so-slightly, the cutting of her air supply rendering her even more helpless against the next incoming orgasmic wave. Her eyes roll back in her head as she feels her body rushing to the next peak, sooner than she could have thought possible, her juices bursting out around the thrusting member as she wriggles in the throes of sensation, trying to deny her pussy's instinctive, wanton milking of the fuck-tool ravaging her. There is no denying it. Her sugar walls are spasming around the cock again, harder, harder, harder...

"NAHHHHhaahhhh!" she screams hoarsely as the next orgasm hits her, the hot waves of lust fracturing her mind and will.

"Ahhhhhhhh!" groans the thug in satisfaction as the sweet, clutching surrender of her dripping sheath proves too much for him, and he buries himself brutally to the hilt in a final mighty thrust. His pendulous balls hang down to tickle hotly at the mouth of her vulnerable asshole and begin to jump, and jump, and jump, pumping wave after wave of his hot spunk deep inside her. Each jet of jism drives her climaxing cunt back over the edge in reaction, her body reciprocating with plentiful squirts of girl-cum splashing all over his cock and balls as she spasms and sobs in joy and agony, in lust and shame, in terror and confusion, in humiliation and defeat and despair.

Finally, with a last, insulting little slap across her face, he pulls out and climbs off her. Shuddering in the aftermath, her eyes closed, Mite can hear Cutie across the circle from her, squealing and mewling her way to completion on a raping cock of her own. In all her daydreams about being a superheroine, she'd never imagined something like this. Never.

Answering some buried instinct, her eyes open to see another thug stepping in to replace the first, and just as well-hung. There's a lineup behind him, a dozen men at least, and Dyna-Mite realizes that there's going to be no rest, no respite. Just like the poor debutantes around her – many of them now passed out and inert from the endless punishment, their unconscious forms still jerking and jiggling under the thrusts of the men slaking their lust on them anyway – she's going to be raped and abused until she doesn't know her own name.

No... whimpers a shrinking, shivering corner of her mind. But the awful litany is louder by far, as though fuelled by her body's depraved, orgasmic acquiescence in its own debauching. It dominates the rest of her consciousness and as her new paramour looms down toward her, lining his cockhead up with the puckered mouth of her inexperienced asshole, it chants: Yes... yes... I've always been a slut inside... fuck me... force me...

* * *

The Twin Dynamos' devastatingly abrupt transformation from virgin to whore drags Miss Adventure helplessly in its wake, right down into the maw of Hell.

With her discipline broken, the teen dream adventurer can no longer control the overwhelming input from her super-senses. She can smell, can practically taste, the hot pussy juice mingling with the blood splattered over the young blondes' inner thighs. Every thrust, every moan, every squelching of sugar walls against the relentless battering rams of the thugs' mighty cocks feels like it's reverberating deep inside her. With her eyes closed tight, her big titties heave as she breathes rapidly in a vain effort to shut out the horror, the arousal, but it's no use. The bubble cauldron of lust between her own legs is starting to boil over, her juices dripping copiously down her thighs. And it only gets worse as the next set of rapists switch targets and she can hear the nubile heroines' sphincters stretching for their first, agonizing time around a cockhead, hear their bewildered whimpers as slabs of cockmeat shove their way relentlessly into their tight asses, taking their virginity for a second time.

Increasingly, the trio of Masked Avengers have become the focus of the depraved orgy in the dungeon-like chamber. One by one, the debutantes have succumbed to the abuse and passed out, and though she can hear some of the men continuing to amuse themselves with the inert forms of the young, privileged girls – forcing their cocks into unconscious mouths, watching heads loll about as they continue to violate holes that have been filled and filled and filled again with spunk – more of them are forming lines in front of either of the Twin Dynamos. Or, she realizes with horror, forming another inner circle around the nude, voluptuous and captive spectacle of Miss Adventure... their breathing heavy, their hearts pounding, their tongues rasping over their lips, their hands pumping on their big, throbbing cocks, their sperm churning in their balls...

"Ahhhhh..." moans Miss Adventure helplessly as she feels Incubus run the head of his terrifying, deformed bitch-tamer up and down her dripping, ultra-sensitive slit. Then she gives a little choked cry of horror as he slaps all fourteen inches of his tumescent meat across her tender twat, the head smacking hard against her clit and forcing an involuntary jolt from her hips, a squirt of sweet nectar from her teen snatch. "Ahhghhhhh... nooooo... noooo..." she whimpers as he cockslaps her quim again... and again... and again...

The heroine can feel her hips moving in time with each juicy, humiliating impact as the villain spanks her pussy with the length of his massive cock. Waves of lustful sensation are radiating out from her throbbing love mound, thrilling through her body from head to toe and raising goose pimples in her flesh. She knows the struggle for her utter submission is on and that she can't give in to the liquid heat in her loins, the bursts of pleasure in her clit, or thoughts of the big-dicked thugs ready to take revenge on her taut body for the earlier battle. "Ughhhh," she shivers in disgust as Incubus' horrible, slavering tentacle of a tongue slimes her bouncing double-D breasts and slithers across her perfect, full-lipped face... but with the rapid fracturing of her will, even that disgust is a turn-on, and the sound of the cockslaps against her squack get even wetter.

In desperation, she latches on to a mental mantra to chant against the insidious telepathic attack that's scrambling her mind and perverting her responses. Mister A will save me... Mister A will save me... the Masked Avengers always triumph... the Adventurist always wins... Mister A will save me... Mister A will save me... She grits her teeth and holds on to the words in her mind, bending every ounce of her will to the task of holding off the kind of will-shattering climax that's already claimed the Dynamos.

But the Insidious One's litany is still there, her own attempt to counter it weakened by the feelings washing through her and the depravity all around her. The slaps of the villain's cock are getting harder, harder, the pace picking up to match the speed of the massive members plundering the Twin Dynamos' untrained poop-chutes. "Ahhhhh God nooooo..." she whimpers as she feels her cunt getting juicier, the sensations in her soft, slick pussy-meat and her stiff clit more insistent, her hips jerking and jerking to put her sex in the way of its punishment. Anita Hardman, no stranger to masturbation, knows the rush to orgasm when she feels it... and she feels it now, a thousand time stronger than it's ever felt before, roaring toward her sweet, glistening, shuddering body. No... yes... Mister A will... save me ... submissive little fuck pig... Masked Avengers always triumph... being defeated makes me hot... The Adventurist always wins... big, strong Daddy to dominate me... force me... fuck me... "Ahhhhh ahhhhhhhh AHHHHHHH..."

Miss Adventure's eyes fly open in horror as she hears the Dynamos give ragged, defeated cries of unwanted ecstasy, their rapists plunging home and roaring in victory, pumping their tight little asses full of scalding jism. The sound of that ultimate humiliation, so hot, so arousing, has her on the brink... and when her eyes meet the alien, reptile gaze of Incubus, and her body seizes in anticipation of the next cock-slap, she knows the struggle is lost. Punish me... humiliate me...

"NAWWWWWHAWWWW!" she squeals in despair as the massive shaft slaps against her cunt and sends her over the edge, wriggling and squirting and cumming in wave after debilitating wave as a rapid series of smacks from the villain's cockmeat keeps her riding that climactic peak. She feels her tearing eyes locked in the hypnotic scrutiny of the villain's split pupils, unable to look away as he gloatingly makes her cum, and cum, and cum again, dominating her so casually that the fact of her orgasmic submission brings surges of humiliated nausea and fear with the tides of pleasure. "OhGodohGodohGAWD NAWWWWHAWWW! AHHHH-AHHHH-AHHH-AWWWWHAWWWW!"

"Well, well," says Incubus as she shudders in the aftermath of her climaxes. "Cumming like a slut already... and I've hardly even touched you. What a willing conquest you are, my young morsel."

"Puh... please..." she pants, her body shiveringly vulnerable in his powerful grip and jolting in the aftershocks of orgasm, still unable to tear her eyes away from his: "Please... no... please have... have mercy... please don't..."

"Don't what?" gloats the demonic, grinning villain, his fanglike teeth glistening with reeking drool as he looms in closer. "Don't make you my submissive little bitch? But you already are, aren't you? And now you're going to prove it."

He grabs her by the hair and forces her head downward, forces her to look at the enormous prick, decorated with mysterious ridges and growths, that rears up between them, pressing now against the soft skin of her belly. It's glistening, dripping with her squirted cunt juices, a glob of pre-cum oozing from the tip. Massive... repugnant... and deeply arousing to the fucked-up teen heroine. No... Mister A will save me... yes... submissive little fuck pig...

"Get on your knees, Miss Adventure," rasps Incubus the Insidious. "Get on your knees and lick it clean. Get on your knees and suck."

As he steps back and lets her captive leg – tingling now and asleep – drop to the floor, Miss Adventure gazes at Incubus' tool with repulsed fascination. But she's also becoming aware of something in the back of her mind... the smallest possibility of hope. Just an inkling.

She feels some of her strength returning! Not enough to free her hands, not yet. And even if she could free them, she knows that with the hostages and the Twin Dynamos locked down as they are, she can't hope to fight her way free. She's sure that Incubus, claims of sportsmanship or not, will use the hostages as leverage if he feels threatened in any real way.

But there is another way. The thought pops into her head as if out of nowhere.

Play for time, she thinks, licking her lips as she looks at the cock, feeling suddenly sly. Make him think you're nothing but a filthy little whore... a submissive little fuck pig... let them do anything they want... have anything they want... just hold out... play for time until Mister A comes to save us. With her healing factor, she can take whatever they can dish out. She can endure. The thugs' lust and staying power is unnatural – maybe fortified by Incubus himself – but she can exhaust them before they exhaust her.

The heroine finds her mouth watering as she contemplates cleaning the demonic Incubus' prick with her tongue. She may be a virgin, but as a popular senior in high school she's sucked plenty of dick. Nothing that size, though. It would be like... a challenge.

If I suck it good, like a dirty little whore, she rationalizes, I might distract him long enough for Mister A to escape whatever trap he's in and rescue us. If I suck it really good... we might have a chance. All I have to do is hold off the final moment... when he said he'd sell us all off. All I have to do is keep from calling him "Daddy."

