Message-ID: <12305eli$9806181837@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/12305.txt>
From: Echo <echo@nym.alias.net>
Subject: RP {Echo} Damsel in Distress 2/3 (Superhero MF FF Anal Humil)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <19980618221307.29225.qmail@nym.alias.net>
RE
Copyright remains with author. This story is *not* to
be reposted, posted elsewhere, etc. It is *not* to be made
available in any media for profit. You are entitled to
one hard copy for your own amusement.
**Note** The internet addresses and sites mentioned in this
story are *not* actual ones. Don't waste your time.
If under the legal age, don't read further.
Dark Damsel: Damsel in Distress, by Echo
Chapter 4
Dark Damsel felt slightly nauseous. It had been a long
time since she had had that much to drink. Her mouth was dry
and she needed water. Stupid to go out drinking, she thought.
Whatever possessed her to do that? Ah, well, nothing to do
but suffer the consequences of free will.
Dark Damsel was lying on her side in a semi-fetal
position, hands under her chin. She decided to get up, but
her arms didn't obey her when she ordered them to move out.
What the hell? She opened her eyes. It was like looking
through translucent glass, through a shower door. There
was light, but everything was blurred beyond recognition.
"Shit," the word rasped out.
She was in trouble. Her mind was slowly clearing,
more and more pertinent details coming back. She hadn't been
out drinking. Then what? Oh, yes. The dart. The *dart*!
She tried moving her arms again and felt a tug at her throat.
A collar. She was collared! She was collared and her hands
were cuffed and attached to the collar by a short length of
chain. This was definitely not good. Dark Damsel moved
her legs. They, at least were unfettered, though there
was some kind of belt around her middle. What had
happened? Where had she been taken? A momentary burst
of panic was brought quickly under control.
Trapped, perhaps. Yet there was a way out of any trap,
she knew. All she had to do was find it. She must begin
to explore at once. Before anyone found out she was awake.
Dark Damsel tried to roll over onto her knees in preparation
for getting to her feet. She couldn't. The belt was attached,
in the back, to the wall.
It was warm in the room and her head felt hot. The
familiar feel let her know that she was still wearing her cowl.
Why? Why had it not been removed? The bastard probably wanted
her awake for the unveiling, she thought angrily.
Movement. There was a shifting of the patterns of light.
Someone had come into the room. From her perspective, Dark
Damsel now knew that she was lying on a mat on the floor.
"Are you all right?" It was a woman's voice, hushed,
fearful. Even through the lenses, Dark Damsel could see
that the woman was more or less naked and that she was
blonde or dirty blonde.
"Yes," Dark Damsel rasped. "Help me get out of this."
"I can't," the woman's voice trembled. "He'd kill me
if I tried."
She was close now. Dark Damsel wondered what sort of
lenses had been fitted to her cowl to cause the distortion
in her vision.
"Here."
The Damsel felt something touch her lips. It was a
straw. Hesitating only a second, Dark Damsel drew in the
wonderful, cool water. If there was anything in it other
than water, she couldn't taste it. She could have refused to
drink, but it would have done her no good. They could just
force her. She was helpless for the moment.
"Where are we?" Dark Damsel wanted to know.
"I don't know." The thin edge of hysteria was creeping
into the woman's voice. "I woke up here, just like you." The
woman paused. She touched Dark Damsel's costume. "Are you . . .
are you really . . . Dark Damsel?"
The poor frightened woman wanted reassurance. With Dark
Damsel present there was always a chance. The costumed woman
replied with a strength she did not feel. "Yes, I am Dark
Damsel. Don't worry we'll . . ."
"No, oh no . . ." the woman's voice trailed away in a
moan. "Another," she whispered, more to herself than anyone
else. "He's got another."
Another? Another what? Dark Damsel wanted to question
the woman, but she had tensed suddenly at the sound of footsteps
coming closer.
"Please, please listen to me. Do whatever he wants, just
do whatever he wants!" It was a heartfelt plea and Dark Damsel
was stunned.
The woman got up and ran from the room, leaving Dark Damsel
to ponder her words. She feigned sleep. The footsteps drew
ever closer, then they were in the room.
"Good morning, Dark Damsel." The voice was strangely
muffled, husked, but there was no disguising the triumph in it.
"Come now, I know you're awake. Who do you think sent Kitty
in with the water?" Dark Damsel raised her head and peered
at the man. "That's better. So, this is the great Dark
Damsel," the voice oozed scorn. "You weren't that hard. First
at the Beltons', then at poor Peter's. Now, there's a waste of
talent. But let him have his petty private life. It is you I'm
interested in. And I have you," the triumph was back, "precisely
where I want you."
"Who are you?" Dark Damsel asked. "Why the personal
vendetta?"
The Photographer laughed. It wasn't encouraging. "Oh,
you'll find out in good time, my pretty pet, you'll find out
in good time." He prodded her leg with his foot.
Dark Damsel remained still. It would accomplish nothing
to kick out at this juncture. Let him believe her beaten. He
bent over her and she heard a click at the wall. She was one
step closer to being free. He stepped back.
"Get up, Dark Damsel," he ordered.
The Damsel rolled onto her forearms, and walked her knees
forward. The line which had bound her to the wall was still
attached to her belt, she realized. Only now it was no longer
holding her to the wall. She wondered how much play she had.
"Nice ass," the Photographer commented and Dark Damsel
blushed, realizing the picture she presented. "Keep going."
It took only a few moments for her centre of balance
to shift back and enable her to sit up, then stand. She was
a little shaky, but all right. She faced the Photographer.
"Good. Now, turn around. I want to see your profile."
"Go to hell." Dark Damsel had had enough of this. She
was becoming angry. No one could treat Dark Damsel like this.
The Photographer laughed. "You have no choice in the
matter. You *will* do as I say. You'll do what I say, when
I say, as often as I say." He sounded supremely confident and
Dark Damsel didn't like that at all. She stood still.
"Okay," he sighed, the reluctance in his voice feigned.
"As you wish."
The Photographer pointed something at Dark Damsel. She
couldn't make it out through the distortion lenses. There
was a tiny click then a muffled whir. What?
"Oh!" The line to her belt was being reeled in. It was
attached to the ceiling and pulled her back a few paces then
began pulling her up onto her toes. Click. It stopped.
"Kitty!" The order rang out. Dark Damsel saw the outline
of the woman as she came scurrying back into the room. "Take
off her boots."
"Why?" Kitty whispered to Dark Damsel as she knelt at her
feet. "I told you."
"Quiet." The single word was cold, harsh.
Kitty shut up with a tiny moan and continued to work in
silence. Soon Dark Damsel's boots were off and she was standing
bare foot on her toes.
