I tried my hands at writing a superheroine erotica for the first time. Naturally, I would appreciate some feedback on my work. Please direct all questions and comments to storyeater123@gmail.com. I also welcome suggestions for future storylines and original characters.

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NIGHT CAT: MIDNIGHT RUMBLE

BY STORY EATER

On my nineteenth birthday, the last superheroine of Delta City fell.

            I wouldn’t have found out if that video hadn’t shown up on Facebook. It already had four million views when I came across it. I clicked on it without thinking, huddled alone in my college dorm room under a blanket.

            Flag Girl. The Last Superheroine of Delta City. Or so they called her in the news. Everyone else was gone by then. Green Specter, Omega Woman, Lady Midnight, Got Gal… They had all disappeared, defeated and spirited away into sex slavery or worse. Few mourned their losses, but none were surprised. This was Delta City. More bright-eyed superheroines had been swallowed up by its criminal underworld than anywhere else on earth.

            Flag Girl had outlasted everyone’s expectations, especially after King Pimp snatched up her mentor Ms. Americana, fucked her stupid, then put her to work at one of his pleasure palaces the year before. Alone, the brave sidekick tried to keep Delta clean for months despite odds.

In the end, it was the goons of the Lira Family who captured Flag Girl during a drug bust turned ambush. They stripped her naked, and filmed her defilement before uploading the video to the Internet for all to see. The end of the last remaining superheroine in Delta.

            I still remember Flag Girl’s glistening lips parting in a surprised gasp, back arching as the first man slid his cock into her.

            I remember her pleas turning into cries of joy. I can still picture sweat dripping down her perky tits as she eagerly humped back.

            I remember her cracked voice admitting she was thoroughly broken and tamed, before groveling down to lick her captors’ shoes.

            I remember her unmasking. Lydia Willis, poor Brenda Wade’s ward. Strange that King Pimp didn’t learn her identity and grabbed her first. I had a feeling he might get his hands on her sooner or later.

            I don’t remember what those mobsters did to Flag Girl in the end. But I remember how damp my pussy became as Flag Girl’s moans grew louder. My hands were down my pants halfway through the video. I had to use my vibrator to climax twice, before falling asleep that night.

            Did I know I carried that same Aphrodite gene as all those superheroines? Eventually.

Was I terrified that I would meet the same fate? Absolutely.

So why then did start my training the next year, and embark on a vigilante spree that would span more than a decade? Despite the dangers, despite this unforgiving city that grew more lawless each year?

Perhaps I seek justice, peace, and order for Delta City, like those who came before me. Or at least that’s what I tell myself, night after night.

The truth is…I don’t know why. Nor do I care to find out.

Some questions, as the saying goes, are best left unanswered.  

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            Darkness descended upon the sprawls of Delta City. Storefronts and streetlamps bathed the ugly metropolis in white neon light. Teeming with tens of millions, Delta was the largest and the ugliest city in all of United States. It also happened to be the richest, and therefore most corrupt.

            From a shadowy alleyway, a few blocks from where she had parked her custom-built motorcycle, Night Cat watched the nondescript white van stop by a corner across the street. Its door slid open, and half a dozen hookers got out to start their business for the night. Ranging from a young teenager to a hardened pro, the women wore skimpy miniskirts and revealing tops despite the cold weather.

            The evening chill didn’t bother Night Cat. Grey latex catsuit encased her voluptuous body from neck down, with a near invisible zipper running between the swells of her breasts and past her crotch. Her hands and feet were covered by black elbow gloves and heeled thigh boots. A black leather utility belt encircled her waist, lined with pockets containing tools of her trade.

            A cat-eared grey cowl covered up much of her head and short blonde hair. Only her nose, jaw, full ruby lip and sapphire-blue eyes could be seen through the openings.

Night Cat knew how she appeared to criminals and pedestrians alike. A dangerous sexpot, with her skintight costume clinging to every curve of her 42DD-30-38 body. She was often the last sight for many, before they either woke up behind bars or scurried home to safety. Not one of them had figured out her identity as Camille Collins, the thirty-two-year-old heiress of the Collins real estate fortune.

            The last hooker emerged from the van, and Night Cat frowned. Sugar Town—that notorious pleasure district and haven for every crime imaginable—had over a hundred pimps and thousands of women who worked for them. She was familiar with most, or at least those with the biggest rep.

This particular stable belonged to Jamal Simpkins, a hard-nosed street pimp with work ethic to rival a CEO. He usually accompanied his whores, critiquing their performances while throwing pitch to every car that passed until his mouth ran dry. Rumor had it that he never took a day off from business.

            Except this time, the pimp was missing. The woman currently lining up his hookers and prepping them for the night was Nadia Santos, Jamal’s top-earning girl and assistant. The young Latina wore a green leather hot pants with her G-string peeking out, and a gauzy golden halter top. A Gucci handbag and golden hoop earrings finished her ensemble, along with her usual makeup and frizzy perm in her long brown hair. Among the hookers, she alone wore a short fur-lined jacket to stave off the cold.

            “Finally decided to take a vacation, huh, Jamal?” Night Cat muttered. No matter. Nadia knew just as much as Jamal, if not more. Plus, the girl was a notorious blabbermouth.

            Hugging the shadows, Night Cat stealthily made her way across the street. Few cars went by, and Delta was full of buildings that cast long shadows. She ducked into a nearby alley, picked up a loose rubble, and flung it straight into Nadia’s neck.

            “Ow!” the hooker yelped, hand shooting up to clutch at her neck. She whirled around, her expression furious.

            “What’s wrong?” a young blonde hooker piped up nervously.

            “Nothing. It’s just…” Nadia’s green eyes narrowed as an empty soda can rolled into the road, nudged by Night Cat’s foot. “Wait here, Jess. And start hailing down the johns. You better top two hundred tonight or Jamal’s gonna want a word!”