Her pussy swells and drips down her thighs again at the thought of what they might do to her, what Incubus might do to make her utter the fatal word, the final capstone of her defeat. Her gorge rises, fear almost chokes her, the fuck-pig squeals of the Twin Dynamos' filthy tandem ravishing shaft into her, her heart races, her nipples are bullet-hard. The thoughts come unbidden: God, I'm so wet... being defeated makes me so hot... I need a big, strong Daddy to punish me... dominate me... humiliate me... If she plunges headlong into the sink of depravity, she knows her body and will might betray her utterly. She might not escape.

But there's no other choice... and she holds on to one thought, like a spar of driftwood in a flood, the piece of flotsam that will take her through the rapids. Mister A will save us... I'll just string them along until Mister A saves us... I'll just play for time. He'll be here soon... a few minutes at the most... he'll be here soon and he'll save us. He'll be so proud of how clever I was to play for time. I'll just string them along... hold out until he saves us. Mister A will save us.

She feels Incubus' powerful fingers in her hair. "I know it's pretty, my sweet," he says darkly, "but I didn't let it out for air. Get down and suck." She's still weak, far too weak to resist when he presses her inexorably down to her knees, until her face is level with the massive dick.

Involuntarily, she cringes away from the smell wafting from it, a rotten stench like gasoline mixed with day-old roadkill. But again, the humiliated disgust fuels the lust burning inside her. Just... just play for time... she rationalizes again, and taking a breath, she leans forward and opens her jaws as wide as they can go to get his enormous battering-ram inside her hot, wet mouth.

Miss Adventure begins to suck, or rather to have her sweet young face fucked. She feels the villain shove into her mouth impatiently, even just half of his cock enough to gag her. "GLLLACCKKKKKHHH!" she chokes around it, desperately trying not to heave as she tastes her own pussy juice mixed with a rancid sweat whose flavor is every bit as repugnant as its smell. Incubus' hand holds her head in place as he thrusts his cock into her mouth again, and again, deeper each time, a massive invasion in her throat as tears run down her cheeks and she gobbles and writhes and her spit runs along the shaft and drips from her chin. Just hold out... just hold out...

Before long she's deep-throating the demonic dick, feeling the hideous warts and protrusions slide over her tongue as the shaft chokes her and forces her to fight her gag reflex. Even buried as deep in her throat as it will go, she's still a couple of inches away from the root of his prick. Her head swims from the smell, her bound hands shiver, her curvaceous hips wriggle as she starts to bob her head up and down the tool on her own, working into a rhythm, struggling to get every last inch of it down with every forward lunge.

"MMMMNNNNNGHLLLCKKKKHHHH-GLLLCKKHHH-GLCKKKKKHHHH..." she moans around the reeking cock flesh as she feels hands start to run over her deliciously naked, horny young body. Her writhing hips have been giving the audience of thugs behind her a nice view of her ass and her glistening, wet little snatch, and now a couple have come up to start stroking them. She gives a little squeal and jerk as one of them flicks her clit sharply, panting hotly through her nostrils, trying to keep focussed on the epic fellatio challenge in front of her. But it won't be easy; the hands are getting more insistent, one of thugs now squeezing and gently spanking the perfect curves of her sweet round butt while the other slides his hand between her thighs to manualize her rearward-peeping sex, frigging her clitty, rhythmically working her toward another devastating orgasm.

"Ahhhhhh," sighs Incubus above her. "You really were born to suck cock, my sweet slut of a superheroine. You'll make ahhhhh a delightful sex-slave. Don't... ahhhhh... don't forget to lick those balls, now. They need a good cleaning as well."

Just hold out... Mister A will rescue us... just play along... Obediently, the heroine kisses and licks her way lasciviously down the Insidious One's shaft, barely aware of the little moans and gasps of pleasure spilling from her own lips as the thugs continue to work on her vulnerable ass and sex. "MMmmmmphhhh," she groans as her mouth reaches the villain's odoriferous ball sac, opening her mouth and letting his enormous, warty testicles play over her tongue, gasping and jolting as she feels the thug frigging her clitty pick up his pace, and the fingers playfully kneading and smacking her ass starting to get rougher. God... so wet... dripping... hot... being defeated makes me so hot... punish me... humiliate me... dirty little slut...

She licks the villain's filthy, repulsive nutsack thoroughly, her wriggling growing steadily more pronounced as she struggles gamely to keep another climax at bay. Whimpering, she licks her way back up the fourteen-inch length of dick and sucks him back into the warm wetness of her mouth, bobbing and twisting her head whorishly as she does it, drawing a groan of delight from her conqueror as her wraps the fingers of one hand in her hair. "Ahhhh, look at me, slut," sighs the villain raggedly, and as she looks up into his horrid, slit-pupilled eyes and inhuman rictus of a face, he pulls her goggles off. The better to see the lust and shame in her watering eyes as he forces his cock to back of her throat again.

Miss Adventure mewls pitifully around her enemy's throbbing tower of power as she finds herself locked hypnotically in his dread gaze once again, sloppily pumping her mouth up and down the nasty-tasting fuck stick as the smacks on her jiggling, writhing ass get louder and harder and faster. The wet sounds of her mouth-hole being used echo through the chamber, mixing with the squelching noises coming from the force-fucked pussies of the helpless Twin Dynamos and from between the puffy lips of her own slippery, wanton young snatch as her second molester mercilessly toys with her clit, driving her closer, closer, ever closer to another mind-ruining orgasmic submission. As Incubus holds her head in place again and starts raping her face with frantic, excited strokes, she gags loudly as her mouth is finally forced all the way to his root.

"GLLLLAAGGHHHCKKHHHHHH! ALLLGHCCKKKHHHHH!" As Incubus pumps his shaft deep into her throat, he holds her in place, the room starting to spin as the stench of his crotch envelops her and she struggles for air with her nose buried in his pubes. She feels his cock twitching... and without warning she feels the big, hot balls resting on her drool-dripping chin begin to pump and jump obscenely. With the force of a bursting dam, an explosion of hot, sticky fluid fills her throat, the defeated teen dream swallowing frantically to keep from choking as it pumps and pumps and pumps down her gullet, more jism than she'd ever dreamed was possible.

It's too much. Too degrading, too humiliating, too surreal, too arousing. As she swallows Incubus' mighty load, the merciless fingers on her clit and the hard spanking of her ass conspire to force her over the edge, her sweet teen nectar squirting and squirting and squirting as the hot waves of lust smash her all-too-fragile defenses. The orgasm goes on and on, the world spinning around her as the cock lodged in her throat spews into her seemingly without end, so much that despite her best efforts, cum starts bubbling out her nose.

Finally: "NGGLLAAHHHHH! AHHHHHHHAHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHH!" she gasps and cries as Incubus pulls out and proceeds to hose her down with his copious remaining supply of jism. As she wails in mortified ecstasy and her contracting sugar walls continue to messily squirt out girl-cum all over the creepy molesters behind her, big ropes of nasty, seaweedy spunk splash across her face, her chin, her forehead, into her open mouth, into her hair, and all over her hot, heaving double-D's. A river of excess spew slops down from her mouth to form a sticky, glistening river between her divinely perky mams.

Miss Adventure's tear-streaked, spuzz-splattered face is the picture of a girl lost in a maze that she knows no way out of, her eyes glassy with shock and comical bewilderment as the last tremors of climax sweep through her. Cruel laughter washes through the room, its bestial undertones making her shiver with unwonted dread and her snatch giving a last little squirt of erotic terror. Yes... yes, whispers her confused and fracturing mind. Love it... love being treated like a slut... like a whore... punish me... humiliate me... And another part of her consciousness plays counterpoint, a sinister soothing mantra that says: Don't worry... you're just playing along... just holding out... Mister A will rescue us... He'll come... Mister A will save us... don't worry... just play for time...

"Well, well," says Incubus, his still iron-hard shaft bobbing as he climbs completely out of his pants, exposing legs that seem to have an extra knobby joint at the shins. "Doesn't look like it's going to be difficult to break you, does it, slut? In fact I could probably take you and end this right now, couldn't I, bitch?" A suggestive waggle of the inhuman prick sends a shudder through the bound superheroine's nubile body. "But you're such a talented little whore with your mouth. It seems a shame not to make use of your real talents while I still have you. So I think I'll reward my loyal men with the rest of your lovely body."

Her breath catches in horrified anticipation as she realizes the terrible moment has arrived. Incubus' gaze burns into her as waits, gloatingly, to pronounce the command. His foul, tentacular tongue lolls out of his mouth, licking at his chops and then retracting.

"Gentlemen," he shouts to the thugs. "Enough preliminaries! It's time for the main event." The monstrous fanged rictus that dominates his face seems to grow even wider, his reptilian eyes glowing even more evilly as he says: "I give you Miss Adventure. Rape the bitch."

As the awful command rings through the chamber, Miss Adventure casts a wide-eyed look around her, realizing that the spectacle of voluptuous helplessness she presents has quickly made her the centre of attention.

The gunmen who had loomed over the debutantes are now starting to carry them away, unroping them from the awkward and painful bondage positions that many of them occupied, picking up their bruised, whip-welted, jism- and sweat-slathered unconscious bodies – presumably to take them away and prepare them for shipping. They're no longer needed here. They were security against the powers of the Twin Dynamos, but Electro-Cutie and Dyna-Mite are now lost in their own lust-filled fuck slut hell, their tight teenaged pussies cumming and cumming on the cocks of their ravishers as a half-dozen more men wait their turns in line for each of them, their broken minds in la-la land, evacuated of anything except their slender bodies' shameful hunger for the next ravishing. The only remaining two gunmen have their rifles trained on those two girls... as security against any further show of resistance from the Adventurist's bound, spunk-splattered and shivering sidekick, naked but for her boots and her gloves and her choker.