Dark Damsel had been concentrating on Kitty and when the
hand stroked her bottom she gave a little gasp. The Photographer
had come around behind her and was running his hand over her.
The hand worked its way up until it found the zipper.
In designing her costume, Dark Damsel had first tried a
one piece body suit. It had been great . . . until the first
time she'd had to use a washroom while in it. Then she'd
separated top from bottom and joined them with a little zipper.
A small lip of cloth covered the zipper and the join was
almost invisible.
The Photographer had found it. Now he began undoing
the zipper. Dark Damsel knew what was coming and wasn't about
to take it silently.
"No!" She shouted and tried a kick. The Photographer
avoided her easily and kicked her supporting leg out from under
her. This tipped her over and she hung by her middle unable
to reach the floor with her feet. The Photographer laughed.
Kitty moaned. Dark Damsel thrashed about for a moment, trying
to connect with the Photographer, then gave up. She was
helpless.
"This one needs a lesson," the Photographer chuckled
mirthlessly. "You remember how it was, don't you, Kitty?"
Kitty moaned again. "The stool!"
While Kitty was getting the stool, the Photographer
grabbed the hapless Damsel by the belt, steadied her, then
began to undo the zipper. The Damsel could do nothing. She
flushed, which added to the redness of her face, when the
Photographer pulled the tights and her panties down to her
knees. She heard a thunk and looked down to see what appeared
to be a stool set up under her. The Photographer sat on the
stool. The remote clicked again and Dark Damsel was lowered
onto his lap.
"Kitty."
"Sir?" the poor woman stuttered.
"Take them the rest of the way off."
Dark Damsel gritted her teeth, but there was nothing
she could do. She was going to get a spanking, which rankled
enough as it was. Were she to try to stop Kitty from removing
her tights it would only get worse, she knew. Bastard, bastard,
bastard, she whispered under her breath. When she got free he'd
regret this!
"Ow!" The first blow caught her unawares. It was a hard
nasty slap on her rump.
"That was just to get your attention. Now this is how we
play. You were a naughty girl," the belittling of her womanhood
angered Dark Damsel more than her position, "and naughty little
girls have to be punished. How many do you think you deserve?"
Dark Damsel refused to answer. She'd be damned if she'd
play along with his sick little games.
"Very well, since you have no answer, I guess I'll have
to decide for myself. How about twenty?" He waited. "No
answer? Well, I guess that's not high enough. How about
twenty-five?"
Dark Damsel paled a little. She'd have to answer . . .
too late.
"Okay. Thirty. Is thirty enough?"
"Yes," Dark Damsel sputtered through her humiliation,
"thirty is enough."
"Good. Then thirty it is. Next. You will ask for each
spank by calling out its number. If you are not fast enough
I'll simply fill in the space between calls in any way I see
fit. It doesn't count unless you ask for it."
The second spank landed, hard as the first. Dark Damsel
bore it in silence. The third landed. They hurt! Suddenly
Damsel realized that no one was counting. This could continue
indefinitely.
"One!" she called out and was rewarded with a harsh spank.
"Very good. Ask for the next."
"Two." It was humiliating, having to ask him to spank
her. It was humiliating knowing that she wouldn't be able to
stay silent long. Each swat hurt just that little bit more
than the previous one. She wasn't sure if she was becoming
more tender or if he was hitting harder.
"Spread your legs."
"What . . . Ah!" Dark Damsel complied as a very forceful
blow rocked her whole body. "Eighteen!" She was sobbing now,
tears flowing. "Nineteen!" "Twenty!".
"Kitty. The paddle."
"No, please," Dark Damsel was beaten.
There was a whistling sound and Dark Damsel screamed more
in surprise than pain, though the pain was there. Damn! She'd
forgotten to count. The final ten had her moaning, shouting,
crying; her legs jerking, kicking but remaining open. Then it
was done.
The Photographer pushed her off his lap, but not before
she felt the hardness there. He had really gotten off on the
spanking. Pervert. She hung from the line, toes just touching
the ground, unable to regain her feet.
"Kitty. We have other business."
"Oh, no. Please, you said . . ." Kitty was in tears, her
sobs racking her.
Dark Damsel wondered what was going on, but the two of them
were gone before she could bring herself to ask. A minute later
a gun went off and there was a loud scream. The gun fired once
more. Damsel was shocked. She fought her way to her feet in
time to see Kitty come running back through the door. "Thank
God," she whispered.
"Look after her. I have other business," The Photographer
snarled as he walked by the open door.
Kitty was sobbing as she applied a cream to Dark Damsel's
bruised behind.
"It's okay, Kitty, it's okay," Dark Damsel tried to comfort
the woman.
"No, it's not. You don't understand," sobbed Kitty.
Dark Damsel softened her voice. "Help me to understand,
Kitty."
Kitty froze for a long minute. She choked back her sobs.
"Okay," she began shakily. "Please, Dark Damsel, remember one
thing: Do as he says. He likes taking pictures. He likes
posing his girls." She paused.
"Girls?" Dark Damsel asked, afraid of where this was
leading.
"Girls," she confirmed. "But if they are stubborn or he
gets tired of them, they disappear. You have to do what he says,
please. For your own sake." Kitty broke down and cried. It
took her a long while to calm down again. "It's too late for me,
so do it for yourself."
"What do you mean it's too late for you? What happened?"
"He's tired of me. I tried my best, did what he wanted,
tried to excite him . . . and it worked. But now . . . " she
broke down again.
"Kitty, what happened?"
"If you don't please him, if you refuse to pose . . . . Oh,
Dark Damsel, Minx refused to pose . . ."
Minx? He had killed Minx for not posing? Dark Damsel
shuddered. Poor Minx. Now she regretted that she hadn't taken
Minx up on her offer. It had been plain that Minx had been a
little hurt by her rebuff, no matter how she tried to hide behind
the bravado. Poor Minx. Now she knew why Kitty had been so
upset that she was Dark Damsel and not just a model dressed up
as her. He had killed Minx. When she got free . . . if she
got free. For the first time Dark Damsel was not so sure
that this would end happily.
Kitty was crying, on the floor, curled around Dark Damsel's
legs.
"Kitty. Kitty!" The woman stilled. "Kitty, you've got
to help me get out of this."
"You don't understand. That's what Minx said. I tried,
and I got Minx killed," she shuddered again, then spoke slowly,
clearly, each word separate. "There is no escape." Slowly
the defeated woman got to her feet. "But I can let you down."
There was the now familiar whir and the line attached to
Dark Damsel's waist slackened and drooped. "And I can free
your hands." There was a click and the Damsel's hands were now
free from the collar, though still attached to each other by
a little over a foot of chain.