            Nadia began striding towards the end of the block, one hand reaching into her handbag. Night Cat waited until the hooker reached the mouth of the alleyway, before pouncing. She seized Nadia by the scruff of her jacket and swiftly pulled her in. One hand immediately covered her mouth. The other grabbed Nadia’s remaining wrist and twisted. A can of pepper spray dropped and rolled across the pavement.

            Nadia gave a muffled scream and began to thrash until Night Cat’s whisper reached her ear.

            “No need to panic. I just want to talk.”

            Nadia froze, then slowly relaxed. Night Cat let her go, and the hooker frantically tore herself away.

            “Jesus, Kitty Cat, what the hell’s matter with you?!” she hissed, massaging her wrist. “You didn’t have to be so rough! Why didn’t you just come up and talk to me like a normal person?!”

            “You know what criminals do to informants,” Night Cat replied, a hand on her cocked hip. “Especially ones seen talking to a superheroine.”

            “Oh…well, yeah, I guess you have a point,” Nadia sighed. “Just give me a fucking heads up next time, yeah? Everyone’s gotten all edgy, with gangs jumping each other and shit.”

            “You know I don’t go after pimps and hookers. Not unless they give me a fair reason,” Night Cat narrowed her eyes. “You got one?”

            Nadia frantically shook her head.

            “Where’s Jamal?”

            Nadia grimaced, and stooped to retrieve her pepper spray. “In the hospital. B-Dog and his boys popped him in the shoulder, can you believe that? Doc says he’s gonna to be fine in a few weeks but…he won’t be walking around anytime soon. So, I’m in charge. Plus, we can’t go into Sugar Town no more. B-Dog took over our usual corner, and then some. No choice but stick it out on this crummy backstreet, trade handjobs for some pocket change.”

            “That so?” Night Cat’s curiosity was stirred. Rapid expansion, though not unheard of, was rare among Delta City gangs.

            “Yeah. B-Dog’s been getting some fresh meat for his stable. Expanding big time. I’ve seen some of those girls myself. Pretty young things, looking mighty scared. Like they don’t want to be there at all. You catching my drift, Kitty Cat?” Nadia winked.

“I do.”

That was one compelling reason to investigate B-Dog. Pimps were free to peddle sex as much as they wanted, as long as women themselves were willing. Sex slavery was a big no-no in Night Cat’s book.

Nadia lit up. “Hey, maybe you can do us a favor and kick B-Dog and his boys off the curb! Turn B-Dog into a B-Bitch, you know?”

“Maybe. But tonight, I’m after a bigger fish.” Night Cat leaned forward. “What have you heard about Ron Maxwell?”

Nadia visibly flinched, her eyes growing wide. “Nothin’. Why you askin’?”

A lie. And both of them knew it.

            “Because I caught a certain rumor going around town,” Night Cat took a step closer. “Word has it, Sleazebag Maxwell is about to get his paws on something he shouldn’t. Something that should be illegal.”

            Nadia let out a nervous laughter. “Damn, girl! You weren’t kidding about going after a bigger fish! I mean, except Maxwell is more like a whale, am I right?”

            Night Cat’s alter ego, Camille Collins, knew Ron Maxwell from her circle of socialites and idle rich. A spoiled kid who inherited millions from his restauranteur parents, Maxwell dabbled in various business ventures with little success. There were persistent rumors that he even poured significant sum into major Sugar Town brothels. His frequent sighting at those establishments did not help, either.

Worse, Maxwell was quick to work his way into the ranks of Delta’s elite, to match his delusion of financial success. But his crude manners and predatory behavior won him no friends. Camille herself had to fight off his many attempts to woo her. They had once nearly come to blows, after she caught him roofying her glass at a nightclub.

            Only his money and parents’ reputation barely kept him in the social scene. Even then, Night Cat knew it was a matter of time before Maxwell pushed his luck too far.

            “So, you know something. Care to share?”

            Nadia shrugged. “It’s probably just a story anyway. Not worth your time, even it was true. Are you sure you don’t want to go after B-Dog instead?”        

            “You worry about keeping yourself and the girls safe,” said Night Cat icily. “Who I choose to go after is none of your business.”

            “Really? So, I’m the one who should be watching my back?” the hooker snorted. She took out a vape from her purse and lit up. Smell of sickly-sweet mango curled inside Night Cat’s nostrils.

“You know every gangbanger in Sugar Town wants to get his hands on you, right? The last superheroine in Delta’s gotta worth a lot, once she’s tamed and broken. Pimps would pay millions just to own your ass for a week.”

            The vision of herself working as a Sugar Town whore flashed before Night Cat’s mind, unbidden. The dark guardian of Delta City stripped of her costume, shrieking as some dirty bum bucked and gasped between her legs. Her crimson lips parting to swallow a stiff cock, as a leather-clad dominatrix whipped her ass with a riding crop…

            It only lasted for a moment, but Night Cat felt her groin ache fiercely. Her hard nipples were straining against the latex suit.

“Good to know,” Night Cat managed. Her throat felt dry.

“Maybe you should quit this dangerous vigilante gig, and come work for us, you know?” Nadia blew out a vapor and grinned wickedly. “I mean, you’ve already got the body for it. You could be our top earning gal, and Jamal will treat you real good. He probably won’t make you fuck him on weekends.”

 It took a long second for Night Cat to regain her composure.

            “Cut this crap already, Nadia. Did you hear something or not?” she snarled. Her voice came out harsher than she intended, covering her embarrassment of having been caught off guard.

“You’d best tell me and walk away with the usual fee. Unless you want to be difficult…”

            “Alright, alright!” Nadia squeaked, holding up her hands. “I’ll tell you! A friend of friend of mine works at the Palace. She says Maxwell came by a few days ago. Dropped thousands in private rooms and booze. And started bragging everyone’s ears off once he got wasted.”