The rest of the thugs, more than fifty of them, now have eyes for Miss Adventure alone. Naked but for their boots and balaclavas, muscular, their throbbing pricks bobbing in front of them like yardarms, their eyes are filled to a man with lust, hatred and vengeance. Not long ago, many of them took a beating from this same heroine. A handful of them still limp with the injuries. And now, she realizes with fear sending a chill through her soft, vulnerable flesh, it's payback time.

Once again, she finds herself wondering at their staying power, their endless reserves of lust. By now, each of them must have emptied their balls into the mouth or pussy or hot, tight ass of a helpless slut at least once, maybe more than once, but they're still raring to go. It must somehow be coming from Incubus' perverse power. She wonders if she really can outlast them, even with her healing powers.

And what... what if they take off her power-bestowing choker? What then?

Stark panic rises in her, more terrible than before, matching the hot, pulsating wetness in her pussy as she sees fluids dripping from their tumescent pricks and their large, coarse hands reaching out for her. Can she really survive what's about to happen?

All the while, the two refrains are playing in her fogged brain, telling her how she wants to be used and disgraced, dominated and punished, reassuring her that a momentary giving-in to that dark desire is just a play for time while waiting for the cavalry. But the sheer terror inside her now cuts through those insidious voices with a searing instant of pure clarity. Another thought pops into her head as if from nowhere. No, I... I can't do this, she realizes. This will be the end of me! That villain is still trying to manipulate me! I have to get out of here!

In that split second, her stomach turns with guilt as she realizes that fleeing will imperil the now thoroughly-broken Twin Dynamos. One pull on those triggers will end their lives. But the moment of clarity brings another insight with it: They're planning to sell those girls. No way are they gonna kill them. If I can get away, get help, I can still save them!

The guilt doesn't go away. A part of her reeling brain recognizes this rationalization for the cowardly excuse it is. But it's enough to give the rest of her, swept up in the panic, what seems like a moment of freedom from the debilitating effects of the Insidious One's telepathic onslaught. Every cell in her body urges one thing: Flee. Flee. Flee! Flee before it's too late!

Sick with shame but mastered by her fright, Miss Adventure makes a break for it.

It's the last thing the mob of thugs, so sure of the defeated hopelessness of their quarry, expect. And weak and discombobulated though she is, she still has some of her preternatural agility. She uses it now just the way she used it to skim over a horde of many of these same goons when she stormed into the warehouse. Leaping up, slightly off-balance due to her bound hands but still good enough to surprise them, she somersaults over the nearest man who's reaching for her and lands her boot on the head of the man behind him, drawing feral snarls of outrage from the throng as she leaps forward onto another head, pushes off a muscular shoulder, her spunk-wet tits jiggling as she leaps and leaps and leaps desperately toward a chance at escape.

For a brief, shining moment, it seems to be working. She feels a ghostly echo of the soaring freedom and confidence she'd felt when fighting her way into this hellish dungeon. But she's not the same heroine of a few hours ago. Her ability to concentrate and sort the input from her super-senses has been shot by her ordeal, and without it...

... without it she can't sense and evade the powerful hand that closes on her left ankle not five steps into her frantic gambit.

It's just a normal man's strength, nothing like the crushing power of Incubus. But with her own power still largely sapped the way it is, it's more than she has any chance of breaking free from. "Noooo!" she shrieks in horror as the hand yanks her down, the crowd of thugs parting in front of her like the Red Sea as the concrete floor comes rushing up at her, cold and unforgiving, her bound hands unable to cushion the fall.

Stars burst across her vision at the agonizing impact. She feels blood burst down her face and bolts of agony lance through her skull from a shattered nose. "Annngggghhh," she groans as the world lurches sickly around her and she can sense the crowd of thugs closing back in around her.

"Dumb fucking bitch," someone says. "There's no outs for you." BAMMMMM! A kick explodes into her side, winding the hapless heroine... and then more and more bolts of pain blast through her as boots begin to rain down from all directions, stomping, stomping, stomping as she mewls and writhes in mindless suffering like a worm caught on a hook.

The brutal beating goes on and on. An ordinary woman would pass out, mercifully, but no such mercy is in store for Miss Adventure. Her healing power kicks in, keeping her conscious as it works hard to restore her broken nose and heal every lump, bruise and fractured bone even as the boots continue to fall relentlessly. She can feel her body shuddering and weakening as her choker draws on all the strength it can to contain and repair the damage, going into overdrive as she thrashes under the vengeful wrath of the thugs.

Finally, a few seconds or a minute or an eternity later, it stops. Her mind reeling, she lies shuddering helplessly as she feels her healing power knitting several broken ribs and digging deep to heal bruised muscle and bone up and down the length of her nubile, shapely form.

Weak as a kitten and unable to resist, she can feel someone cutting the makeshift bindings on her hands, but can't even gather enough wits to wonder why before she feels new restraints being imposed on her defenseless body. "Make sure bitch no go anywhere," she hears a thickly-accented voice say, and before she knows it, harsh rope is touching her sensitive skin. Her arms are folded behind her and bound tightly from the wrists down to the elbows... and more rope is run from those bindings to wrap around her neck, concealing her choker as it's tightened into a noose that forces her to arch her spine and crane her head back to relieve pressure on her windpipe. She's flipped on her back and feels more rope being wrapped around her thighs and knees, pulling her into a spread-legged frog tie that leaves her dripping gash and the pale pucker of her asshole utterly exposed. And, almost as awful as the rope around her neck, she feels someone tying more rope into a strict harness around her full, mouth-watering tits, blood swiftly filling them as they turn into hard, engorged balls topped off by stiff pink nipples.

As it all happens, the Insidious One's evil mantra has reasserted itself inside her head. Yes... yes... this is what I deserve... to be bound... to be punished... to be treated like a little slut... to be a plaything for a big, strong Daddy... dominate me... humiliate me... She still recognizes it for the alien intrusion that it is – but her punished, bound body and faltering will are swiftly losing any remnant of the ability to fight it. The inescapable bondage and the overwhelming magnitude of her defeat have her virginal pussy hot, wet and ready to be broken on a big, throbbing cock. Artificially imposed as that fact may be, she realizes – her face burning with shame as she comes back to herself – that it's a fact nonetheless.

But she can't resign herself to it. Most of her mind still understands the horror and depravity of what's happening, and the fear is still there, seeming to turn the still, stinking air of the dungeon into a thick soup in her lungs. As she feels the thugs flip her back on to her belly, gasping as she tries to keep her head back to allow herself a bit of air, the contact of her tormented breast-flesh with the cold concrete floor sends both pain and a thrill of unwanted pleasure through her body. The mixture of both reactions is frightening, as simultaneously enticing and terrifying as the wild urge people sometimes get to step off the edge of a precipice. She can feel her dread deepen even further as the web of ropes securing her lifts up in tandem with the sound of a pulley overhead. A moment later she finds herself suspended a few feet off the floor, her swollen snatch presented rearwards and her swollen tits dangling enticingly beneath her, her back arched painfully as she tries to keep the rope at her neck from choking her. Her face – healed and flawless once again but still smeared with spunk and now with blood – is as terrified as a deer in headlights. She quickly realizes she's exactly at crotch height for most of the men in the room.

The crowd of leering, cock-wagging thugs in front of her parts to admit the more imposing form of Incubus, whose features are now completely divested of any humanity, consisting mostly of shining pink gums and teeth like huge white blades, the split-pupilled eyes burning above them. Hissing inhumanly, his warty tongue slavering over his chops again, the fiend is stroking his cock with knobby fingers that end now in claws. And that cock, she realizes, has grown even bigger, dwarfing the ample pricks of his minions, a freakish mule-like appendage now at least eighteen inches long with a foul green slime weeping from the warts and whorls that stud its length. His bare feet are four-toed, the toes too long and ending in curved claws themselves.

A worthy attempt, my sweet little superheroine slut, growls an inhuman voice in her mind. Incubus' mouth is now too altered to form audible human speech. But by now, you must know your fate is sealed. He makes a gesture at the crowd of thugs surrounding them, a gesture apparently as easily understood as his former verbal commands had been. There's audible relief in the cheers that follow as the thugs close back in around her.

"N – no... please... p – please have mercy.... please, you don't have to do this," Miss Adventure hears herself babbling as Incubus steps forward, the rotten gasoline-and-putrescence fetor of his crotch even worse than before, making her head swim as he rubs his deformed, slimy tumescence teasingly all over her flinching face. The pleas keep spilling out of her, unbidden and shameful, as though part of her thinks that words can hold the flow of time at bay: "Mmmphhh... ughhhh... please... please... I'll do anything else you want... I'll... ughhhh... I'll suck off all your cocks, I'll suck them good, you'll see, just don't do... don't do this..."

Even as she begs, she knows her pleas are falling on deaf ears. She can feel the presence of a man steeping in between her thighs, can feel a cockhead lining up with the hot, tight mouth of her twat, can feel strong hands digging in to the soft skin of her hips to hold her in place. And then there is no more time: the moment is here, it's happening... and as the cock surges forward, battering its way crudely into the snug, satiny confines of her dripping teen fuckhole, the once-brave Miss Adventure finds herself squealing out the most elemental plea of all:

The agony and the horror are almost indescribable. "WAAUUHHH-HAUUUHHHH-HAUUUUUHHH-HAUUUGHHHH!" Poor Miss Adventure bawls like a little girl who's lost her dolly as she's introduced to the joys of copulation by twelve inches of hard rapist cock. She can feel the warm rush of blood from her torn hymen flooding down her thighs, can feel the massive prick probing into her like a log. She feels a little part of herself die as she's brutally deflowered while Incubus playfully slaps her pretty face with his reeking, repulsive privates.

But right from the first thrust, dark pleasure mixes with the pain, just as the blood that splatters out around her ravisher's prick is mixed with the sweet lubricating nectar of wanton desire. Waves of that desire ripple out from the force-fucking of the teen hottie's pussy, washing through her body and her engorged, bound titties as they jiggle with each punishing jolt of her rape, each slap of the thug's hips against her hindquarters, each slap of his hanging balls against her sensitive clit as her sex gets wetter and wetter. Yes... Yes... Fuck me... Force me... I'm a rape slut... A submissive little fuck pig... A dirty little whore... Being defeated makes me hot... I've always been a slut inside... The insidious inner voice ravages her mind in tandem with the man-meat ravaging her clasping cunt, mercilessly stoking the liquid heat inside her.