"Kitty, listen to me. If there really is no escape then
there is no use in my trying to make him happy. The way I
see it, if I'm going to die here, I'll die with as much dignity
as I can muster. He will get nothing more from me." Dark
Damsel was already regretting her acquiescence to The
Photographer's spanking ploy. "Minx had the right idea."
Kitty stiffened slightly, then relaxed again. Suddenly
the woman's arms were around Dark Damsel and she was crying
again. "Just do as he says. He made me watch, he made me
watch. I saw him kill Minx. That means I'm next. He can't
leave me alive." She shuddered and Dark Damsel's arms went
around her, holding her tight.
"If that's true, Kitty, then help me help you. Perhaps
together we can catch him off guard and get away."
Dark Damsel could feel the poor frightened woman shaking
and held her tight. She murmured calming words to the woman
and slowly rocked her back and forth. The crying stopped,
the shaking stopped. The woman raised her head from Dark
Damsel's shoulder. She leaned back a bit, looking at Dark
Damsel, then leaned in and kissed Dark Damsel's neck.
It was Dark Damsel's turn to stiffen slightly. Kitty
stopped and her hold on Dark Damsel loosened.
"Please," she begged, "if I have to go, I want to be
close to someone warm one last time; be with someone of my
own free will, not because *he* makes me.
Dark Damsel felt her heart go out to this woman. It
wasn't her fault that she couldn't be brave enough to stand
up to The Photographer. Some had it in them, some were just
out of their depth. Besides, the woman might be right and
there might be no escape. She didn't know the true situation.
The Photographer might be just one of many here.
Dark Damsel took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.
What the woman said made some sort of sense. At least it was
an act of defiance. She determined to go along with Kitty's
last request.
Kitty sighed as the Damsel's arms tightened about her.
She melted into the taller woman's arms and something about the
trust implied, the surrender, caused Dark Damsel to feel very
protective. She would not betray that trust.
As Kitty moved her head back and looked up, Damsel bent
her own down and met Kitty in a kiss. At first their lips
barely touched, then Kitty's parted slightly. The Damsel
parted her own and lightly touched Kitty's with her tongue.
It was as if a dam burst. Kitty grabbed Dark Damsel's
head and pulled down, bringing their mouths tight together.
Her tongue speared out to duel with the Damsel's. Both
women's breathing became rather ragged as they held each
other tight and kissed the longest, most passionate kiss
of their lives. It was the affirmation of life in the face
of death.
They broke apart, panting. Kitty tore at Dark Damsel's
costume, pulling her top up from under the belt which trapped
her. She found the zipper down the front and pulled it down.
Damsel felt the cooler air of the room against her bare
breasts, felt her nipples begin to harden, both from the
cool air and from the excitement. Somewhere in her mind she
knew she was trying to make up for turning down Minx, but
right now there was a needy woman in front of her.
Kitty pulled her costume up over her head and down her
arms 'til it hung on the chain which held her wrists together.
Kitty cursed, then went to work at the cuffs. The Damsel
was surprised. She had been sure that the cuffs were locked
on, but apparently not. The cuffs and chain fell to the floor
and Kitty was upon her, kissing, hugging, stroking like a
mad woman; determined to get full measure from their encounter.
They sank to the floormat, still held in embrace, then
Kitty released her and slid down to lick and kiss at Damsel's
breasts. It felt so good and Dark Damsel gave a little sigh,
which caused Kitty to increase her already fervid attention
to Damsel's nipples.
Damsel groaned. She twined her hands in Kitty's hair
and held her head to her breasts. If only she could see
Kitty, look her in the eyes . . . . Damsel stopped and reached
up to remove her cowl. Instantly Kitty's hands were on her
wrists, stopping her.
"No, don't, please don't," she cried out. "He'll whip
me. I just can't take any more pain, I can't," she sobbed.
"Okay, Kitty, okay," she calmed the shaken woman.
Kitty calmed down and went back to work, kissing and
fondling Dark Damsel while the Damsel's hands roamed over
Kitty's head, petting and caressing.
The attention to her breasts was getting Damsel hot.
God, but this vixen knew how to treat another woman! The light
strokes, the tender kisses, the little nibbles! Dark Damsel
groaned again and stretched, finding release in the movement.
Kitty kissed her way down Dark Damsel's stomach and
the Damsel spread her legs. Kitty gave a little yelp of
pleasure and moved right in. Her tongue was so light, merely
grazing Damsel's lips, tantalizing. Damsel raised her hips,
but Kitty only laughed and kept up the light touches. Every
once in a while she'd stop and kiss the Damsel's inner thighs,
which had Dark Damsel moaning in a mix frustration and joy.
"Ah!" Damsel cried out.
Kitty's tongue had tweaked her clit, then that warm,
wonderful mouth was all around her, tongue licking, sucking
up her juices which were now flowing.
In a whirl of activity which had Damsel thrusting, twisting,
moaning and crying out little cries, Kitty licked, thrust,
kissed and caressed. A finger entered Damsel's pussy and she
stiffened. A second finger joined that one and they moved in
and out in time to the furious licking that Damsel was getting
from Kitty's tongue. Damsel was beside herself, feeling her
body climbing the slope to orgasm. She was getting close, oh,
so close.
"Umph!"
The tongue probed her ass, licked at the pucker, then was
replaced by a finger which pushed its lubricated way up
her nether chute, began moving around inside her. Damsel had
had fantasies about that, had played with the area herself, but
had never pushed inside. Now she was penetrated for the first
time, and Kitty's finger and face rode her as no other had ever
done.
"Oh!" A second finger stretched her. "OH!" It was too
much. Damsel shuddered, her breasts jiggled. A hand snaked
up and pinched a nipple. "Oh, God!" The tongue lashed her
clit and Damsel went over the falls. A wail escaped her throat
and she heaved her belly high, legs trembling, then sank back
down into a contented daze.
But Kitty wasn't finished with her. Kitty continued to
probe and to lick and suck. Damsel was sensitive and tried to
push Kitty's head away, but Kitty was having none of that.
Damsel struggled to get away, but Kitty, showing a strength that
surprised Dark Damsel, held on. Damsel's legs were over Kitty's
shoulders, Kitty's arms came around her hips and fingers locked
over her stomach. Kitty's mouth was on her womanhood, fastened
there, tongue showing no mercy.
Dark Damsel bucked and heaved trying to get away, but there
was no escape. Then she no longer wanted an escape. Her breath,
already ragged, began to catch. Her face was flushed, and
everything in her world centred on her pussy.
"Yes, yes!" Dark Damsel cried. "Faster, Kitty, faster."
Kitty was only too happy to comply and laughed joyously as
she pushed Dark Damsel over the edge again.