            Night Cat crossed her arms. “And?”

            “Word is, Maxwell’s picking up a shipment at the eastern docks. I don’t know which pier. But the deal’s supposed to go down around midnight tonight. But I mean, why should anybody believe him? Maxwell’s got no balls to pull a move like that. He only likes to spend.”

Midnight. That was just a few hours away. She was lucky to have sought out Nadia.

            “That’s better,” She thrust a wad of cash into Nadia’s hands before turning away. “Stay out of trouble. And I’ll see what I can do about B-Dog and his gang. If I have time.”

            Nadia put away the money without counting. Her expression was caught between nervousness and reluctant concern.

            “Just watch your back!” the hooker called out towards Night Cat’s retreating back. “We’d hate to lose you. You’re not so bad, for one of your…kind.”

Not so bad for my kind, Night Cat smirked as she walked back to her motorcycle. Coming from a hooker, it was the highest compliment a superheroine could get in Sugar Town. Not even the legendary Ms. Americana had managed that.

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The main streets of Delta were less packed after dark, and Night Cat was able to reach the eastern docks in good time. Though far from Sugar Town, the place had its own fell reputation as a gateway through which drugs and weapons flowed into the city in exchange for money and slaves. A handful of floodlights lit up the towering hulls of docked freighters. Rows after rows of containers and trucks sat empty near the piers.

            Idling her engine to a near silence, Night Cat slowly cruised past the large warehouses that lined the waterfront. Even at night, none would dare make illicit exchanges out in the open. Especially if the scale of the rumored deal was true. Besides, local criminals had learned to be careful after she made one too many drug busts.

            Night Cat’s eyes narrowed as she spotted lit windows on one of the warehouses. As on cue, a forklift laden with a pallet of unlabeled boxes rolled out of the gloom and entered its open doors.

            “Thanks for making my job easy,” she smiled. Stowing her motorcycle nearby, the heroine stealthily crept up to the side of the warehouse. Parked alongside the rear entrance was a yellow corvette with gaudy platinum rims that could’ve belonged only to Ron Maxwell.

            One of the side doors was unlocked, and she slid inside to emerge behind stacks of tarp-covered crates and rusted machinery. Animated voices were coming from the front of the warehouse, garbled by the echoing acoustics.

            Like her namesake, Night Cat approached her prey in total silence. Her acute hearing was dialed up to an eleven, vigilant for any foes lying in ambush or standing guard. She walked on her toes, so that the heels of her boots hit the ground ever so gently. Her heartbeat was low and steady.

Her lack of true superpowers meant Night Cat had to rely on her training, guile, and a few gadgets. Even her enhanced metabolism and resilience could so cope with so much. Now was not the time to run in headlong into a fight.

The voices suddenly became clearer, and Night Cat quickly crouched down behind a nearby crate.

“That’s one hundred boxes. Like we agreed. I trust you brought the money?” A man rumbled, his voice thick and gruff. Night Cat’s experienced ear picked up on his distinct Nigerian accent.

“Of course, I have the money! One million dollars, all in clean bills. A Delta gentleman like myself always keeps his promise!”

Night Cat’s nose crinkled in disgust. Even out of sight, Ron Maxwell’s squealing voice was repulsive.

She stole a peek through the gap. Seven men stood across the well-lit floor, in front of a forklift depositing the pallet alongside a large pile of wrapped cardboard boxes. Six were large black men clad in expensive but ill-fitting suits. All were broad and well-muscled, with clean-shaven chins and heads. Two standing further back openly carried compact Uzis on slings.

There was no mistaking Ron Maxwell. With a large gut and a thick neck, the obnoxious millionaire wore his Armani suit even worse than the Nigerians. His face didn’t look much better. Fat pimpled cheeks, beady bespectacled eyes, and scraggly beard around his double chin made for a face only his mother could love. His greasy brown hair was kept down with a striped fedora hat.

            Night Cat felt her temper rise. She could learn to ignore Maxwell’s foul appearance. What she couldn’t stand was his entitlement. His misplaced belief that he somehow belonged among the respectable members of Delta high society. That he deserved to be with someone like Camille Collins.

            “I want to see the goods!” Maxwell demanded. “You’d better think twice before pulling a fast one over me, Mr. Okafor! I didn’t sell two of my restaurants just so I could end up with inferior products!”

            The leader of the Nigerian gangsters snorted. Bigger than the rest, Okafor sported a jagged scar running down his right cheek. He signaled one of his men, who promptly sliced open the neatest box.

            Maxwell shuffled over and pulled out a large parcel wrapped in clear plastic. From a distance it resembled a block of cocaine, with a tinge of lilac. Night Cat’s stomach churned as her worst suspicions were confirmed.

            “They are genuine, I assure you. And pure,” Okafor said, as Maxwell squinted closely at the parcel. “Synthesized Bliss, enhanced with rare minerals. Far potent than whatever garbage is going around your American streets. A single whiff of this can turn a nun into a raging whore within seconds.”

            Maxwell snatched himself away from the drug, as if afraid of being affected. Still, there was no hiding that glimmer of excitement in his eyes.

            “You’ve…you’ve tested the product before?”

            “Wouldn’t sell them if I hadn’t,” Okafor grinned savagely. “They come in powder, but you can easily turn them into liquid or even gas. Quick acting, long-lasting, and virtually undetectable by dogs. I call it…Bliss Ultra.”

            Maxwell stared at the stacked pile of boxes. Then he began to laugh, clutching his quaking belly.  

“Excellent, excellent! With this supply alone, I can corner the entire drug market in Delta in months! Oh, I can’t even imagine how much profit this is going to get me! I shall set aside a portion for my own use, of course, but—”

            “I wonder, Mr. Maxwell,” Okafor interrupted. “If you’re aware of the risks. You are aware this drug is highly illegal in your country?”