"Holy fuh-huck," pants the man raping her as his thrusts quickly pick up speed. "This bitch is so fucking tight... she's not... she's not loosening up at all... holy fuck her cunt's fucking choking my dick..."

With fresh horror, the heroine realizes why. She can feel the power of her choker fighting to return her wet pink pussy to its former pristine state even as it's viciously plundered... with the side effect that the healing factor, not quite able to overcome the damage, is nevertheless keeping every stroke into her depths as tight as the very first one, ensuring an extra-wild ride for the man fucking her. Not only can her powers do nothing to save her: the constant drain from her healing factor on her strength coupled with its effects on her soft pussy-flesh mean that she'll be perpetually weak and an ultra-satisfying fuck for the horde of horny criminals around her!

Her wailing grows even louder as this realization starts her tight twat on a climb toward climax, her nectar bursting around the plunging cock as she starts to wriggle in time with its hammering. Her open mouth finally proves too tempting a target for Incubus, who grabs her by the back of the head and unceremoniously shoves his hellish prick into her wet mouth and back into her throat, muffling her squeals as he forces the choking girl to savor the vile taste of his demonic, slimy dick secretions on her tongue. The sick sense of revulsion and humiliation that comes with the throat-fucking only feeds her lust further, and her squeals get even higher as the she's pounded relentlessly from both ends, juice sliding down her thighs and a long strand of drool dripping from her chin.

It's the other hands that start running over her debauched and degraded body that finally push her over the edge, though. Hands and cocks; many of the thugs, not willing to wait for a hole to fuck, have moved up against her and are stroking their pricks across her taut flesh, the contact sending shivers deep into her. But most powerful of all is the one who begins to squeeze and slap her hot, swollen titties, sending thunderbolts of sensation racing from her bound breast-flesh down to her stiff clitty and into her cock-stuffed quim.

Miss Adventure moans in despair around a throatful of Incubus' meat as the perfect storm of sensation pushes her swiftly to the brink... and then, with particularly deep thrusts from the cocks at either end of her curvaceous body and a pair of sharp slaps to her punished breasts, she plunges over the edge!

"NNNNNKKKKKKKHHHH! NNNNNNKHHHHHHH! NNNNNNNGGGG-HNNNGGGKHHHHH! NNNNNGHHHHHHH!" she squeals as her snatch grips and squirts, grips and squirts, grips and squirts, milking her rapist's cock as her copious girl-cum splashes all over his meat. It's too much for him: as he tenses up and hollers, his twitching prick painting her insides with his wad, she squeals and cums again, again, again, the liquid evidence of her submission splashing and puddling underneath her.

Finally, he pulls out and steps away, leaving her shuddering in the aftermath of her very first fuck. The trip from agony to ecstasy was only a few minutes long... but she knows it's changed her forever.

Incubus has held out against her hornily swallowing throat, and he pulls his prick free of her lips now to dangle his horrid testicles in her face. Sniffling in misery, the heroine unthinkingly extends her pink tongue to lick the warty, slime-dripping globes. As she does so, she feels her body working to heal the violated flesh of her sex and regenerate her broken hymen, but with another thug stepping into the breach between her thighs as Incubus starts to feed his massive nuts into her mouth, she doubts it will have time.

A second later, she realizes she's wrong as she feels the goon slide his fingers along her saturated slit, gathering up a handful of her cunt nectar... and then smear it around her puckered asshole! Her heart races as she feels the head of his massive prick nudge up against the entry to her tightest place, and without thinking she tries to beg: "No, no, please not there..." But with the balls in her mouth, all that comes out are a series of muffled moans as her next paramour grabs onto her hips, digging his fingers in painfully.

"MMMMMMMMHMMMMPHHHHHH! MMMMMMMPHHHHHHHH!" mewls the teen cutie in fresh agony as nine inches of turgid prick force their way brutally into her inexperienced poop chute. She sobs as her anal rapist starts to drive his weapon home, callously using her as though she had no more feelings than an inflatable sex doll. The pain is even worse than when the first man had broken her snatch. She can feel the tender flesh of her anal sheath tearing under the onslaught, can feel her ass start to bleed under the punishment.

But as the pain gets worse, the dark pleasures that are its constant companions grow more powerful and more debilitating. The hands and stiff pricks roaming all over her body grow more insistent. One hand has slid down to the juncture of her thighs to manualize her hot clit while she's butt-fucked, sending waves of delight through her nerve-endings as a confusing counterpoint to the torment of her violated ass. Another pair of hands is walloping her jiggling buttocks. She jolts as she feels something hard clamp first onto her right nipple, and the onto her left... probably clothes pins, their pressure on her hard nips sending more confusion rippling through her body. And while her healing factor is working to repair her wrecked ass after each thrust – again also happening to keep her hole super-tight for the added pleasure of her snarling rapist – her senses are starting to acclimate to the abuse and the pain is gradually fading into something more complicated, more frightening.

Dirty little ass slut... whispers the insidious voice in her mind. I love it in the ass... bitch... whore... rape my ass... fuck it hard... break me... humiliate me... punish me...

Breathy, rhythmic little moans of pleasure are breaking from her lips when Incubus pulls his balls out of her mouth. The cock in her ass has started to produce loud squelching and crude farting sounds as it plunges into her, filling her repeatedly, fucking profoundly with her head and her senses as her ravisher's pace starts to pick up. The thug yells something in Arabic and some harsh laughter echoes through the room... but Miss Adventure is too lost in her confused, hellish haze of pain and pleasure to really take note.

She certainly takes note, though, as Incubus turns around in front of her and bends over, presenting his shaft and balls for a rearward tongue-bath. "UmmmmmhmmmmHMMMMmmmmmHMMMmmmm..." the broken heroine moans in time with her sodomizer, breathing in the villain's redolent stench as she obediently begins to run her tongue all over his parts. But the degradation grows deeper as, without warning, Incubus crouches lower... presenting his asshole to her tongue for rimming.

The same stench that wafts from his genitals emanates from the puckered ass that now faces the heroine, who stares at it for a long moment in shock and disgust. It's actually fairly normal looking – save for the reeking green slime that seeps from it. For a split second, she thinks it's too nasty, that she won't do it... but the voice in her head reminds her how much she wants to be humiliated, how much she loves it, and a moment later she's obediently pushing out her warm, wet tongue to lap up the revolting slime seeping from the demonic villain's asshole, licking around his pucker and pushing her tongue inside to be rewarded with more flavors of filth so unspeakably vile that her gorge heaves and she very nearly vomits, her head spinning.

The utter, soul-destroying abasement of the sickening act kicks the rest of her body into overdrive. Suddenly the irresistible rush toward climax has begun again and her hips are twisting and writhing under the jackhammering of her ever-tight anus as the scoundrel frigging her clit begins to move his hand more rapidly, her pussy swelling and dripping in response. "NNNNGHHHHH-NNNNGHHHHHH-NGHHHHHHHH..." she moans through her nose as she takes the pounding of her ass like a good little butt-slut while she tongue-fucks Incubus' repugnant orifice, the slight bobbing movement of her head repeatedly pressuring her windpipe and slightly choking her on the rope at her neck, the periodic cutting of her air supply making her light-headed.

"Holy fuck what a nasty whore," breathes one of the nearby thugs to her right in something like awe. "Just look at that rimjob."

"Looks innocent at first, but she definitely takes it like trailer trash," agrees someone on her left. "You can tell she loves it in the butt."

"Maybe we oughta sell her to some bikers upstate, like the Blaze Kings," quips another voice to general laughter.

"I say we whip her raw when Ahmed's done," suggests a fourth voice helpfully. "I just love watching her move that ass."

"Yeah," agrees another goon. "And I love the way she fucking bawls, too. Could listen to that bitch cry and squeal all night long."

"And you will," affirms another voice. More laughter.

"I get some pussy first," cuts in a deep, accented voice behind her. "Split bitch open. Smash fucking slut like Idaho potato."

The insults and the callous banter about what to do to her next wreak havoc on the young bitch's fracturing mind. Her sex gets hotter and wetter under the expert manipulation of her molester as the rapist in her ass picks up the pace of his thrusts. The pervasive humiliation of being discussed like a piece of hanging meat feeds into the confusing swirl of sensations and emotions buffeting her, stoking the heat in her loins and pushing, pushing, pushing her back to the brink of hellish ecstasy... and then pushing her over when her rapist slams his prick home, balls deep, and fills her bowels with thick, hot jets of spunk as she moans and mewls and squirts like a fountain, one orgasm blending into another as the determined hand on her clit keeps her writhing and wriggling to completion.

As the prick pulls out of her ass and leaves her twitching in the aftermath, a stream of hot sperm bubbles out of her brutalized anal sheath and runs down over her already-sloppy twat as her body struggles to heal. As Incubus turns around to feed his cock back down her throat, Miss Adventure can feel another thug step in between her thighs and realizes with a sinking feeling of despair that whatever they decide to do, they won't give her so much as a moment's respite.

"NGGGHHHHHH! NNNNGHHHHHH! NNNNGHHHHH! NNNNNGGHHHHH!" squeals the young slut as the new rapist starts to slash one hand down brutally over her proud buttocks while he uses the other to line up his cock with the mouth of her wet and wanton snatch. The vicious intent in the blows tells her, instinctively, that this is the owner of the Arab voice that promised to "split" her and "smash" her. Another powerful wave of fear and helpless desire sweeps through her.

Then she realizes something even more dreadful: the rape of her ass has given her tight teenaged pussy time to heal completely. Her hymen has regenerated. She's about to have her virginity traumatically ripped away from her... again. It's going to happen over and over again!