Dark Damsel floated on a sea of contentment. She was so
wrapped up in the inner feelings that she didn't notice Kitty,
who had been stroking her lightly all over, reapply the wrist
cuffs. But when the chain was once again snapped into her
collar, Damsel's eyes flicked open. The blurred outline of
the other woman, straddling her, sitting on her belly greeted
those eyes.
"I'm sorry, Damsel, I had to do it. He'd whip me," Kitty
explained. Then she moved up Damsel's body and knelt over her.
"Now do me." It was half plea, half order.
Kitty lowered herself and Dark Damsel caught the aroma of
another woman for the first time. She tentatively stuck out her
tongue and tasted Kitty. Kitty tasted different than she herself
did, but it was far from unpleasant. She gave another lick and
felt the joy surge in her as Kitty let out a groan. It was
payback time. Kitty had given her such joy that all Dark Damsel
wanted to do was to repay that joy. She went to work with
a vengeance.
Kitty rode Damsel's face like a bronc-buster. She rocked
her hips, lowered and raised them, mashed herself onto Damsel's
face and cried out her joy. Finally, as she was about to come
she reached back and grabbed Dark Damsel's nipples and pulled
them hard even as she screamed out her orgasm.
Damsel's eyes went wide at the sudden pain as her nipples
were pulled, but kept up her assault on Kitty's composure until
her partner went over the edge.
Kitty collapsed, then dragged herself over to lie face to
face with Dark Damsel, her arm thrown over the Damsel's chest.
"That was wonderful," she breathed into Damsel's ear,
"simply wonderful." Then she pushed at Dark Damsel and Damsel
turned onto her side away from Kitty and Kitty snuggled in
behind her, her arm over Damsel and cupping a breast.
Dark Damsel felt the warmth of satisfaction seep through
her. It had been good, so very good. They lay like that for a
while, then Kitty slowly made her way to her knees. She gave
Damsel's nipples another pinch, which caused Dark Damsel to gasp.
Then Kitty gave her a playful slap on her rear, which stung after
The Photographer's abuse.
"Wha . . .?" Damsel started, then a voice cut her off.
"How was she?" The Photographer's voice, laughing, cut
through Dark Damsel's content.
"Wild!" Kitty called back, all traces of subservience gone.
"She's made for this, you know. Has a good tongue, too. I loved
the way she wiggled her ass when I stuck a finger up it. Wonder
what she'll do around your cock, darling. Should be worth
watching." Kitty laughed raucously, and stepped across the room,
her hips swaying outrageously. The Photographer was at her side
and slapped her bottom.
"Still hot?" he asked.
"You bet. Let's do it." They both laughed, their laughter
cutting Dark Damsel to the quick. She closed her eyes. Her
face felt like it was on fire.
Chapter 5
Dark Damsel lay on the mat, tears trickling from her eyes.
She shook her head, feeling empty inside. How could they have
done that to her? Why would they want to? She felt sick.
They had used her, tricked her into willingly doing what they
had wanted. There was no epithet bad enough for them. She
curled up into a ball. She wished she could die.
Die? No. Not die. She had to get away. She couldn't
let them win. Slowly she uncurled. They had made a mistake,
several mistakes in fact. First, she hadn't been refastened
to the wall, so she could get up and move around. Second,
Kitty had taken the cuffs off of her wrists. If she could do
that, then so too could Dark Damsel.
Dark Damsel twisted her head down and brought up her right
wrist. She felt over the cuff as best she could and finally
found a buckle. Her spirits crept up off the floor.
Seconds dragged into minutes and the minutes dragged on
interminably. She had to hurry. Soon they might be back and
then her chance would be gone. How long would they take?
"Yes!" Dark Damsel whispered triumphantly. She had done
it. Her right hand was free! It was the work of moments to
free her left. She felt around the cowl and found the lenses
to be glued on. The glue didn't hold and she could see again.
Aside from the floormat, the stool and a chair, over which
her costume was draped, the room was bare. The walls were an
off white and there were no windows. She reached over and
touched the wall. They were not made of the usual plaster or
particle board or anything else she'd seen. That accounted for
the lack of an empty room sound. They were some sort of acoustic
tiles, Dark Damsel guessed.
She turned her attention to the belt. Again it was merely
buckled on and it took but seconds to free herself. They had
been overconfident. That would be the end of them. Too many
mistakes and you lose. They were going to lose. Once again
Dark Damsel would win.
Dark Damsel strode over to the chair and picked up her
costume. Her panties were missing, a trophy perhaps. Bastards!
She sat and slipped her legs into the costume bottom and pulled
them up. Something felt wrong. She growled in frustration as
she realized that they had been split along the crotch.
"Damn!" she spat out the word as she slipped her arm into
her top. As she pulled the top on and zipped it up she cursed
again. Small holes, about the size of a dollar coins, had
been cut out of her top, exposing her nipples. Sick Bastards!
They were cut, no doubt, in preparation for the pictures for
which she would never pose. Rage welled up in Dark Damsel's
mind. They would pay!
Her boots, also, were gone. The rage died as Dark Damsel
realized she'd have to get out of the building barefoot, with
nipples and pussy exposed. Well, at least she would be getting
out, something which she'd almost given up on.
Dark Damsel slipped out into the hallway. There was another
door open. She stepped over to it and took a quick look in.
Her pouch was hanging over a chair back. She breathed a sigh
of relief as she opened the secret pouch at the bottom and
found her keys still in their place. The main cavity of the
pouch had been emptied.
Half of her mind wanted her to seek and find Kitty and
The Photographer to make them pay. The saner half realized that
she was at too much of a disadvantage. She didn't know the
layout, nor how many people she'd have to go up against. It
could be suicide. Growling, she turned and headed for the
exit.
The door was bolted from the inside, but there was no
alarm attached. Dark Damsel slid the bolt open and disappeared
into the dark. The Photographer had lied. It had not been
morning when she'd awakened. She caught her bearings at the
first corner. She was not, she realized, very far away from
the 'Garage on 5th'. It was the closest safe place, and she
grimaced. So, it was either face Ray and his men (hopefully
otherwise engaged) or barefoot it two miles to her nearest
hideaway. There was no real choice.
Across the street from the building Dark Damsel had
been imprisoned in, a window closed silently. Two figures
drew back from the portal.
"There she goes, better late than never," Kitty said as
she sat back, yawning, "I thought she'd be faster than that."
"You got out in half the time. Still," the Photographer
mused, "you didn't have the psychological battering." His voice
had lost the blurred edges. It was clear.
"I'm not so sure we should have let her go. She won't
be that easy next time."