            “Of course, I know,” Maxwell scoffed, recovering. “But I really need the money, especially after my latest losses in the cybercurrency market. And besides, who’s gonna stop me? The Delta City government? The laws in this town are a joke! Slip the cops enough cash, and they’ll never even lay a finger on me.”

            “As you say,” the Nigerian shrugged. “I shall be gone from this place as soon as I collect my payment. I have other clients to meet. You’re not the only person showing interest in our product.”

            “Good sir, you won’t find better customers than the pimps, whores, johns, and millions of sluts infesting this horny city! I guarantee you, you’ll be back in Delta soon enough,” Maxwell winked, and wagged his finger. “And I’m sure you already know who to talk to for the best price!”

            Night Cat heard enough. There was more than enough evidence here to sink both the Nigerians and Maxwell. If she didn’t act, this ‘Bliss Ultra’ would soon fill every brothel and nightclub in Delta. Even cause her own vigilante activities a serious setback.

            The shapely heroine rose to a half-crouch, and still silent, slunk away into the shadows.   

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            Ron Maxwell had just handed his payment to the Nigerians when half the lights in the warehouse went out. All of a sudden, they were submerged in a deep gloom. Sparse lighting threw dancing shadows across the floor.

            “What the hell?!” Okafor exclaimed. His men were shouting in alarm, drawing out their pistols and knives.

            One of the dealers with the Uzi turned too late as a lithe silhouette pounced from his right. A tightly curled fist smashed into his jaw, snapping his head backwards. A spinning kick connected with his temple a second later. The man collapsed senseless to the ground, his gun tumbling from his grip.

            Half-lit, Night Cat stood before the stunned criminals in all her glory. Mouths dropped at the sight of the tall woman, soft curves of her body covered in sleek latex.

            “Well, hello, boys,” she purred. “Shouldn’t you all be in bed?”

            “Night Cat…!” Ron Maxwell pointed with a trembling finger. “That’s Night Cat!”

“Kill her!” Okafor roared.

The heroine grinned mockingly, before melting back into the darkness. The remaining henchman with the Uzi opened fire a second later. Two more joined in with their pistols, blasting wildly into the empty space where Night Cat had been. Bullets stitched jagged holes across the aluminum wall.

            “I can’t see shit!” a dealer shouted. “Someone get the fucking lights!”

            “What’s happening? Where is she—AARGGH!”

Arms snaked out of the dark and wrapped around the throat of a panicking henchman. Swiftly tugging him off his feet, Night Cat slammed her palm into the nerve cluster on his neck. She felt the man grow limp, and let him drop.

            Gangsters with the lethal Uzis were out of action now. Night Cat reached into her utility belt and flung out two golf ball-sized spheres. With a screeching bang, they exploded into plumes of thick black smoke that spread rapidly across the warehouse. The remaining drug dealers coughed, retched and cursed as they inhaled the nauseating mix.

            Night Cat dove straight into the melee, having long adapted to her own concoction. She collapsed the throats of the Nigerians with quick efficient jabs. A couple endured the smoke better, and they blindly swung at the figure darting in front of their teary eyes. Night Cat responded with a discombobulating box to the ear, followed by a knee to the chin that had them sprawled out on their backs.

            A screaming dealer rushed at her with a large machete. The heroine sidestepped, and tripped him as the momentum of his charge carried the man past her. The Nigerian’s furious roar petered into a squeal as he faceplanted into the floor hard. A stomp to the back of his head sent the last of Okafor’s men into unconsciousness.

            Okafor himself still stood, surrounded by the twitching forms his defeated henchmen. There was no sign of Ron Maxwell. No doubt he was already halfway back to the city, soiling his pants in terror.

Pity, Night Cat thought. She would’ve enjoyed grinding the pig under her heel.

            “You chose the wrong person to mess with, bitch!” Okafor growled. He glared at her with reddened eyes, shedding constant tears from the bitter smoke. “You’ll pay for messing with our business!”

            “Like I haven’t heard that before,” Night Cat grinned. She took up a combat stance, knees lightly bent and fists held at chest level. “So then…what are you going to do about it?”

            Okafor took out an extendable baton from his belt, and snapped it into full length. They began circling slowly, like two predators sniffing each other for weakness. The warehouse was silent except for their footsteps and the hiss of dissipating smoke.

            Night Cat took in the formidable build of the Nigerian criminal. He had at least a head on her, and twice as broad. But she would outfight him with her superior speed and training.

            Okafor moved first, leaping forward and swinging the baton with a savage yell. Night Cat pirouetted and countered with a horizontal chop towards his throat. But the Nigerian’s other arm rose in its way, cushioning the blow on his meaty forearm.

She didn’t pause, but crouched down to sweep a leg towards his ankles. Okafor easily sidestepped, before charging in with the baton flailing left and right. Night Cat hastily danced back as Okafor slashed once, then twice, missing her by inches.

            “Disappointing,” he spat. “I expected more from a Delta City superheroine.”

            Irked, the heroine launched into a flowing sequence of sweeping kicks and punches that would’ve floored lesser men. But Okafor was fast. Well beyond her expectations. The drug dealer calmly gave ground, turning aside her blows with open-palmed nudges and elbow jabs.

            Night Cat scowled. Clearly, the Nigerian was more capable than his goons.

            Sensing her discomfort, Okafor smiled. “Do not mistake me for a common thug, woman! I used to be one of president’s bodyguards in my country. The best of the best!”

            “And now you’re peddling drugs to a trust fund baby,” Night Cat quipped. “What a career move.”

            She feinted left, then lunged right as Okafor took the bait. Dashing past her foe, Night Cat landed a sucker punch to his ribs. With a grunt, he instinctively whipped around and swung. But the baton whistled through empty air. Night Cat had already gotten inside his reach.   