"NNNNNNNGHHHHHNNGGHHHHHHHHH!" she squeals in horror as the prick slams home in a single vicious thrust, stabbing through her hymen in a fresh rush of blood and pain. As the merciless, jarring thrusts into her sopping fuckhole begin to drive her once again around the race track from agony toward orgasm, as Incubus' nut sack rests on her spittle-dripping chin and his baseball bat of a prick sits lodged with its head in the vicinity of her esophagus, Miss Adventure realizes something else: that this is just the beginning.

* * *

The heroine's erotic ordeal lasts for hours.

The goons keep switching off on her tight star and wet slit, with every man in the room getting the chance to ravage and empty his balls into one or the other. Every penetration is a fresh violation of her constantly regenerating virginity, and every brutal ride takes her more and more swiftly on her horrifying journey from violated vestal to squealing, orgasmically squirting fuck pig. Groups of the goons who aren't fucking her take it in turns to slather the rest of her body with spunk from their unnaturally robust balls. Incubus, meanwhile, hoses her down with his own foul seed six different times, laughing and hissing as he does it, depositing so much of it in her gullet that she inevitably has to vomit it up after two demon-spunkings in a row.

Periodically, they clean their gasping victim off with frigid water from a hose – forcing some of the stream down her throat to hydrate her – before they start in again. Twisting in the air under the freezing torrent, she sobs and begs them over and over and over again for mercy. But there is none.

There are other entertainments. Those who at various times can't get a front row seat for the Miss Adventure Show slake their lust on the Twin Dynamos instead, tying them into various different positions and trying out a variety of gags and whips and toys on them, the bitches squirming and moaning as they're fucked by one anonymous cock after another or sometimes two or three at a time. A kind of robotic begging spills from their lips in the moments when they're not gagged with plastic or leather or man-meat, and all the while they watch the spectacle around them with glassy, uncomprehending eyes. Sometimes, when her mouth is free, Miss Adventure tearfully begs Electro-Cutie and Dyna-Mite to use their powers, to save her, to save themselves, but it's no use. They no longer even know they have powers. Their minds are irretrievably broken. The heroines are gone: only the sluts remain.

Cock, meanwhile, isn't Miss Adventure's only punishment. The agony of her body suspended in its uncomfortable position is increasingly excruciating – but it's nothing compared to the agony of the periodic whippings and other tortures she's subjected to. The thugs dig hooks into her orifices, dangle bigger and bigger weights from her tits, stick dozens of long pins through her soft breast-meat, stub out cigarettes all over her flesh, cover her writhing form and the soles of her feet with cuts as they lash her with lengths of barbed wire.

Her healing factor wipes away the physical wounds each time... but it can't do anything for the rapidly-accumulating wounds on her psyche. She fights to hold on to some part of herself, but through the hellish haze of torture and humiliation and rape and forced orgasm and telepathic violation, she knows she's sinking deeper and deeper toward madness, spiralling down toward the shattered state of mental oblivion that's already claimed the Dynamos... not to mention the long-vanished group of debutantes that they all came here hoping to rescue.

Finally, the goons begin to tire, even the supernatural power sustaining their erections and their lust starting to flag. The Twin Dynamos are dragged away for their own appointments with destiny, and with clear reluctance, more and more of the goons begin to dress and drift away to other duties, copping a farewell feel or landing a last humiliating spank on their fuck-victim as they go.

But paradoxically, as the circle of her abusers grows smaller, her predicament grows worse. The remaining goons are the most dedicated, imaginative and perverted ones. And as they toy with her, Miss Adventure realizes that every moment is bringing her nether holes closer and closer to their inescapable appointment with the massive tool of Incubus which she's been forced to lick and suck for so long that her jaw aches.

That dark moment looms closer and closer as the circle of her abusers shrinks to no more than a handful.

* * *

"AWWWWW! AWWWWW! AWWWWWW! AIEEEEEEEEE!" Miss Adventure wriggles and squeals and squirts exhaustedly as the simultaneous violation of her pussy and ass takes her over the edge.

Even in the midst of yet another soul-searing multiple climax, her body is rigid and her mind blank with fear, because this time she's not being taken by cocks. The intruders inside her body are a pair of well-oiled pistol barrels, a farewell "gift" from the final pair of departing thugs. As they put them inside her a few minutes ago, she very nearly pissed herself with terror at the sound of the safeties snicking off, the realization that if those weapons go off while they're in her holes, they'll do damage even her healing factor might not be able to repair.

Steadily, though, the fear and pain of the initial violation has given way to familiar dark, liquid waves of pleasure. It hasn't taken long for the thugs to enjoy the spectacle of their victim helplessly cumming like a slut on the potentially-fatal loaded weapons lodged in her holes. Laughing, they spank her tits and her jiggling ass to drive her even further into her frenzy as she adds her own spurting juices to the oil on the gun barrels. She sobs brokenly as her traitorous body responds, another chain of multiple orgasms detonating in her fuck hole as she writhes and moans her way to completion on the guns.

"Have a nice life, bitch," says one of the thugs amiably as they pull their guns out of her and playfully set her spinning as they leave, the broken heroine growing dizzy as her suspended body revolves slowly in the air.

Each revolution brings Incubus into view where he'd been standing off to the side, his monster cock in one hand, every inch of it as hard as the minute the torment started. Alone at last, my sweet, his grating, alien voice says laughingly in her head. And though she didn't think it possible, fresh terror takes hold of her at the prospect.

"P – please," she whimpers helplessly as she feels her holes begin to heal themselves, her hymen regenerating. "Please... isn’t this... I’ll do anything you want... just... just let me down..."

Raped by loaded pistols. How humiliating for you, my dear heroine, gloats Incubus telepathically, ignoring her words as he saunters slowly toward her, grabs her chin and runs his hideous, slimy tongue over her gorgeous, full-lipped features. How very humiliating. You must have enjoyed that, hmmm? That must have made you a very wet and ready little slut.

"No," she sobs in vain denial as he twists her body back around to face away from him and steps in between her spread thighs. "Oh no please," she gasps in sudden realization of the arrival of the most terrible violation yet. "Please... w—wait Mister Incubus... you'll... you'll rip me in half... my little pussy can't take that much cock..."

Don't be silly, bitch, admonishes the demon as his enormous cockhead nudges up against the mouth of her cunt, her juices dripping out to join his own secreted slime in lubricating it. You're taking every inch of this cock whether you like it or not, and you know it. Begging isn't going to stop me.

"Nooohoooo..." She whines as the head of his foul tool nudges into her sopping twat, one of his clawed hands digging painfully into her flesh of a firm teen buttock and the other grabbing hold of the bun in her hair, holding her in place as he prepares to consummate his victory. With a characteristic flair for the dramatic, he lets the moment draw out as his victim shivers in exquisitely erotic terror, then savors her squeal of horror as the cock...

...drives...

... IN!

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHAUUUUUUUUGHHHHHHHHH! AUUUUUUGHHHHHHHH!" bawls poor Miss Adventure as eighteen inches of demonic dick rip through her hymen and slam into the utmost depths of her tight twat, a deeper and more soul-rending penetration than any she's experienced yet. The agony of her latest breaking comes not just from her freshly-shattered cherry and the crude stretching of her sugar walls, but from an agonizing pressure at the end of her love tunnel. The end of Incubus' cock is pushing painfully up against the endpoint of her vagina, pressing hard into a thin barrier of flesh and making itself felt against her bladder and bowels. She screams in torment as her panicked brain realizes that the foul demonic villain could easily rip through the end of her vaginal wall, taking her into uncharted territories of pain and testing the very limits of her healing factor. "NAWWWHAWWWWWWWWW! AUUUGHHHHHHH! AUUUUUHAUUUUUUGHHHHHHH!" come her choked erotic cries as the villain's extravagant penetration sends bolts of grinding pain out from her young snatch as he begins to mercilessly hammer into her.

But again, the greater pain comes paired with even greater pleasure. Even as the immense tool drags its way out and hammers home into her delectable young body again and again, the heroine wondering in terror with each thrust whether this will be the one to rip right through into her guts, her sticky cunt nectar is exploding juicily around the penetrating shaft. Her tight walls are clutching and milking and massaging the invading member in a desperate bid to satisfy it and end the brutal onslaught. Her stiff little clit is thrilling to every slapping impact of his warty, slimy balls. The ridges and protrusions on his deformed member are tickling nerve endings she didn't know existed, sending hot pleasures through her fuck channel that she didn't know were possible. She's writhing, and a wanton, whorish ecstasy is quickly blending its way into her pained screams as the sound of his hips slapping against her headquarters grows louder, harder.

"AWWWWHAWWWWWWWW! AWWWWWWW-AWWWWW-AWWWWWW-AWWWW-AIIIIIEEEEEEEEE!" she caterwauls in abandon as, within a few dozen strokes, Incubus' bitch-tamer effects her latest and swiftest transformation from raped virgin to sexily squirting fuckslut. The climax hits her with an intensity that obliterates all conscious thought... and it's followed hard by another, and another, and another as Incubus continues to pound her unceasingly as she spurts all over his meat and screams herself hoarse in a steadily-lengthening chain of multiple climaxes. "AWWWWWWWWGAWWWWWWWWD! AWWWWWHAWWWW! AWWWWW-AWWWWWW-AWWWWWWW!"

Miss Adventure's whole world is made up of painfully thrusting cock and hot erotic submission to her own crude rape. Everything else is forgotten. She can feel hot drool from the villain's gaping, fanged maw dripping onto her back as he begins to hiss and pant above her, the clasping ministrations of her tight teen fuckhole slowly beginning to work on him as she cums and cums and cums again on his marauding, plundering pole. Squealing as yet another climax slams into her, she feels his thrusts grow faster, faster, faster as his claws dig brutally into the yielding flesh of her ass, drawing blood and an extra mewl of pleasure-addled agony from his victim as he tenses and lets loose an inhuman bellow.

As his prick hammers home once again, the obscene pumping of his nuts massages her sensitive clit as he looses one of his inhumanly copious loads into her depths. Squalling and sobbing in climactic ecstasy as the thick hot jets of jism coat her insides and swiftly overflow around the massive invading member, Miss Adventure wriggles in inchoate delight as she takes the splattering wad of her conqueror.