"Darling," The Photographer murmured, "you know why we're
doing this. The steps have to be followed. Otherwise it
wouldn't be any fun. Now she knows she's not safe when she's
out in costume. Now she knows just how easily she can be
taken. We give her a few days to get used to the uncertainty,
then we step it up. By the time we're finished she'll never
again wear the costume of Dark Damsel."
"And you'll enjoy her body like I did," chuckled Kitty.
"You'll love it."
Laughter filled the dark room.
"Let's get dressed, darling. We have much left to do
tonight."
"After I wash this stuff out."
Ray's eyes widened as Dark Damsel came through the door.
For a second he was too stunned to do anything but stare. Then
he averted his eyes.
Damn. She had been so cautious, so intent on getting to
the station unseen, that the relief in opening the door had
caused her to forget to cover up.
"Get me something to wear, will you Ray?" she asked as
she slipped by him and into the small washroom.
A minute later there was a light tap on the door. She
opened it and a hand came through, holding a pair of coveralls.
Dark Damsel gratefully accepted them and in a trice was once
again decent.
"Thank's Ray," she said as she stepped out of the
washroom, rolling up the sleeve cuffs. The pants cuffs had been
likewise rolled up.
Ray was once again sitting behind his desk. He looked up,
wondering just what the hell had happened but polite enough
to not ask.
"We have your bike again," he told her. "You have to stop
leaving it lying around."
"Where did you find it?" the Damsel wanted to know.
"Outside Peter Lepcher's Photography Shop. He called us
last night just after 11:00. Said you'd left just a little
earlier. He didn't appreciate being hauled down to the station
and questioned half the night."
"When did you let him go?" Damsel asked, wondering if
he'd been a very good actor and had misled her.
Ray punched some codes into the computer. "About 2:30.
He was picked up by a woman." He scrolled down and Dark Damsel
felt her anger starting to rise. "A detective followed them
home, to his registered address. He left and went to work
about 11:00 this morning and . . ." Ray picked up the radio.
"Alpha fourteen, this is House Seven, over."
"House Seven, Alpha fourteen. What's up?" The radio
crackled.
"Status of subject?"
"At residence. Left work two hours ago. He made us
around two o'clock this afternoon. He's been very careful
to not do anything suspicious. About an hour ago the bast- . . .
oops, the subject brought us out coffee. He hasn't left the
residence. Waves to us every fifteen minutes or so. I'd
like to . . ." The detective decided he'd better not say
what he'd like to do.
Ray looked over at Dark Damsel. Her shoulders slumped
and she shook her head.
"Alpha fourteen, subject still about?"
"Yep. Just waved to us again." There was suppressed
anger in the voice.
"Good. Go knock on the door, thank him for the coffee
and wish him a very good night."
"What!?"
"Oh, and tell him the object thanks him for his aid in
recovering her property."
"She there?"
"Affirmative."
"Awright! Alpha fourteen out."
Dark Damsel smiled at the enthusiasm in the detective's
voice. "Who was that?" she asked
"Charlie Foster," Ray replied. Charlie had spent a lot
of time at the Garage and felt a fatherly interest in Dark
Damsel. "He doesn't usually pull night shifts anymore," Ray
explained.
"Thank him for me," Dark Damsel said softly.
"Will do." Ray was quiet for a moment, made as if to say
something then changed his mind. "Cycle's ready to go."
"Thanks Ray . . . for everything. It's personal and I
don't know why. Anyway, he caught me, but I got away. He was
going to try to make me pose, hence the, uh, damage to my
costume," she hoped that Ray had not seen the split in her pants,
"but I got away before he could do this." She looked Ray square
in the eyes. "I'm going to get him, Ray. If it's the last thing
I do."
Ray's jaw was clenched. He relaxed it. "Perhaps it is
time to stop going it alone. Bring us in. Keep us informed.
You know that if you want us, we'll be there."
"I can't, Ray." And she couldn't. It would mean admitting
that the Photographer had beaten her, that Dark Damsel's time
was done. She walked out of the office and into the Garage.
Her cycle was waiting for her. "Oh, by the way, how did you
boys make out at the apartment?"
"Too late," Ray replied, sounding a little dejected. "But
we'll get them, sooner or later." He watched as she started
the cycle and drove out onto the street.
Five hours later, Ray decided to call it a night. He
cleaned up around the office and washed out his coffee cup.
His hand moved to switch off the computer then froze. What had
Dark Damsel said? 'It's personal.' He sat down in front of
the keyboard and typed an address in the browser. It took
him three tries to get it right. The connection was fast and
it wasn't long before he had what he wanted . . . or didn't
want.
"Son of a bitch!" he exclaimed. "Son of a fucking bitch!"
When Renee woke, the sun was streaming through the window.
It had been a somewhat uncomfortable night. Her backside still
hurt whenever she put any pressure on it--like sitting down or
rolling over onto her back. The Photographer had given her a
thorough spanking. Something she would remember for a while.
She heard a low cough. There was someone in her apartment!
Like a flash she was out of bed and pulling on her robe. She
opened her bedroom door and glanced out into the hall. Every
muscle was tense as she crept forward.
"Oh hell."
It was Brenda's voice and Renee relaxed. Of course. Brenda
would be looking after the business. Renee walked casually into
the living room/office.
"How's it going."
"Hi. Late night, kitten?" Brenda managed to throw a leer
into her voice.
Renee laughed. "Late night," she agreed. Brenda would
damn well know that she hadn't been home all day and would
suspect that she'd spent the previous night with her new
'boyfriend'.
"So, give me the gory details, girl. Is he good in bed?"
Renee laughed again. "You're incorrigible, Brenda."
Brenda waited, expectant. "Okay, okay, let's just say it was
a night I won't soon forget."
"Yesss!" Brenda pumped her fist into the air. "So, should
I be out scouting for a bridesmaid's dress?" She grinned at
Renee, knowing full well what the answer would be. "Girl, you
have to get serious sometime, and I can hope for you, can't I?
"Thank's Brenda, but I'm not ready for that kind of
commitment yet." It was good to have friends.
"Okay, but when you are old and grey and alone and I'm
there with my twenty-three great grandchildren, don't expect
any sympathy from me!" She laughed at the thought. "I have
everything on track. Nothing for you to take care of. Have
a day off. Recover," she winked. "I, on the other hand,
have a class." She got up and put on her jacket. "Later."
"Later."
Renee went into her exercise room and went through her
morning routine. Then she moved into practice with fighting
forms: blocks, kicks, punches and rolls. By the time she had
finished she was sweating profusely.
"Good one, Nietzsche," she told the tiger happily. The
workout *had* been good. "Now, let's check the mail."
While cooling down and waiting for the computer to boot up
she continued to do the odd stretch. She fired up her mail
program. There was one message from her nym account. She
placed it in the encrypted part of her drive and decoded it,
wondering what Commissioner Delcourt had to say.