            Overbalanced, Okafor left his torso wide open. Without hesitation, Night Cat plunged a fist straight into his abdomen.

            “Uugh!!”

            It was like punching into a slab of frozen beef. Pain lanced through Night Cat’s arm as her knuckles bounced off the solid wall of muscles. The massive Nigerian didn’t even budge an inch.

            Clutching at her sore hand, Night Cat looked up to see Okafor grinning down at her. His pearly white teeth gleamed under the dim light.

            Her eyes widened. “Shit.”

            Okafor dropped his baton and seized Night Cat’s right arm with both hands. With a triumphant roar, he heaved and threw the buxom heroine over his shoulder.

There was no time to react, no time to brace herself. Night Cat tumbled head over her heels through the air, until she came down hard near a stack of crates. She rolled over twice before coming to rest on her back. A long groan escaped her lips. The roof of the warehouse was threatening to spin. Her whole body felt like one giant bruise.

She managed to prop herself up by an elbow, only to see Okafor looming over her.

“Nothing but a weak and insolent woman,” he leered. The baton in his hand was already rising. “Let me show you how we punish women like you back in Nigeria—”

Night Cat curled up her leg and kicked.  The reinforced heel of her boot shot straight into Okafor’s groin. A violent tremor quaked through his entire body, and the baton clattered to the floor. The drug dealer bellowed in agony, doubling up and grasping his crotch.

There would not be a second chance. Night Cat rolled to her feet despite lingering pain. Snatching up the fallen cudgel, she struck Okafor straight across the head with all her might.

 Like an ancient tree, Okafor toppled sideways to the floor. He did not rise again, twitching and groaning like a wounded animal instead.

Night Cat stood over her fallen foe, ample chest heaving with exhaustion. A sweat drop rolled down her nose. Her arms felt numb, and legs were starting to shake after the brief but intense duel.

It was a close contest. The closest she’d come to a defeat in many months. But the sheer thrill of beating down a powerful and skilled opponent trumped everything. True, Ron Maxwell managed to slip away. But she had not only taken down a criminal gang, but also halted the flow of a dangerous drug into Delta City. That is, until Maxwell’s inevitable and foolish second attempt.

There was nothing left to do now, but restrain Okafor and his men before contacting the police. Night Cat tossed aside the baton, and reached for her belt for a plastic cuff.

Then, without warning, every light in the warehouse lit up.

“Aaaaiiee!” Night Cat cried out as blinding light stabbed into her eyes. Her vision had grown too accustomed to semi-darkness. She staggered, raising both arms rising to shield her face. Bright afterimages danced and floated in front of her.   

A dart the size of a finger slammed into her left shoulder and exploded into a cloud of white gas. Night Cat gasped as the unwelcome smell of chloroform wafted up to her nose. She held her breath, but the damage was done. Her head suddenly felt heavier. The edges of her vision began to blur.

Night Cat swayed unsteadily on her feet, trying to swipe away the lingering chloroform. What was this? Had she missed one of Okafor’s men?

“Well, well, looks like someone’s having trouble standing.”

Ron Maxwell came waddling across the warehouse floor, a shit-eating grin plastered across his pudgy face. He had an arm up, a bracelet-like contraption wrapped around his wrist.

“Neat, huh?” Maxwell gloated. “Chloro-darts. Got it off the black market from some shady dealer. Says it used to belong to Ebony Avenger, from Star City. Lucky she no longer needs it. As you can see, it’s proving to be quite handy.”

“You…son…of a…” Night Cat grunted. She took a few shaky steps forward, determined to beat him to pulp for this outrage.

“Ooh, looks like kitty’s still got claws,” Maxwell giggled. “You seem tired, Night Cat! How about you take a nice little nap after that long fight?”

He took a careful aim, then squeezed the trigger in his grip. He could not miss at such a close range. The second shot caught her on the stomach, driving all wind from her lungs. Night Cat reeled with an involuntary cough, breathing in more of the chloroform gas.

The weight doubled down on her shoulders and buckled her knees. Her world began to spin in earnest, the repulsive face of Ron Maxwell going in and out of focus.

Panicking, Night Cat lunged at her tormentor. But her body no longer obeyed her. The heroine stumbled like a drunk man, flailing fist hitting nothing. Maxwell, cackling in delight, planted a foot on her butt and pushed.

Night Cat fell to the ground on all fours. She felt hands fumbling about her waist.  

“You won’t be needing this anymore,” Maxwell said. With surprising deftness, he unfastened her utility belt and threw it aside.

“N…no…” Night Cat moaned, before she was tipped over and rolled onto her back. Dazed, the heroine watched in growing horror as Maxwell knelt down beside her.

“The great Night Cat. Totally at my mercy,” Maxwell whispered, awestruck. His hungry eyes traveled across her thighs and up to her jutting breasts. “God, you’re so much hotter than I’ve imagined. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve jerked off to your photos?”

“You…disgusting…”

“I mean, look at you! That ass, those lips, the tits…! I haven’t seen anyone this fuckable in all of Sugar Town.” He grabbed Night Cat’s tits and began to fondle them, savoring the softness under the latex. “Man, these things are huge. I hope they’re real!”

Night Cat squirmed. “Get…your…filthy hands…off…” She feebly tried to bat away his groping hands, to no avail.

            Heavy footsteps rang, and Night Cat’s gut turned to ice as Okafor appeared next to Maxwell. The brutish Nigerian’s right eye was swollen shut, but his other eye burned with murderous rage.

            “You fucking cunt!” he savagely kicked her side, causing Night Cat to cry out and wince. “You dare raise hands against me?! You dare humiliate me?!”

            “Chill, my good man!” Maxwell put up a hand. “She’s no longer a threat to us! Besides, we don’t want to damage the goods before we inspect her, do we?”

            “I’m going to fuck you till you break, bitch!” the drug dealer roared. “Then I’m going to flip you over and fuck you right up the ass!”