She doesn't have even a second to recover as he pulls his throbbing shaft free, lines it up with his second target and draws a fresh mewl of horror from her throat as he hammers his eighteen-inch prick into the dank heat of her tight little ass. "WAUUUUUUUGHHHHAUGHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Over the next hour, Miss Adventure loses track of time as Incubus rapaciously ravages one hole, then the other, one hole, then the other, her breaking mind lost in a hell of pain and terror and ecstasy and climax after climax after bitch-taming climax as a growing pool of blood and pussy juice and nasty demon spunk and slime collects under her, forming a toxic, reeking testament to her shattering ordeal. Fuck me... Force me... Rape slut... Fuck pig... She cums so hard, so long that near the end, her contracting vaginal muscles begin to go into painful cramps and spasms, bringing a fresh agony to her screams that only makes the villain hammer harder through the resistance of her body as he fills her fuckhole one final time with his jism.

Finally, he pulls out of her shuddering, broken form and steps away, leaving her hanging and sobbing in a release of confused emotion as her body heals itself. But for all the resilience of her flesh, there is otherwise almost nothing left of the courageous, winsome heroine that Incubus captured some hours ago. She shivers and cringes like a prey animal at the footfall of a predator as she hears Incubus moving around outside her restricted field of vision, getting dressed as she hangs and twists slowly above the noisome pool of secretions whose scent wafts up to assail her nostrils. She screws her eyes shut, trying to pretend it was all just a horrible nightmare...

... but then Incubus' footfalls come back over to her, and she feels a powerful hind grip her chin. She opens her eyes to see the villain restored to his nearly-human form, only his eyes and the slight oddities of physique under his suit disclosing his alien nature. He smiles toothily at the blank, terrified look she gives him.

"It's time to cut you down and send you off to your new life," he says quietly. "But before I do that, my sweet Anita Hardman, my lovely little Miss Slutventure, I must complete my victory." His fingers tighten painfully on her chin, making her eyes water as he says: "Tell me what you are."

"A dirty little slut. A submissive little fuck pig. A sex toy to be used and abused by men," her mouth answers automatically as the last shreds of her old consciousness quail in horror.

"And who," he asks, his smile widening, "is your Daddy?"

"You are, Master Incubus," she answers promptly, putting the final seal on her doom. "You're my Daddy."

Incubus the Insidious nods approvingly. "Good, good. That's a good little slave."

Police Commissioner Hugh Jorgen sits by a hospital bed, his furrowed face and grey mustaches drooping with a weariness echoed by the enormous bags under his eyes. Lying in the bed in front of him, unconscious but breathing steadily, is The Adventurist.

He had been almost dead when they found him crashed in the Adventure Wing just outside Newvale. How the crash happened nobody yet knows. The Adventurist himself should have been able to walk away from almost any crash thanks to his super-healing powers – but the piece of shrapnel lodged in his brain had inhibited them, leaving him lying in unconscious agony with third-degree burns on eighty percent of his body.

Fortunately, the Harden Thicke Memorial Hospital has a crack neurosurgery team that was able to extract the inhibiting shrapnel after twelve nail-biting hours in an operating theatre. As a testament to their success, the superhero's body began to restore itself to normal almost immediately thereafter. All that remains to be seen is whether he'll come out of the coma he's lain in since.

The Commissioner knows which way to bet. Horrific as the injuries sound, he's seen the Adventurist survive worse and come back fighting. He looks at his watch, as if wagering with himself on the exact time that the superhero will open his eyes.

The unconscious, square-jawed face of Newvale's premier superhero twitches once, twice... and then his eyes flutter open.

Bingo, says Jorgen to himself.

Lying still for a moment, taking in his situation through his ultra-enhanced senses, the Adventurist finally says: "I'm in Harden Thicke Memorial. It's four-twenty in the afternoon. The person sitting with me is on the edge of suffering from nervous exhaustion and hasn't eaten since a meal of liver and onions about eleven hours ago." He directs his penetrating gaze at the Commissioner and says: "Hello, Hugh."

"Peirce." The Commissioner nods. "Nice guess on the meal."

"I wouldn't have needed super-senses to pull that one off," jokes the silver-haired superhero gently, the eyes in his unlined face serious. "The last thing I remember," he adds solemnly, "is being airborne in the Adventure Wing and reaching over to my communications array to signal you about my destination. The entire dash exploded in my face."

"Malfunction?" asks the Commissioner, already knowing the answer.

The Adventurist shakes his head. "Sabotage. I'm sure of it. They knew we were coming. The whole thing was a trap." He looks off in an internal reverie for a moment before he says: "They must have been trying earnestly to kill me. You know this is only the third time anyone's managed to land me in the hospital?"

"I know," replies Jorgen. "I was there for the second time, remember?"

"Yes," says the Adventurist reflectively. "Jaziristan. I guess that's two I owe you, now." He pauses for a moment, takes a deep breath and then asks: "How bad is it?"

Commissioner Jorgen sighs, taking off his horn-rimmed spectacles to pinch the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. "Well," he says. "We've got no definitive evidence of anyone's having been killed."

"That good, hey?"

"The media are having a field day," Jorgen goes on wearily. "They've already dubbed it the Debutante Disaster. When we didn't get a signal from you, we had to quarter and search the whole dockside district building by building. We found Incubus' hideout at about eight this morning. Abandoned. It was one of the last we checked." He pauses, sighs again as he reaches into his pocket for a pack of antacid tablets. "If I'd just started the search at the other side of the District..."

"You know better than to do that to yourself, Hugh," says the Adventurist quietly. "What did you find there?"

"The Adventure-Cycle parked and carefully hidden outside. Lots of broken doors and windows and walls, though it's hard to tell what happened last night and what happened earlier... it was a condemned building, after all." Jorgen pops an antacid tablet in his mouth and continues. "Pieces of a big sort of a fishing net lying underneath a trap door on the upper floor, weird piece of equipment made out of copper wiring. Shreds of clothing, cocktail dresses and panties and bras and such. A big pile of shoes. Anita's goggles and some little bits of her bikini. Some pieces of what we think were clothing from another pair of girls."

"The Twin Dynamites," says the Adventurist, then frowns suddenly. "No, that wasn't it. Dynamics? Dynamos?"

Jorgen looks at him. "You know who they might have been?"

"Freshmen in the Masked Avengers local," replies the hero sadly. "This would've been their first mission. Just like Anita's. I guess they won't be getting a chance to learn from their mistake after all. Was that all you found?"

His heart beating faster, Jorgen shrugs as nonchalantly as he can and says: "Yeah."

The Adventurist looks at him. "No."

Jorgen clears his throat. "No, well there was... a basement area. Lots of weird stains on the floor. Bad smell, like..." He clears his throat again.

"Like stale sex," the Adventurist finishes for him. "And fear."

Grimacing, the Commissioner nods. "Yeah, that's right. And there were some... well, some blood stains too. A fair number of small stains... and one particular area where, well...."

"Well... what?" The hero's voice is dark, stern.

"Well... there was so much blood it looked like someone had bled out a hog." Jorgen grits his teeth. "We had the blood tested. We don't have the results yet."

"So, that's what you meant when you said you had no ‘definitive' evidence of anyone being killed," nods the Adventurist in understanding, the calm in his voice belying the horror in his eyes. "And you have some ideas about whose blood that is, don't you?"

"If anyone in that building could lose that amount of blood and survive," says Jorgen, "it'd be Anita. That's about the best... the best we can hope for."

"Indeed." The hero's voice is as hard as stone. "So, the girls are all lost, then."

"It's an absolute shitstorm, Peirce," the Commissioner affirms. "Those debutantes were some of the most privileged up-and-coming socialites in Newvale. Girls like Vanessa Virtue, Summer Holliday, Dusty Storm, Becky Blaes, Melika Maka... we're expecting separate ransom demands to start rolling in once they wind up... wherever they're going to wind up."

"I wouldn't count on hearing anything," the Adventurist replies calmly. "If ransom was the real game, Incubus would've held on to them and done it himself. But ransom is risky. Too many potential openings for enemies to reclaim them... and attack him. A safer route would be to just sell them to people who'll pay through the nose for the rare privilege of having the daughter of a major industrialist at the end of a dog leash." He climbs out of the bed, his hospital gown fluttering around his mighty form as he makes his way over to the sink. "That's much more Incubus' style. And you'd be surprised how many people like that are out there."

"Well, whatever happens," Jorgen says: "Old Vince Virtue is already talking about lawsuits against the Department and the Masked Avengers. Malfeasance, gross incompetence, a bunch of crap like that."

"I don't doubt it."

"In a way, I almost don't blame him," the Commissioner adds. "There's never been a larger mass kidnapping than this in the modern United States. How Incubus assembled the crew and the resources to make it happen, under our noses, with nobody noticing... it's unbelievable." He shakes his head and then says: "So... what are you going to do?"

The Adventurist runs water into the basin, splashes his face, says: "Their likeliest destinations would be either Bastakiya or Ta Mpong in Kampuchea. They'll prefer to be somewhere far from the effective reach of Interpol." He frowns and nods as he says: "They won't have flown from a Newvale airport. Too much scrutiny. They'll go overland, switch out their vehicles and fly out from a different centre, maybe even West Coast. Or go south, take a bush flight over the border to Mexico and make an international run from there."

"Still think there's a chance of catching them?"

The Adventurist shakes his head. "Odds are no. Incubus can think of anything we can think of. No one's ever managed to catch him, on the tail end of a caper or otherwise. Not for a longer time than you'd care to guess, anyway. But we might be the first... it's worth a shot." He splashes another double handful of water in his face and then begins to towel off as he walks back to sit on the bed. "If we can catch them in-country. We'll need a lot broader base of support if the trail does lead to another continent. Learned that lesson the hard way."

"And what about this whole... Miss Adventure business?" the Commissioner asks. "Doesn't look like it's meant to be, does it? You giving up on this sidekick idea?"

His jaw grimly set, the Adventurist shakes his head. "No."

Jorgen opens his mouth as if to continue a very old argument... then closes it, then asks simply: "Why not?"