The message popped up and Renee frowned. How would the
spammers get her nym address? The only place she ever used
it was to send mail to Delcourt. "Super Sex" the subject
read. She was about to delete it then changed her mind. It
had come to her address. How? She opened the message.
"Check out our bevy of Super Lovelies! Something for
everyone, guaranteed! Click here for a surprise."
The address was a numerical one. Almost against her will,
Renee clicked on the address and was transported to a page
which featured Dark Damsel's face. Her hands began to shake
as she read the screen.
"Hi Darling. Did so enjoy last night. Let's do it
again. Real soon,
Kitty.
PS: Click on Dark Damsel's mouth to continue--such an
instrument of joy."
Again Renee hesitated. Then she clicked. She was
back at the superheroine site, on the new Dark Damsel page.
She clicked on the "New" button and was taken to a page which
listed three downloadable mpg files. They were labeled: dd1,
dd2, and dd3. Each file was large, very large. They were also
available as a suite, compressed. The compression wouldn't make
them much smaller, but it would mean only one download instead of
three. Renee cursed and began the download. While that was
happening she took a quick shower.
Back from the shower, with Nietzsche beside her for moral
support, Renee sighed as the download finished and she logged off.
A minute later, uncompressed, the files awaited her. She took a
deep breath and clicked on "dd1.mpg". She gasped. There was
Dark Damsel, hanging from a rope tied to a belt about her middle.
Three cameras had been used. One from the rear, one from the
front and one from the side. Renee watched in shock as the man
in the picture pulled down her bottoms, exposing her ass. He was
dressed in loose fitting shirt and pants, all the better to
disguise his build. His head was never in the picture. Renee
swallowed as she watched herself (as Dark Damsel) lowered onto
his lap and as her bottoms were pulled off by Kitty. Kitty was
just an indistinct shape at the side of the frame, the focus was
on Dark Damsel's bare bottom.
"How many do you think you deserve, this time," The
Photographer's husky voice came through the speakers, "ten,
twenty or thirty?"
"Please, thirty." Dark Damsel replied.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Okay, as you wish."
"Thank-you."
Renee seethed in indignation. She had been taped and her
responses had been edited to fit The Photographer's sick sense
of humour. She watched as the Photographer struck Dark Damsel
and her head came up and body arched. His left hand was planted
firmly in the middle of Damsel's back and her ass was nicely
presented.
Renee flinched as she saw each blow land, heard herself count
out the strikes.
"Spread your legs for the camera, dear."
On the screen Renee watched in mortification as Dark Damsel
spread her legs. It was a good view of her pussy, she had to
admit. Clear, good focus. She shook her head sadly, but couldn't
even look away as the paddle came out and as her legs kicked,
showing everything.
The second file, dd2.mpg, showed Dark Damsel's breasts
appear as Kitty helped her out of her top, then cut to Dark
Damsel on her back writhing in pleasure as a blond head worked on
those breasts and then went down between her legs. It ended with
Dark Damsel wailing out her orgasm, her belly in the air, breasts
jiggling, Kitty's fingers clearly in her ass.
With great reluctance, Renee fired up the third mpg file.
As she suspected, it showed Dark Damsel's face being ridden
by Kitty, whose head was never in the frame. It showed her
tongue stretching out to meet Kitty's pussy, then Kitty pulling
at Damsel's nipples as she came. The file ended with Dark Damsel
on her side looking (apparently) into the camera; a contented
smile on her face; her lover behind her, one arm draped over her,
hand cupping her breast. To all appearances, Dark Damsel was a
willing participant in all three scenes.
Renee turned off her computer. There were tears in her
eyes. She picked up the stuffed tiger and hugged it. "What
doesn't kill me makes me stronger, Nietzsche?" she asked the
little toy. "How could this make me stronger? How could they
do this to me? Why?"
Renee's thoughts went back to the counter on the first page
of the Dark Damsel spread. Visitors since 28 June: 2004. Two
thousand and four! 'Word of mouth' would see that number
shooting skywards. How could she go out again, be seen again
in the guise of Dark Damsel? The things they would say about
her! Oh God, why?
"Well, my dear?"
"Got her!" Kitty was ecstatic. "The first download came
from the Police computer. I don't know how they got the
address, but apparently either Dark Damsel accessed it from
there or some cop got lucky. But the second one. That came
from Dark Damsel. She followed the link we set up in the
e-mail. No question about it."
"Nice touch, the fake counter. So, my little hacker lover,
you got into her computer during the download?"
"Yes, lover, I did," Kitty replied immodestly. "It was
easy and I sent us an e-mail. We now have her real account.
Now we put out the word?"
"Now we put out the word," The Photographer confirmed.
"Anything else?"
"Well, from there it wasn't hard to hack into her ISP and
get her name and address. Our lovely Dark Damsel is Renee
Jimson."
The Photographer laughed his sinister laugh. "Well, Renee
Jimson, welcome to hell!"
Chapter 6
End of article -- what next? [npq]
alt.sex.stories #4136301 (8 more)
From: darkdamsel@damsel.com (Dark Damsel)
Subject: Damsel in Distress
X-Newsreader: Forte Agent 1.5/32.452
FRIENDS! Come and see me in some HOT situations JPG's MPG's
and MORE. I guarantee you will not be disappointed!!!
http://www.super-heroine.com/~bzx/dd
LUV 2 U ALL. While at the site, drop a line and let me
know what you would like to see. Who knows? Your wishes
may come true!
End of article -- what next? [npq]
Renee Jimson closed the newsreader. Her face was like
stone. She had looked at four of the alt.sex groups and the
post was in each of them. Many would simply erase the post
as being spam, but many would follow the link and see what
they would see. Renee had followed it, herself, and found
that there were now JPGs taken from the MPGs and others which
were high resolution scans of photographs.
There was a thread on alt.sex.stories.d covering the
situation. The authors who had written Dark Damsel stories
were in their glory and had reposted them. New chapters
were being added; new stories started. The more twisted
characters were insisting that the pictures were indeed of
Dark Damsel, confirming what they'd thought of her all along:
she was a slut meant to be used. Others suggested that the
photographer (small p) had found a model who looked similar
enough to Dark Damsel to fool those who had not seen the
crime-fighter up close and in person.
In a blue funk Renee turned off her computer, put all
thoughts of her business out of her mind, and stepped out
of her apartment building.
It was a beautiful summer day. A warm breeze wafted
the scent of flowers across the lawn; a few white clouds
moved lazily across the sky; the sun shone brightly and
the air was fresh and clear. Renee was oblivious to it
all. She walked aimlessly, her only enjoyment coming from
the respite of being just another woman walking down the
street, lost in her own thoughts, anonymous.