            Night Cat tried hard not to show her fear. She could already hear the rest of the drug dealers regain consciousness. Gleeful shouts and curses rose as they saw the superheroine lying helpless on the floor.

            “Fine, fine, that’s all good and fair. You deserve a piece of this fine ass,” Maxwell cut in. “But I get to go first! You all would’ve been stuck behind bars by now if I hadn’t taken her down!”

            Okafor glowered, but did not protest. “I know something that’ll get her in the mood.”

            The drug dealer turned away. He returned seconds later, a lilac-colored package in his hand. Night Cat gasped, realizing what he intended to do.

            “No! No!”

            She began to struggle, but Maxwell was already holding down her arms. More thugs joined them, grabbing onto the heroine’s limbs and immobilizing her.

            “Get her mouth open,” Okafor snapped. One of his men seized Night Cat’s jaw and squeezed her mouth part. Another pinched her nostrils. Eyes wide, she watched helplessly as Okafor leaned over her. He held a knife with a small pile of crushed Bliss Ultra upon its blade.

            “Congratulations, Cat Bitch. You’re about to become the first American to taste my product,” he said with a cruel smile. “Enjoy the ride!”

            The blade tipped, pouring the drug straight into the heroine’s open mouth. The fine-grained powder dissolved as soon as it touched her tongue.

            “AAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHH!!”

            Night Cat screamed and bucked, nearly wrenching herself away from her captors. A mind-crushing orgasm swept through her body, setting her sluggish mind on fire. Every bit of her nerve exploded with uncontrollable lust. She felt no other emotion, no other thought than visions of the nastiest, kinkiest sex steamrolling through her mind. A stronger climax hit her, followed by another, then another.

She was no stranger to Bliss. She had fallen victim several times, all with results she tried hard to forget. This was worse. And at the same time, infinitely better.

            Maxwell and the Nigerians stepped away from the stricken heroine, watching in amazement as she writhed and twisted with shameless desire. She furiously rubbed her pussy with one hand, grinding her knuckles against the clit. Her other hand grabbed and began mashing her tits. Her eyes were filled with disbelief and euphoria. A banshee wail escaped from her wide-open lips.

            It wasn’t just the orgasms that undid her. Night Cat’s emotional barriers crumbled under the drug’s influence. Camille Collins’ confident womanhood, her lifelong belief in leading her own life without relying on anyone else. All faded away, leaving behind a suppressed longing for a man and a hard cock to fill her unrelenting loneliness. She desperately clawed for a lover who was not there.

            “PLEEEEEEAASE!!!” the heroine howled as she rode out another climax. “SOMEBODY FUCK MEEEEEEEEAAAAAGGGHH!!”

            The spectacle continued on for another half an hour. Thirty minutes during which Night Cat pleasured herself with undiminished enthusiasm.

“Well,” Maxwell muttered at last. “You really knocked it out of the park, Mr. Okafor. Your product works better than I expected!”

            Okafor nodded eagerly. His hunger was growing at the lewd display before him. “I’ve seen enough. Get that slut up. It’s time we had our fun.”

            Two Nigerians seized and dragged Night Cat to her feet. She put up no resistance. She began rubbing her thighs together, moaning and trembling with every orgasm she squeezed out.

Her wrists were swiftly bound behind the back with a plastic cuff from her own utility belt. Okafor reinforced it with torn strips of tarpaulin. The rest of the goons, meanwhile, brought up a padded workbench they found in the back of the warehouse.

            “She’s all yours,” Okafor growled, as Night Cat was forcibly laid out across the bench. “Make her scream.”

            Maxwell licked his lips, unbuckling his pants and stepping in between the heroine’s legs. He found the zipper at her neck, and slowly began pulling all the way down the catsuit.

            The grey latex parted to reveal flawless milky flesh, soft but lined with lean muscles. Maxwell’s swallowed hard when he saw her taut stomach, then her blonde bikini-waxed pubic mound.  

            “You…won’t get away with this,” Night Cat moaned. She wriggled half-heartedly, tugging at her bound wrists. “The police…they will be here…any minute…”

            “I’ll risk a jail sentence any day for a chance to fuck you, Pussycat,” Maxwell laughed.

His pudgy hands grabbed the edges of her catsuit and yanked them apart. Freed from their restraints, Night Cat’s enormous 42DDs dropped and jiggled before his eyes. Her large dark nipples were swollen and erect.

Nigerians whooped and cheered at the sight. Maxwell immediately cupped and began fondling those amazing tits. He massaged them slowly, pausing only to roll her nipples between his fingers.

“My god, they are real!” the obese millionaire shouted with delight. “Forget the Sugar Town whores! These are the best pair of tits I’ve ever seen!”

Night Cat’s cheeks flushed with humiliation, even as she began panting furiously through her mouth. Maxwell’s hands on her body riled her up, and she let out a long throaty groan as her nipples were tugged painfully. Bliss Ultra still had her in its intoxicating grip, and she was but a prisoner in her own body.

She ground her teeth and forced her eyes shut, reeling in horror and disbelief at what was happening. Night Cat, the dark guardian of Delta, reduced to a plaything for the vilest and most repulsive bachelor in the city!

I can’t let him find out who I am, she thought miserably. If he discovers I’m actually Camille Collins, I’m going to be so screwed!

Maxwell’s hands suddenly left her tits, and Night Cat opened her eyes to see him strip out of his pants. She gaped at the sizeable organ dangling between his legs. For such an obese man, he was startlingly well endowed.

“You’re in for a treat,” he flashed his yellow teeth. “Not every bitch in town gets to take my ten inches! For you, I’ll make myself last even longer!”

The heroine stared in frozen shock as Maxwell grabbed her ass and guided his throbbing cock toward her pussy. Without hesitation, he pushed its entire length in.