"The principle is sound. And superheroes have to start young if they're going to learn and survive the capes game. Anita would be here with us right now if she'd... if she'd followed my advice," says the Adventurist. "It's obvious she went in alone. I'll train the next one better, select her better. But one thing I'll tell you: Incubus the Insidious does not get a veto over Miss Adventure's place in American heroism."

"But it's crazy, Peirce," Commissioner Jorgen can't help but blurting out. "Don't you see—"

"Even if Anita is lost, there will be another Miss Adventure. You can count on it." The Adventurist delivers the statement with finality.

The Commissioner sighs and nods with resignation. "Well, we can talk about that another time. In the meantime, I have to go deliver another statement to the press and get Missing Persons to coordinate with your angle on the investigation." He stands up: "You coming with?"

"I'll be along in a sec."

"Right." The Commissioner stumps out, his wrinkled trenchcoat looking as tired as the rest of him.

The Adventurist sits looking dully into space, tears welling in his eyes. "Dammit, Anita," he says under his breath. "I told you not to get cocky. I told you never to go in alone. Be careful, I said. Why didn't you listen? Why?"

Dropping his head into his hands, he finally lets himself go, and he weeps.

A long nightmare of darkness, heat and confinement ends with a groggy, disoriented swim back to something resembling consciousness.

Anita Hardman finds herself naked on a concrete floor, a huge, echoing space around her, like an airport hangar. Blasts of a hot, dry wind swirl around her, and there's an echoing voice and the sound of a shouting crowd close at hand. As her vision swims into focus, she finds herself kneeling with her hands in leather cuffs behind her back, at the end of a long line of similarly naked nubile beauties, facing a platform cloaked by a long velvet curtain.

They all, she realizes, look smeared with sweat and grease and grime. Most of them have crude felt writing all over their bodies, saying things like WHORE FOR SALE and CUM RECEPTACLE and NASTY SKANK and SLAVE SLUT. She wonders abstractly about why this might be... then the answer pops readily into her head. Oh, right, she thinks. It's because that's what we all are and what we've always been. Master Daddy-Incubus told me. They're obviously being shown filthy on the outside to reflect the kind of filthy bitches they are on the inside.

She smiles happily as the absolute certainty of the answer soothes her. Looking up, she sees a burly man in fatigues and carrying a machine gun feasting lecherous eyes on her body. She smiles sweetly at him and gets a knowing leer in return. This all seems proper to her. It's how men should treat dirty sluts, and how dirty sluts deserve to be treated. She looks at a pair of slender, tiny-titted blonde twin sisters to her right, their peaches-and-cream complexions dusted with adorable freckles and otherwise flawlessly beautiful, one of them sporting purple bangs, the other blue. They both look back and smile vacantly at her, like happy puppies. They must be dirty sluts, too, she reasons – it says so down the left flank of the one with the blue bangs – and she returns the smile and waits for Master Daddy-Incubus to appear and tell her what to do. Her bladder feels a little full, but she’s sure Master will give her permission to pee when it’s okay.

She can hear the echoing voice more clearly now. It is, she realizes, Master Daddy-Incubus' voice! He's up on a stage talking to people through a microphone, and the girls are kneeling below the platform, behind him! As he talks, she sees another gunman step through the curtain and grab one of the girls by the hair, a slender but big-titted brunette with creamy skin and green eyes full of dull horror. Anita wonders why this would be. Doesn't she belong to Master Daddy-Incubus too? Why wouldn't she be happy? Belonging to Master Daddy-Incubus is happiness... isn't it?

As the curtain opens, Incubus can be heard saying: "And now, ladies and gentlemen, Lot Number One. This is Vanessa Virtue, the eighteen-year-old daughter of world famous construction magnate Vince Virtue. Not too bright, but as any of my men could tell you, her sweet young pussy is responsive and a bargain at any price, and she's a magnificent spectacle under the whip! How much am I..." The curtain falls back into place and muffles the rest of the speech.

Anita hears all of this with happiness. She remembers now that Master Daddy-Incubus told her he has the right to give her worthless body to anyone he feels like selling it to. This is only proper. It's how men should treat dirty sluts, and how dirty sluts deserve to be treated. She waits with equanimity, hoping she'll have a turn to be treated the same way.

Times passes. The gunman comes through the curtain to get another girl, and another, and another, working his way down the line. Somewhere around the taking of Lot Number Five – a platinum-blonde dirty slut named Summer Holliday – the tiny-titted twin nearest her (the one with the blue bangs) leans over and whispers, "Master must like you lots. I'm totes jealous!"

Anita frowns in confusion. "Master says I'm just like any other dirty slave slut," she corrects her primly, feeling naughty about talking without permission.

"But he lets you wear jewelry. Master must like you lots!"

The gunman guarding them sweeps a glare down the line, and both girls fall swiftly silent. But Anita can feel something around her neck that she'd assumed was a slave collar. Looking down the line again, she realizes nobody else has one. Has she ever noticed that before? She can't remember.

With the discovery, though, she suddenly finds that she's hearing a voice in her mind, disturbing the placid, unruffled surface of her thoughts. It's a tiny voice, shrill and frantic, wailing inside her. And it's saying things like: Don't let them treat you like an animal, you're a person! And: You're not a dirty slut! Incubus is manipulating your mind! You're a heroine, and your name is Miss Adventure! And: They've left the choker around your neck! It helped them torment you, but it also makes you strong! You can break free! You can flee!

Frowning again, she resolves to ignore the funny voice, which is saying funny things she doesn't understand. She tries to recover the easy calm with which she was watching and listening to her fellow dirty sluts being led away for auction. But as the line grows shorter and shorter, she finds the insistent voice growing louder and louder in her mind. Don't let them do this! You've got to get away! You're Miss Adventure! You've got to get help! You can't let this happen! You're Miss Adventure! You were going to be a celebrity! You were going to be a heroine! You're Miss Adventure!

"Sssshhh, I'm a dirty slave slut," she finally says out loud in irritated reply to this litany, drawing odd, semi-curious looks from the dirty sluts nearest her as Lot Number Seventeen – a sweet-faced Latina girl – is led up onto the stage with happiness dancing in her glassy, vacant stare.

But then something strange starts to happen. Images start to flash in her mind:

... a woman battling off a dozen thugs at once in a magnificently sexy star-spangled slingshot bikini, blue goggles and boots and gloves, all their weapons and all their skills useless against her as she smashes through them...

... a woman rocketing through the cool night air of a city on a sleek motorcycle, the envious, lustful eyes of everyone on the street following her curvaceous, inspiring form...

... the same woman locked in a hand-to-hand kung fu battle with a man in a suit (Master Daddy-Incubus?), each dodging the other's attacks and matching toe-to-toe, blow-for-blow...

Those are all you! insists the voice in her head. That's you! You're Miss Adventure! You've got to remember! You've got to get away! Break those cuffs and get away!

Anita feels her breathing grow heavier and more agitated as she looks around her in confusion, her calm happiness starting to desert her. It's not possible. Is it? Could she really break her cuffs? Why would she? Wouldn't that mean not belonging to Master Daddy-Incubus any more? What would happen then? Wouldn't she be nothing at all? In a moment of curiosity, she tests her strength against her bonds... and stops suddenly, recoiling into herself and feeling a sharp shaft of panic as she feels them begin to give way. She could break them, she realizes... easily! But what would that mean?

Looking around again, the scene that had just moments before seemed natural and right begins to look somehow... wrong. Why are these girls being led out so placidly to be sold like livestock? That isn't a normal part of a teenaged girl's life. Is it? Why do they have crude sexual insults written all over their naked flesh? Why do they need gunmen to guard them? Don't they all love Master and Master love them?

"And now," comes Master Daddy-Incubus' voice through the curtain. "Lot Number Nineteen, ladies and gentlemen! This sweet little redhead goes by the name of Fanny O’Rear... and a more appropriate name you’ll never see! You should've heard her squeal the first time she took a cock in the ass..." The curtain falls back into place as another glassy-eyed victim is led up onto the stage.

Anita feels her insides start to roil with fear and confusion. The fullness is her bladder is becoming distracting, but she tries to focus through it. Something isn't right here. Something really... something really isn't right! Looking for some external validation, she leans toward the blonde at her side and whispers, fearfully: "Hey, does this, does this all seem... right to you?"

The girl stares happily back at her. "Master must like you lots," she replies like a toy doll that's only been programmed to say a few catch-phrases. "I'm totes jealous!" And she goes back to waiting placidly for her turn on the stage.

Anita tries to calm her increasingly frantic breathing as she sees the watching gunman staring intently at her. She tries to project her former air of placid calm as conflict rages inside her, as the distracting fullness in her bladder adds to her agitation. You can break free, Miss Adventure! You can run! You can do it! You've got to get away! Is that voice that seems to come from outside... is that her own voice?

The words sear into her mind, upending her consciousness as she feels their truth click into place. Oh my God... she thinks, looking around her again, seeing the handful of remaining brainwashed girls about to be sold irrevocably into the brutal, horrific unknown netherworld of sex slavery... and herself along with them. The curtains open again, and she feels thick horror and panic well up inside her as she watches "Lot Number Twenty-One" – a petite girl with short brown hair in a pageboy cut, perky little tits, large proud buttocks and the words ASS WHORE written on the small of her back – being led unresisting up to the that terrible stage. Oh my God... what... what's happening... this is all wrong... she's right... I've got to get out of here... I've got to get away!

Anita realizes that the gunman guarding them is looking at her again, his eyes frankly suspicious now. He's lifting a walk-talkie and saying something into it. His finger is on the trigger of his rifle, tense readiness readable in his posture. You've got to do it now, Miss Adventure! says the insistent voice inside her. He suspects you! You've got to do it now! Remember your real power! Reach out with your senses! Pick yourself a path!

She doesn't know what this means... but suddenly she feels the world grow larger, her senses stretching out with super-sensitive power to encompass everything inside the large hangar where the stage has been set up. She can hear everything: a conversation between a husband and a wife, talking about how they're going to make the black teeny-bopper they've just bought into a "pony-girl;" the voice of a baggage-handler across the hangar, wondering aloud in broken, Arabic-accented English why "rich old perverts" get to have all the fun; someone dropping a handful of change off to the left; an airplane approaching overhead...

