2 comments/ 11372 views/ 9 favorites A Worthy Adversary By: justtheone EDIT May 2015 1. The room is large, mostly empty, and brightly lit. A lot like an airplane hangar. Doesn't feel as if it's underground when you stand in here. It is, though. Very deep. Cameras in all four corners, suspended from the ceiling. And beneath them, mounted on tripods with their feet bolted into the floor, we've got bulbous robotic swivel guns. They don't shoot bullets—these are zappers, ray guns. Designed for blasting down creatures that bullets can't harm. Smoky purple light pulses behind the triangular emitter panels they have in place of barrels. They look like angry blinking eyes. The professor sits sideways on his cot with his legs folded in the so-called lotus position; holds his back perfectly straight. His hands are clasped on his knees. He wears an orange jumpsuit, and he's surrounded by a forcefield, faintly shimmering. Nasty as he is, the man is still pretty handsome, for a guy his age. Reminds her a bit of Jeremy Irons. Only younger than Jeremy Irons is these days—last thing she saw him on, some show on cable, he was looking much more elderly than whatever she'd seen him in before that, probably some movie where he was the bad guy again. You'd have to take him back a decade or so ... Still old, at that point, but not like a grandpa. Still handsome. Then he was like the professor—except the professor was a bit bulkier. There was a time she trusted this man more than anybody. There was a time she had looked up to him, so much. Now he smiles at her. "You've come to gloat? I did not expect that from you. Nonetheless, I am pleased to see you again." The superheroine, standing outside the forcefield with her arms folded across her chest, and one hip canted slightly to the side, shakes her head and sneers. "Do you remember what you said to me before?" He nods. "Of course. I meant every word." This remark causes her to snort. "You said I'd regret it if I challenged you." "I believe the word I used was 'tested,' in fact. I gave you that warning in good faith. And that was not all I said to you, if you haven't forgotten. First I told you I admired you, very much. Because it is true. It was true then and it remains true. You are very brave, very smart, and in addition, very beautiful. You are my very favorite enemy." "But I beat you, didn't I? I captured you and now you're imprisoned. Caged. You didn't think I could pull that off." "No. I did not. You surprised me. You really did. I will not disguise the fact. Made me admire you all the more. You lived up to your name in the fullest possible name." The superheroine is called Knockout. And only a short time ago—a matter of days—she had indeed literally knocked out this professor, when he was in his other and far more formidable form—that of a supervillain using the name Monstrous. The professor is already tall and powerfully built, a well-conditioned individual; his body becomes substantially larger and more muscular when he takes on his other identity. Nearly three times Knockout's size. She'd outfought him and brought him down, all the same. This in spite of the fact that she herself possesses no extraordinary powers. Though a superheroine, she is not superhuman—except perhaps for the intensity of her commitment. Scrupulous discipline and training have made her what she is, no weird technology nor magic nor mutation. Her costume is not very imaginative. Bog-standard, in perfect frankness. Knockout never bothered to create a distinctive branding for herself, or (as has become more and more common) to pay someone else to design one for her, or to take a sponsorship deal. She has no understanding or interest of the importance of such things—if they have any. (We will not take time to dispute that question further.) She wears a white longsleeve leotard with a short black cape and a short black skirt. Her logo is a blue fist, with a gold starburst behind it, signifying an explosive impact—her tights are the same shade of blue, with little gold stars spangled on them. She wears one of those traditional basic domino eye masks that don't actually do much to hide your identity. However, Knockout's real identity isn't anybody special. She's not one of those heroines that's related to a mayor or police chief, nor is she a wealthy CEO or socialite. It's not going to cause a big scandal if/when people find out her real name, and she has no family to put at risk, nor any close friends outside the super-community. Knockout has practically no alternate life beyond her crime-fighting career, not even a weak pretense of one. She just doesn't bother ... Her mask is white, and held in place with an elastic cord around her head rather than an adhesive—she doesn't like the sticky masks that most other supers use these days; the goo on them irritates her eyes. She keeps her hair trimmed boyishly short, and it's bleached. She wears mean boots—that's the only thing about her costume that stands out, slightly. They're not the kind of boots people associate with superheroines, sleek and rubbery and colorful, usually with high heels unless instead they're those other extremely flexible kind, "sock-boots". (Boots like that are quite cute and comfy, and also real good for sneaking around in, but not ideal for a heroine to use if she doesn't have the regular range of superpowers—all a bad guy needs to do is stomp on your toes to take you down!) Knockout prefers no-nonsense workboots. Hefty shitkickers with thick-treaded soles and steel toes. No laces on them, either—hers each use half a dozen buckled straps. Much more secure. She's rather short and looks younger than she is. Frailer, too. Lean as she is, it's a gymnast's body, or a ballet dancer's. Give her cause, and this little girl could take those twiggy arms and legs of hers and tie yours into a knot with them, and then, no matter how big and bad you might think you are, she'll fling your ass over her head all the way across the room and bounce you off the walls like a basketball before you knew what was happening to you ... the professor can vouch for that personally, having undergone the experience. Facially, she happens to look quite a bit like the actress Jena Malone, and her eyemask does little or nothing to disguise that resemblance. Several times since her career got fired up, the story has swept across the internet that Knockout really is Jena Malone. This is total bullshit. Her real name is Georgia Swafford. She just looks a lot like the actress. The real Jena Malone, mischievously, never