“UUUUUGGHH!!!” Night Cat arched back, as the thick, long shaft filled her. Her oversexed body responded immediately. Her pussy clamped around the cock like a vice, and her legs wrapped themselves around Maxwell’s waist.

“Take this, you whore!” he grunted. He began to pound rhythmically into her, his swollen guts wobbling. He grabbed onto her breasts with both hands, squeezing and kneading.  

Night Cat cried out in pleasure as Maxwell fucked her. Intense heat was building in her navel, slowly rising into an earth-shattering climax. She began bucking her pelvis to match his rhythm. It didn’t matter that he was a disgusting slob, or that she was blissed out of her mind. Maxwell was a great lover, and Night Cat wanted that orgasm bad.

“UGH! UGH! UGH!” she wailed, savoring every drop of pleasure from between her groin. Maxwell pumped into her nonstop, grunting and squealing like a pig. He grabbed and sucked her nipples, drawing out lusty moans. The bench creaked under their frenzied coupling.

Time lost all its meaning. Only her orgasms mattered. Her breath came out in quick, desperate gasps.

After what felt like eternity, the long-awaited climax burst forth, searing through her mind like a tidal wave. Night Cat shrieked, just as Maxwell clamped his lips against hers.

“MMMMMMPH!!!!” they cried into each other’s mouths, tongues frantically intertwining. Maxwell stiffened, then came deep inside her. Mini-orgasms rocked Night Cat as she felt the warm seed gush into her womb.

 Panting, Ron Maxwell backed himself away, his limp cock sliding out of her with a wet pop. Night Cat fell back onto the bench panting, legs parted and thick cum dripping from her violated pussy.

“Oh…oh, god…!” Stars spun in front of her eyes. After months without intimacy, this Bliss-fueled sex was stretching her sanity to the limit.

“What a joke!” Maxwell crowed, grinning ear to ear. “Turns out Night Cat’s nothing but a busty slut in a rubber suit! I would’ve tracked her down sooner if I knew what she’s packing between her legs!”

“My turn,” Okafor stepped forward. Night Cat whimpered as she saw his exposed cock. Nearly the length of a forearm, it was one of the biggest she’s seen. Certainly many times larger than Maxwell’s. It was already erect and hard, just like the baton he’d wielded in the fight.

“Please…!” she pleaded. “You can’t possibly put that…thing in me! Let me suck it instead! Put it in my mouth—”

“Shut up, whore,” Okafor backhanded her brutally. He grabbed her hip with one hand and casually flipped her over. Night Cat now found herself bent over the workbench, presenting her plump ass towards the Nigerian gangster.

“I told you I’d break you.” Night Cat felt broad hands on her buttocks. “You hurt me. And I hurt you back…a lot.” The tip of his penis poked her sphincter.

“No! Noooo! You can’t do this to me!  You can’t—AAAAHHHH!” she shrieked as Okafor pushed himself into her butt inch by inch. She thrashed, straining at her bonds. Tears streamed down her cheeks and into her screaming mouth.

Okafor buried his full length into her, withdrew a few inches, then slid back in again. A slow rhythm began, each one bringing considerable pain. Night Cat’s body shook back and forth across the bench from the force of his thrusts. Even worse, she felt killer climax rearing its head once again. The wet sound of Okafor’s groin slapping into her rear only made things worse.  

She squealed as firm hands reached around and grasped her tits. Okafor slowed.

“The slut’s making too much noise,” he growled in annoyance. “She ought to be silent, like all proper women!”

“Not to worry. I’ve got something that’ll shut her up.”

Maxwell stepped in front of her, stroking his flaccid cock until it stood erect again. It was slick and sticky with the juices from their earlier tryst. He rubbed it all across her cowl first, then pushed it between her lips.

Night Cat obediently accepted the cock, and slurped loudly as it pumped in and out of her mouth. At least the salty taste helped her forget the painful ass-fucking she was getting on the other end. Without realizing, her old habits returned. She wrapped her tongue around the shaft and puckered.

“Damn!” Maxwell shouted, feeling her mouth tighten around his member. “This ain’t the first cock she’s sucked!”  

“You were right, Mr. Maxwell,” Okafor shouted back. “This city must be truly full of perverts. These heroines, especially. Give them little bit of pleasure, and they turn into raging whores!”

The two men double-teamed her for a long time, drawing multiple orgasms from helpless Night Cat. She eagerly returned the favor, and they were soon convulsing and coming together. Cum flooded Night Cat’s mouth, and she mindlessly gulped it all down.

While Maxwell and Okafor rested, two of the Nigerian thugs took over. Soon, Night Cat was bouncing up and down a black dick with her mouth wrapped around another.

All awareness fled her overwhelmed body. She was nothing but a blissed-out fuck machine for her captors to use and abuse. For hours and hours into the long night.

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Sunlight was creeping into the sky by the time Maxwell and the Nigerians finished sating their lusts on Night Cat, several times over. They were sprawled out or squatting across the warehouse floor, utterly drained. Maxwell leaned against a trash bin while rubbing his sore thighs. Though drenched with sweat, he was smiling as if he had just won a lottery.

“That was one of the best nights of my life. An awesome fuck, and a profitable deal to boot! Vegas can kiss my pasty ass,” he nudged his chin towards the bench. “So, what are we going to do with her?”

Night Cat lay slumped across the workbench half-naked, devastated after the long gang-rape. White cum dribbled from the corner of her slack mouth, as well as oozing out of her pussy and asshole. Her breasts were covered with bite marks and saliva. Sea breeze wafted through the warehouse, carrying the stale smell of sex and raising goosebumps on her pale flesh.

Her eyes were open, but they were blank and out of focus. Only the shallow rise and fall of her chest told everyone that the superheroine was still alive.

Okafor eyed her thoughtfully, twiddling a lit cigarette between his fingers.