... the voice of the gunman watching her talking into his walkie-talkie, saying clearly: "The subject is showing agitation, Boss. You wanted to be notified, so I'm notifying you. Please advise."

Filter it out! Pick yourself a path! The swarm of sensory information is confusing, disorienting. Would Miss Adventure know how to filter it out? What does "pick yourself a path" mean? Would Miss Adventure know? Suddenly Anita finds herself caught in an agony of indecision. Maybe... maybe I'm not... maybe I can't...

With the confusing clamor of the hangar's noise ringing in her ears, Anita feels other senses sharpening too. A riot of smells, not least those of the moist pussies of the girls sitting near her, overwhelms her nostrils. She begins to hyperventilate in panic, then realizes suddenly: Maybe I'm just out of practice at using this power! But I can still break the cuffs! I can still run!

Yes! exults her inner voice. Yes! You can do it! Break the cuffs, Miss Adventure! Run! Get away!

Alarm is now clear on the gunman's face as she looks up at him with fresh confidence. Her naked tits heaving as she gathers herself to run for her life, Anita gets ready to snap her arms out of the bonds that hold them. Yes... she thinks. Yes... I'm Miss Adventure! I can do this! Here goes... here goes... here... we...

Just as she tenses her arms and prepares to snap the cuffs, a new set of remembered images smashes into her mind like a wrecking ball:

... Miss Adventure lying unconscious in the basement of a warehouse, having just been knocked out by one of the sweet blonde heroines she'd been trying to save...

... Miss Adventure being mercilessly beaten down by the crushing blows of Incubus the Insidious, being laid low by a brutal pelvic kick that sends blood gouting from the crotch of her slutty, trashy little sling bikini...

... Miss Adventure naked with her hands behind her back, bobbing her wet mouth up and down the vile, deformed appendage of some demonic creature as men spank her writhing ass and play with her dripping pussy...

... Miss Adventure suspended by ropes in a compromising position, squealing around the enormous mule-like shaft embedded in her throat as she squirts around the cock invading her snug little snatch while blood pools beneath her and men gather around her to molest her voluptuous body...

... Miss Adventure being whipped and beaten, having her hanging tits tortured with weights and pins, being hosed down with streams of frigid water, repeatedly vomiting up stomachfuls of spunk and green slime...

... Miss Adventure mewling orgasmically on the massive prick of the demonic creature as it masters her, spunk and blood and slime and girl-cum mingling in a pool beneath them as its vicious thrusts drive home and tear all hope away...

This is you, a new voice says in her head. This is you. A dirty little slave slut. The kind of worthless, filthy whore only a Daddy could love. This is you. A dirty little slave slut. You are good only for serving your Master and servicing his friends. This is you. A dirty little slave slut. This is all you can ever be.

The onslaught of horrifying images and memories freezes her utterly, locking her limbs in confusion. No... whispers the inner voice that had first spoken to her. No... don't listen to him... it's not your fault... it's not your fault... you can still get away, Miss Adventure... you can still get away...

Frozen in terrified confusion, Anita can do nothing but look on at the sleazy, sordid scene around her and shiver in fear, her former placidity torn away but the confidence to fight back steadily sapped by a fresh onslaught on her mind. She squirms as the full feeling in her bladder grows almost painful, watches the mocha-skinned Lot Twenty-Three led away... then Lot Twenty-Four, a winsome Italian-American girl... Lot Twenty-Five, the twin sisters – who she remembers had been heroines like herself – going up together... and all the while, the voices battle in her head. You've got to get away... Dirty little slave slut... You're Miss Adventure... Good only for serving your Master... You can do it... This is all you can ever be... You're Miss Adventure... Dirty little slave slut...

The conflict rages on indecisively until the curtain opens a final time and the gunman from the stage comes down to fetch her. "Okay, bitch," he says coarsely, her flesh dimpling as he grabs her roughly by the naked arm. "Time to go."

Her knees quaking, Anita mumbles hesitantly: "I – I don't think I can..."

"Get. Up." The guard yanks her to her feet without further ado, dragging her along to a set of metal steps that ascend to the impromptu stage. Pulled helplessly in his wake, Anita – Miss Adventure – can feel a familiar hopelessness and despair sinking in, can feel the terror making her legs weak and her guts watery with dread. On the other side of the curtain she can hear Incubus the Insidious taking bids for the Twin Dynamos, making crude references to the joys of having two identical whores to clean your cock. Suddenly she realizes, in mounting horror, that during the long wait, her bladder has gone from just being uncomfortably full to being in the most urgent possible need of release.

"Uhhhh... please mister..." she whispers to the guard holding her. "I... I think I have to... I have to go pee..."

"Shut the fuck up, slut," replies the guard matter-of-factly, his grip on her arm tightening painfully.

As the bidding draws inexorably to a close on the other side of the curtain, the voices go on warring in her fogged, confused brain. Miss Adventure... dirty little slave slut... you've got to get away... this is all you can ever be... it's not your fault... worthless, filthy whore... The conflicted stew of sentiments and images roiling inside her has her whimpering unconsciously under her breath as she dances and fidgets in place, until finally the guard yanks her close to him and tells her to "quit your squirming, whore."

"Sold!" comes the voice of Incubus. "To the Honourable Oyabun Wada Sado of the Mikado-Gumi for six million Euro! Worth every penny, sir, and thank you! Enjoy your purchase! I guarantee you they'll enjoy being enjoyed!"

Miss Adventure's blood freezes as she realizes what this means. Naked, shivering, she shuts her eyes and crosses her legs and whimpers as she feels the pressure in her bladder grow unbearably acute, her kidneys aching with the effort of holding her water in. For a moment, time seems to freeze. Then come the words, stagy, dramatic, almost breathless:

"And now for our final Lot, ladies and gentlemen. A very special property indeed. Lot Number Twenty-Six."

And with that, the unthinkable is happening, and the guard is yanking her through the curtains to be paraded naked out onto the "stage."

It's a makeshift affair, really just a big platform of steel grating facing out into the hangar bay, bright stage lights suspended overhead. Stage left stands Incubus the Insidious at a podium, looking almost human and grinning his toothy grin as he gestures in triumph as though presenting a prize-winning hound to a group of elite dog fanciers. In front of the stage, a crowd of more than two hundred men and women in all types of national dress – or in tastefully tailored Italian or Savile Row suits – bursts into applause at the sight of the voluptuous beauty being yanked half-unwillingly before them. She can see that monitors have been set up, displaying her naked form from every angle... and she feels her face blaze with embarrassment as she realizes the words FUCK PIG are written in black felt pen across her big, full tits.

"This," says the Insidious One almost proudly, "is a high-school senior from upstate Newvale, almost on her way to beauty school. Her name is Anita Hardman, but her real name, the name of her innermost self... is Miss Adventure. She was brave, and she was tough, but in the end, my men and I made this dumb whore squeal. She earned the name you see written across those suckable tits right now." Laughter washes through the crowd. Anita whimpers in mortification, standing rigidly and trying to keep control of her near-bursting bladder as tears of confusion and fear trickle down her cheeks. "But dumb as she may be, she's resilient. She'll require constant, brutal punishment – psychological, physical, sexual – to keep docile as a slave. She's not for the faint of heart. What she is... is a rare and precious challenge. The moreso because we're selling her with her powers intact, embedded in that choker you see at her neck... powers that give her extraordinary strength and agility, super-senses... and the power to regenerate any injury to her body." He pauses significantly, and then says: "Including her orifices. And her hymen."

As the implications of this sink in, the crowd bursts back into applause, whistles and catcalls now joining the general cacophony as Incubus acknowledges the ribald racket with good-natured showmanship. Looking down at those leering faces, the faces of the men and women about to bargain over her flesh, Miss Adventure realizes that this is it, there is no escape, and that one of these people is going to walk away from here in a matter of minutes with the rights to ownership of his very own "fuck pig," a lowly creature to be taken home and exploited in all the terrible ways that she can remember Incubus and his thugs exploiting her. The words "constant, brutal punishment" reverberate inside her like the striking of some terrible iron bell.

The stark horror of her situation hits her now with the force of a gut punch. It robs her of the very last of her courage. And to top it all off, the growing pressure in her bladder has reached its bursting point. Ears burning, she bites her lower lip prettily, wriggling, pressing her thighs together, desperate not to debase herself for the lecherous eyes of the people about to bid on her. "Nuh – nooo..." the teen heroine whimpers, the prospect of this new humiliation overriding all else. This is like being reduced even below the level of a wanton do-anything slut, being reduced to nothing more than an animal whose natural functions are there to be calmly observed by the eyes of her betters.

Desperately, she writhes her hips in an attempt to relieve the inexorable pressure; she moans and whines as she feels herself steadily losing control. The guard’s grip on her arm tightens as he senses something wrong. "Hey, what the fuck, bitch," he grates, grabbing hold of her hair and twisting her face toward him, forcing her to look into his glowering eyes as bit by bit, she gives in to the increasingly emphatic call of nature.

Shuddering, Miss Adventure’s hazel eyes go wide as saucers and she lets out a loud panicked sob as the first hot jet of piss escapes her hole. It sprays all over, leaking down her thighs like liquid shame, puddling around her bare feet. Frantically she tries to clamp down on the flow, but another splash of urine forces its way out past her contracting muscles... and then another, and then another, the helpless slut squealing as she gradually loses all pretense of control. Finally the dam bursts entirely and the messy spurts of piss become a long, arcing stream, hissing out and pooling behind her for ten endless seconds as she bawls in an abject defeat made all the worse by the now-breathless gaze of the crowd, by the cold eyes of the guard whose expression has swiftly changed from surprise to smug, gloating mockery.

Two hundred pairs of eyes watch appreciatively from multiple angles on the monitors while the heroine pisses herself in fear and disgrace. They applaud and laugh raucously when it’s over, egged on by witty commentary from Incubus the Insidious. The spectacle has only driven her price higher.