No one paid any attention to her, except for the odd
busker or panhandler. This would all change if her identity
as Dark Damsel came out. She'd be able to go nowhere. Even
now, if she went out as Dark Damsel there would be all the
eyes, watching her, wondering if the nude pictures of her
were real, hoping they were. Yes, the public would love to
know that it was really her in the photos. Dark Damsel,
symbol of justice, of good, would be knocked down to the
status of mere mortal. Others would feel better about
themselves through the degradation of an Idol. The tabloids,
of course, would have a field day.
Renee came out of her reverie and saw that she was just
a block away from Hub City Police Department Headquarters. Maybe
she'd visit 'Uncle Teddy'. He always made her feel better. Yes,
that is what she would do. She began walking past a street
news stand towards HCPDHQ when she noticed a headline in a paper
which read: Dark Damsel: In the Flesh?
Heart sinking she picked up a copy and read the article.
There was no stopping the snowball now. In the article, the
writer wondered at the relationship between the police and the
'unmasked' crime-fighter. Even if the photos were false, the
publicity would do the police no good.
"Damn!" Renee's voice was just harsh enough to bring
the head of the vender around. She shrugged it off and turned
towards Head Quarters.
"Hello, Ms Jimson," the guard at the front desk greeted
her.
"Hi, Fred." Fred had been one of her father's friends, oh
so long ago. "Think I'll be able to see 'Uncle Teddy'?" she
asked hopefully. "And the name is Renee, as you well know,"
she pouted.
Fred laughed as he handed her a visitor's badge, signing
her in. "Uncle Teddy," he rolled his eyes, "will probably be
very happy to see you. It'll take his mind off of all this
Dark Damsel garbage."
"Dark Damsel?" Renee tried to sound puzzled.
"You haven't heard?" Fred sounded surprised. "Yeah, Dark
Damsel. Someone got a model who looks a lot like her and put
up some pictures on the internet. Disgusting stuff, I hear.
It has all happened before, what with Minx and Sapphire and
others, but they aren't as closely connected with us as Dark
Damsel is. Also, those pictures were obviously of models, not
the real thing." He shook his head sadly and looked down at
his hands. "Well, whoever did this sure put us on the hot seat.
We have uptight religious rightists up our asses right now,
excuse the language." Fred looked around to make sure no one
was within hearing distance. "Frankly I'd like to put something
up their asses--one ass is particular--and I still have it from
when I walked a beat."
Renee had to laugh. The picture of grizzled old Fred
shoving a nightstick up Reverend Jones' rear (for who else
could it be) was comic in the extreme. Reverend Jones, never
having seen her, had condemned her for her costume, which
was 'so vulgar not even a harlot would be seen in it'. Yes,
she might even pay to see that. She told Fred so, which
earned her a laugh in return.
"And Dark Damsel?" she asked. "What if that was her?"
"Renee, I walked a beat for 10 years. I had snitches
who you wouldn't want in your building, let alone in your
apartment. They helped me do my job. One was a stripper,
a decent one. A couple were prostitutes. Did it matter
what they did? Hell, no. Even if Dark Damsel is the one
in the photos, even if she did it off her own bat, what the
hell does it matter?" old Fred asked her earnestly. "She
*helps* us. Far as I know she's never broken the law. So,
she's a helpful citizen. I'd rather sit across the table
and hoist one with her, or with the stripper and prostitutes,
than I would with the ever so unhelpful good citizens who
are upstairs just now." Fred snorted, "If we had to count
on them to help solve crimes, we'd never get anywhere." He
broke off as another citizen approached his desk.
"Kirpath's office? Third floor. Turn right as you
get off the elevator." The man walked away.
"Fred?" There was warmth in Renee's eyes as the old
policeman turned back to her. "You are a great guy, and if
you were five years younger . . ."
Fred broke up. When he recovered he looked at his watch.
"Go on up. They've been here for 45 minutes. That's about
as long as your Uncle Teddy'll put up with such nonsense.
He'll appreciate a break."
"Renee! What a wonderful surprise," Commissioner Delcourt
smiled, standing and opening his arms.
Renee hugged the old gentleman tightly. "I hear you've
had a busy morning."
"Busybodies!" Delcourt sputtered. "As if I cared a rat's
ass for their squeamish stomachs. Bah! 'Tarnishes the image
of Hub City's Police Department,'" he mimicked the good
Reverend Jones.
"Now, Uncle Teddy," Renee remonstrated.
"Okay, Renee. It gets to be too much sometimes, though."
He paused. "So, what can I do for Jack's daughter? You know,
there isn't a week goes by that I don't think of him. He was
a good man, far to good a man to be gunned down like that."
Renee knew Delcourt wasn't just saying that. He kept a
picture of Jack Jimson and himself on his desk. They had
been fishing buddies, partners, friends. It had been on the
day that Jack Jimson was buried, when they handed her the
flag which had covered his coffin, that she had determined
to become Dark Damsel. One year later, on the anniversary
of his death, Dark Damsel had caught her first criminal
and begun her long association with the Police Department.
"Sorry, I got lost in thought," Renee confessed. "What
did you say?"
"I asked if there was anything I could do for you."
Delcourt returned to his chair and put his feet up on his
desk. "Mind you, I'll be just as happy if you merely came
to visit. Already you've cheered up my day."
The intercom buzzed before Renee could reply.
"Commissioner, Officer Nasturant to see you."
"Thank you, Sandy, send her in." He turned to Renee,
"This won't take to long, have a seat."
Rebecca Nasturant walked in with some files in her
hand. She went straight to Delcourt's desk, not really
noticing Renee. Renee watched her, remembering that this was
the woman that Uncle Teddy had the hots for, even if she was
only half his age.
"Here are the files, sir. I cross-referenced them with
known felons and unsolved cases. I think the pattern is clear.
With respect to the other matter . . ." Rebecca noticed Renee
and stopped short.
"Of course. You haven't met," Delcourt stood. "Rebecca
Nasturant, may I introduce the daughter of my late partner,
Renee Jimson." There was that something in Delcourt's voice
and face which asked the pair to like each other.
As the two women shook hands Renee felt herself subject
of a very intense look. It was as if Rebecca were memorizing
her features. "Renee Jimson. Pleased to meet you." She
paused. "I feel as if I've met you before . . . no, I guess
not."
But she had, Renee smiled to herself. They had met when
she was Dark Damsel. She would have to be careful. This
woman was very sharp.
"The pleasure is mine," Renee smiled and Rebecca turned
back to the Commissioner. At his nod Rebecca continued.