“Give her to me,” he decided at last. “And you can keep your payment for the Bliss. The slut and I still have unfinished business.”

Maxwell smirked. “Didn’t know you were looking to adopt a stray cat.”

“We’ll keep her with us.  For a little while,” Okafor replied. “But I know buyers in Karachi who’d pay millions for those fat tits. They love fucking white whores over there.”

Maxwell looked at the defeated heroine again. No doubt he’d want another go at her tight twat after a long rest and a nice meal. But with both money and Bliss Ultra in his hands, new doors would be opening for him. He did not have the time for a second date.

“Fine, you can keep her,” Maxwell sighed dramatically. “With all this Bliss, I might as well just grab another pussy anyway. Perhaps I should start with that snooty Camille Collins… But first…!”

The obese millionaire went up to Night Cat. He stroked the top of her cowl as he would pet a housecat.

“Well, Pussycat, I guess this is goodbye.” Maxwell cackled. “Thanks for the awesome memory. And have fun sucking smelly brown dicks for the rest of your life!”

Night Cat stirred, and her eyes flickered onto his leering face.

“But before I go, I think I’ll just take off this cute mask of yours. Find out whose cunt we’ve been banging all night,” he traced the edge where the grey cowl met her neckline. “Any last words?”

The superheroine swallowed with some difficulty. “Just one thing.”

Maxwell’s grin widened. “And what’s that?”

“You should’ve upped the dosage.”

Night Cat shut her eyes and pressed down hard on a small emergency button, cleverly sewn in between the thumb and index finger of her right glove.

Her discarded utility belt beeped, then exploded as her remaining cache of flashbangs and smoke bombs went off all at once. Stupendous mix of noise, light and smoke engulfed the loitering Nigerians. Those closest to the blast were instantly knocked unconscious. The rest, including Okafor, screamed as their ears bled from the concussion.

Night Cat surged to her feet, planting a powerful kick into Maxwell’s belly. He let out a terrible wail and doubled up to vomit. With her hands bound, she reared and headbutted the disgusting man into dreamland.

Even in her weakened state, the exhausted and concussed Nigerians proved no match for her. Night Cat darted among them, kicking and kneeing the gangsters in the groin and chin. She smiled savagely when she reached Okafor.

            “What was it that you said? You hurt me, I hurt you back a lot?”

             The Nigerian howled as a thick three-inch heel rammed onto his foot, followed by a kick straight into his crotch. Night Cat kicked his head repeatedly until he was down and certain not to regain consciousness anytime soon.

            “That’s for tearing out my asshole, asshole,” she hawked and spat onto his prone form.

            The fight was over as soon as it had begun. Night Cat stopped to catch her breath and survey the carnage she wrought. The warehouse was once again strewn with defeated criminals. She got them all this time, including Maxwell. No more surprises, no more loose ends.

            She shuddered at the sight of the boxes, filled with enough Bliss Ultra to dose the whole city. It felt ironic, that the same drug that nearly took her down also turned out to be her salvation. Bliss Ultra was a definite improvement over the original. But it did not last as long like Okafor had claimed. Night Cat tried not to think about what would’ve happened to her if it had.

            There were still lots to be done before sunrise, to make sure these criminals faced justice and the drug properly disposed of. Night Cat squatted down awkwardly to pick up a fallen knife, reversed its grip, and slowly began to slice through her bonds.  

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            The pier was filed with police cars and news production vans. Cops were starting to cordon off the crime scene with chevroned tape, pushing back the gathering crowd. The morning news teams already hogged the best view. Cameras rolled as the reporters dove into the latest scandal to rock Delta City.      

Off to the side, CDC specialists in hazmat suits were busy securing the boxes of Bliss Ultra, to be taken to a secure location and safely eliminated.

            Far from the commotion, and hidden between the stacks of freight containers, Night Cat watched with grim satisfaction as the police led the handcuffed Nigerians out of the warehouse. Their bruised faces winced under the flashing cameras. Ron Maxwell came last, flanked by a pair of stern-faced police officers. Even from the distance, she saw his disheveled face crumple with dismay as the reporters bombarded him with questions.

            It didn’t matter how much she suffered at the hands of those foul men. Okafor and his goons would face a hefty prison sentence under the American justice system. Maxwell would get off lightly, thanks to his wealth and family’s influence. But his reputation among the Delta City elite was ruined. He would never show his face among the high society again. Night Cat—and Camille Collins—could live with that.

            She stifled a yawn, remembering she’d been up for all of yesterday and last night. She was dead tired, and stank like a public restroom. Even a superheroine had her limit.

A nice hot shower, she decided. And nap. A long, long nap. Even then, Night Cat still knew she’d be prowling the streets come evening. Perhaps she’d do Nadia a favor, and pay a visit to B-Dog and his crew.

            Revving up the engine, the last heroine of Delta City turned her motorcycle around and began the long drive home.

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            Alright, I lied. I know perfectly well why I became a superheroine.

            The truth is, I don’t care much about establishing order and justice or any of that idealistic nonsense. Delta City is a lost cause. One might as well drain the ocean before stamping out crime in this town. The best anyone can do is contain it, and hope those thousands of pimps, gangster, and drug dealers take out their aggression on each other.

I continue to don my suit every night simply because I like to. I have yet to find a drug, booze, or career that brings me as much thrill as being a superheroine. Tracking my prey, outwitting them, seeing fear in their eyes before I beat them to unconsciousness. Even the occasional “setbacks” and narrow escapes that follow. I am love with the ritual. Seeing myself in the mirror as the sexy, infamous Night Cat makes me feel…complete.

Am I sick in the head? Perhaps a little.

            But life is short, and unpredictable. And what better way to live each day to the fullest than being honest about who I am?

            And so, I hunt. I strike from the shadow to stop what I can, defeat who I can. And all will know that Delta City is still watched over by a superheroine.

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THE END