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Subject: {ASSM} Story.Batgirl 3. Weaselwoman To The Rescue
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As always, if you can't vote then you can't read this, the rest is your
responsibility.
Batgirl 3.
Weaselwoman To The Rescue
[ In part three, following that word from our sponsor, we return to find
Batgirl now suspended upside down in a very compromising position. ]
At that point there was a loud bang and the door flew open. I adjusted my
eyes and saw light streaming past the figure in the doorway -- not as much
light as you would expect, though. This was because contrary to everything I
had learnt in Superhero School, the entrant was turned sideways.
I had been told to always enter a room with light behind you and square to
the room: in Superhero style clothes, your waist looks thin, your shoulders
broad and you fill the door. This Superhero was different.
I had never seen a pair of tits like it.
"Stay exactly where you are, Dirk Thrustbox -- or should I say -- Dr.
Strangetrousers."
Dirk Thrustbox stepped away from me; his dick didn't. I clamped my teeth
firmly around his helmet using the fish trap principle, a little know
restraint method based on letting things in then gripping on to them like
your life depended on it.
The silhouette entered the room, tits thrusting out like a dead-heat in a
zeppelin race.
"Are you okay, Batgirl?" she smiled at me, then noticing the position of my
sonic screwdriver she added, Bond style, "Mmmm, you seem to be a bit stuck
up today."
I was tempted to laugh, but, being upside down with a sonic screwdriver
driving and screwing where it was never intended is a little mind focussing.
The Superhero reached between Dirk Thrustbox's legs and gripped him by the
scrotum.
"You can let go now," she advised. "He is in the hands of Weazelwoman."
I gasped, which is no mean achievement when suspended upside down with a
throat full of jism.
"Tell me, how did you become Weazelwoman? And get me out of this thing, and
after that, get this thing out of me." I enquired and requested in one
sentence.
"It's because I move with the speed of a stoat, have the hair of a mink, and
fuck like a weazel."
Weazelwoman produced a set of pink fluffy handcuffs from her bulging tool
belt and secured my captor to the bedframe in the corner, then, swiftly
returning she pulled the leaver, spun me, unfastened me, and I was free. I
thought about making efforts to regain my dignity, but with the crotch of my
superhero latex leggings unzipped, a cunny creamed to capacity and half of
an intergalactic electronics store up my butt, this would have been a
difficult thing to achieve. Instead, and for entirely understandable
reasons, I removed the sonic screwdriver from its unintended holster and
walked "John Wayne" fashion across the room feeling my lubricated thighs
swishing silkily past each other.
Weazelwoman had beaten me to the restrained form of my captor and had now
knelt down in front of him. From her belt she produced a green plastic
bottle, the contents of which she smeared along the rapidly stiffening
length of his tool. I could see the end shining in the light of the doorway.
"What is that, Weazelwoman, a truth drug?" I asked.
Pulling down her lycra Wonderwoman style top she coated her breasts with the
shining unguent and looked at me.
"No, breast relief and a pearl necklace, a little trick I learned when I was
a jeweller."
With a speed rarely seen, Weazelwoman enveloped his cock in her ample
cleavage and pushed the two breasts together, forming a lubricated impromptu
tunnel. Needing little encouragement Dirk Thrustbox thrust into the crease
and moaned. Weazelwoman bent her head and positioned her mouth so that each
time the purple helmet burst forth from her flesh she could suck on it for a
few seconds.
Not surprisingly, the villain could take little of this punishment meted out
by our dominant Weazelwoman. With a drawn out groan Dirk Thrustbox squirted
his last emission onto the smooth skin of my heroine rescuer's throat.
"And let that be a lesson to you and your evil master, Dirk Thrustbox. We
will be avenged on Dr. Strangetrousers and all his cohorts!" I shouted
triumphantly as he collapsed and rested against his binding pink fluffy
handcuffs.
Weazelwoman looked at me, smiling, "Coffee?"
"Coffee." I agreed. Leaving the evil assistant we went downstairs and made a
fresh pot, safe in the knowledge that Dr. Strangetrousers was nowhere to be
seen.
We sat in silence for a long time until Weazelwoman broke to atmosphere with
an astute observation.
"Pedro really does have a lot of stamina, I suppose it must be all the work
he does in the garden," she said with an evil grin spreading across her
face.
"True, I don't know how he finds time to cut the grass with the demands you
make on him." I smiled. "When he gets that ridiculous moustache off, he
ought to weed the driveway again. Shall we give him tonight off, let him
recharge his batteries?"
Whilst a Superhero's work is never done, Pedro would be all done in if we
fucked him again and made him do the gardening.
For more ridiculous fiction, and some serious stuff as well, visit the Lair
Of The Fanged One.
http://pages.whowhere.lycos.com/arts/paulinusfang/index.html
There you'll find my stuff, and links to other great writers whose feet I am
not fit to lick, even if that were one of my things.
--
If you enjoyed this work, take a moment to email the author. Your comments
are their only payment. Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is
copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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