"Yes, sir," she shrugged. If the Commissioner wanted
to talk shop in front of a civilian, who was she to say
him nay? "As to the other matter, Minx was seen in the
vicinity yesterday, but nothing ties her to the crime. I've
come up with nothing at all which would suggest that she has
anything to do with any criminal organization." Her
emotionless, matter-of-fact tone was back again.
At the mention of Minx, Renee looked up sharply. She
hadn't been too sure how much truth Kitty had told. Now it
appeared that rumours of Minx's death had been somewhat
exaggerated. Renee breathed a sigh of relief.
"Perhaps you could ask Dark Damsel to check her out,"
Rebecca suggested.
"No," Delcourt answered, "right now it might be best for
all of us if Dark Damsel maintained a low profile. We are
a police department, let's do some police work!" His tone
softened almost imperceptibly, "Thanks Rebecca. Good work."
"Thank you, sir." Rebecca turned and ghosted out of
the room.
"Lovely woman," Renee grinned at Delcourt.
"Now stop that. She's far too young for me," Delcourt
replied, though he seemed pleased at Renee's comment.
"Get outa here. You're still a fine figure of a man!
She'd be lucky to get you." Renee frowned, "Of course I'm not
sure I could get used to calling her 'Aunt Becky', but . . ."
She ducked as a pencil was flung her way. "Okay, Uncle Teddy,
I give. I was just in the neighbourhood and thought I'd drop
in and say hi."
Delcourt glanced at his watch. "How about going out with
an old man for some lunch. You can catch me up on your life.
Met any eligible young men lately?" He took Renee's arm and led
her out the door.
Renee laughed, but her thoughts went back to the discussion
in Delcourt's office. Perhaps it *would* be a good idea if Dark
Damsel did lay low for a few days. There was nothing like lack
of news to kill a story, though there would be speculation.
It might help her through the worst of it, however. The public
was quick to forget.
"So, Kitty, what's the news?" The Photographer asked
his lover as she came through the door. It was dark in the
room. Both preferred it that way.
"Dark Damsel has, apparently, fallen off the edge of the
world. No one has seen or heard of her in three days. The
papers think she's given up the crime-fighting gig." Kitty
put down the bag of groceries, opened up the refrigerator
and began restocking it. "If she has, then we've won."
"No!" The word was harsh. "No. Not yet. She has
to be taught her lesson. He'd want it that way."
"Would he?" Kitty inquired. "Have you asked him? Are
you sure about this?"
"I don't need to ask him. Remember what he did for us?
Think of where we'd be without him." The Photographer's
voice became soft. "He gave us life, Kitty, and she took
his away from him." He put his arm around the woman's shoulders
and squeezed. "Besides, you know he doesn't want us connected
with him in any way. But word came to us, didn't it?"
Kitty allowed herself to relax into The Photographer's
embrace. "Yes, love, it did. But that was almost a year ago
and it came from someone who hadn't seen him in well over a
year previous to that. So, that word is over two and a half
years old at best, possibly three. A lot can change in three
years."
"We owe him, Kitty."
"Yes, love, we owe him." She reached up and stroked his
neck as he nestled in behind her, arms around her middle. She
ground her ass into him and felt him begin to harden. "You want
her, don't you, you bastard?"
He laughed. "You had her and gave her rave reviews,
remember?."
Kitty laughed. "I remember. Oh!" The Photographer
had reached up and grabbed her breasts. "Mmm." Kitty licked
her lips and pushed the refrigerator door closed. She laughed
as The Photographer picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.
He dropped her onto the bed, then threw himself on top
of her, covering her mouth with his. After a long, hard, deep
kiss, they broke apart, both catching their breath. Kitty
looked up at him and grinned.
"You want her bad. I can tell." She reached down and
slapped his ass. "What do you want to do with her?" The
Photographer opened his mouth to answer her question, but Kitty
put her hand over it and shushed him. "No, love, don't tell
me." The Photographer's eyebrows rose in question. "Don't
tell me, show me!" She dug her fingers into his ribs and
tickled him.
The Photographer rolled away on the king-size bed and
got to his hands and knees, facing Kitty who was on hers.
"You really want me to show you?" he asked, and licked his
lips.
Kitty grinned. "Come on, big boy, let's see what you've
got," she told him lewdly. "I'm Dark Damsel and I don't think
you have what it takes." Kitty dropped one eyelid in a slow
wink.
"Bitch!" The Photographer tore at his pants. In a few
moments he was free of pants, underwear and shirt. Kitty
was still there, grinning at him.
"Whatchya gonna do about it?" she purred at him.
The Photographer was up in a flash, standing on the bed.
He stood over Kitty and grabbed her t-shirt about the middle,
lifted and pulled it over her head. Kitty's hair flew wildly
about. He then lifted and her 'til she faced the mirror on
the dressing table.
"Ooow," she squealed in delight as she was lowered to
hands and knees. She looked in the mirror, head up, to see
her breasts hanging down, her face framed by the brown hair.
She wiggled her ass suggestively and gasped as her lover gave
it a slap.
The Photographer dropped behind her and grabbed her shorts
and pulled. They, and then her panties, came down. Soon both
were thrown to the floor. The Photographer knelt between her
spread legs and Kitty hung her head in mock shame even while
arching her back to give him a good angle.
"Ow!" Kitty felt her lover grasp her hair and pull back,
lifting her head up.
"I want you to watch, bitch," he growled. "Watch yourself
as my cock goes into your pussy."
Kitty could feel his cock-head at her lips and she obeyed,
watching herself in the mirror. Her eyes widened, mouth opened,
and she gasped as she felt him penetrate her. "No!" she cried
out, getting into the spirit of things, even though she enjoyed
the sensation.
The sex was rough, hard sex, yet delicious for just that
reason. Kitty reached back with her left hand and began to rub
her clit. Soon her gasps were echoing through the room, mixed
with the grunts from The Photographer. Kitty saw her breasts
swaying with every thrust from her lover. Her right arm tired
and she collapsed on the bed with her ass still high in the air.
Kitty wailed out, shuddering in pleasure. The Photographer
stepped up his thrusting and she moaned under the assault. Then
he was finishing: one, two, three hard thrusts, then holding
himself in her as her legs gave out and he flattened her on the
bed. It took a minute for him to recover sufficiently to begin
kissing her on her neck and nibbling on her ear.
"You were great," he said affectionately.
"I enjoyed being Dark Damsel, if only for the moment," she
replied, squirming out from under him and turning on her side.
"Which brings us to the next question: How do we get her out of
hiding and into your clutches?"
"I have an idea," he replied as he snuggled in behind her.
Kitty wondered what that would be as his breathing evened
out and he relaxed into sleep. Whatever it was, she was sure,
it would be a good one.
end 2/3
Comments to: echo@nym.alias.net
--
+----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+
| <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> |
| Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>