outright denies that she's the heroine, whenever she's asked. Seems amused by the rumor. The professor used to work for the good guys—or at least he pretended to, for many years. He was a respected and highly valued technical advisor to the worldwide superhero community, building a variety of useful gadgets for them and doing other important scientific work. Knockout had thought of him as a mentor, almost a surrogate father figure, and she wasn't the only super to have done so. Then, almost accidentally, she discovered the truth about him. His other identity. Nobody had believed her. Nobody had wanted to. Not until she finally caught him redhanded. Took months of careful investigation and planning, working completely alone. No other heroes or heroines would assist her; everyone thought she'd gone out of her mind. The professor always used elaborate holograms and androids of himself to cover his ass—providing watertight alibis, whenever he was elsewhere being Monstrous. She had persevered and she had triumphed. He was going to spend the rest of his days in prison—unless he got sentenced to execution, instead. There was a very good chance of that. Monstrous had killed a whole hell of lot of people, in a whole hell of a lot of nasty ways. He had been a gleeful showoff about it. "I often had the sense," he said, "that you used to have a little bit of a schoolgirl crush on me. Before you found out about my dark side, of course." "In your dreams," she said, and spat on the concrete floor. He laughed and shrugged. "Quite so. I always told myself I was only imagining it. An aging man's conceit." "You were important to me, though," she told him, "You used to be." "I know." "When I found out who you really were ... God. Just ... I'll never get over it. Not entirely. Cut my guts out. God damn you for that. God damn you for fucking ever." "I'm sure it was difficult for you. I'm sorry about that. Truly. I wish I was genuinely the kind of person you believed me to be. Alas, I never was. I am altogether different." "You pretended. You faked it." "Yes. To protect myself, and my ... amusements. If you had not exposed me, I would still be doing that now. Living two lives in parallel—both as complete as possible. I enjoyed the sport of it. No, it was more than sport. It was a work of art." "It was disgusting and criminal and sick. That's what it was. That's what you are!" "Yes. I suppose you're right, as far as it goes." "They're going to kill you. I'd bet all my money on it. They're gonna put your ass down like a rabid dog." "No, my dear. I'm afraid you are mistaken on that point. What you've failed to take into account is the value of my intellect. I'm too useful to my friends for them to allow me to perish, or to remain locked away in this place." "You don't have any friends. Not any longer." "Perhaps I don't," said the professor, "but that's not the case for my other self. Monstrous still has many friends." "You mean other supervillains? You think they're gonna stick their necks out, trying to bust you out of here? You're deluding yourself. Even if they dared, they couldn't pull it off. This facility is too well guarded." He shook his head. "It isn't. It's completely compromised. It has been, since we built this place. I'll show you." He lifted his left hand and snapped his fingers. The forcefield around him immediately vanished. Switched off, just like that. The professor unfolded his legs to stand up. "You should probably do your best to leave now," he said, "This will be your only chance." Knockout lifted her fists and shifted her feet to a combat stance. "I won't permit you to escape. You should have waited to kill the forcefield—you just couldn't resist the impulse to show off." "Very true. My greatest weakness." "You still gotta get through me to get out of here. And there's no chance you can. Because I know you can't transform." "Correct again, my dear. They injected me full of suppressants—the same drugs I myself designed." "How ironic." "I don't think I would choose to call it ironic, myself. In my opinion, on the contrary, the symmetry of it seemed rather apt. Hoist by my own petard, as it were. Even so, it doesn't present me with any disastrous difficulty, at the present time. I won't need to transform into Monstrous, to defeat you. In fact I won't have to fight you at all." "How on earth do you figure that?" "I'm disappointed in your lack of observation. Did my best to teach you better in the old days. It's vital to stay fully aware of your surroundings in any combat scenario. You've completely forgotten about the robo-guns, my dear. The blasters mounted in every corner of this room! Just like the forcefield, they are under my control now. Let me show you." "Shit," she said. Did her best to dodge, and held out for more than a minute. A whole acrobatics routine, tumbling in zigzags around and around the room, and made it all the way around again to the outer door without getting hit—only that door was locked. If she had powers, she could have busted through it. She didn't. Strong as she was, it was just regular strength. Not enough to do the job against that metal door, like a bank vault's. Then she got blasted in the back. Thought she was dead—fried like an egg on the spot. Only turned out the zapper's ray was turned down to a pretty low power level. Just stunned her. 2. She was only unconscious for a minute or two. The professor woke her up, not deliberately but from jostling her around. Head throbbing—no, her whole body throbbing, actually—she groaned and tried to sit up, blinking to clear her vision. She was on the professor's cot, sprawled on her back, and he was right next to her. Actually hunched over her. He was in the process of peeling her leotard off. He had it just about down around her hips already. Her arms had been dragged down straight to her sides, trapped at the moment against her hips inside the leotard's long bunched-up sleeves (well, bunched-down). They had both only slid down as far as her elbows. Her cape, her skirt, and her boots had been removed while she was still unconscious. Now they were scattered around the cot on the grubby prison floor, where the professor had tossed them at random. He'd left her white eyemask alone. Otherwise all she had left was the leotard and her blue and gold star-spangled tights ... Her costume obviously wasn't the sort of thing a girl wore any underwear under. The stupid leotard was well on its way off, and continuing to descend at a rapid and determined rate, as the professor kept tugging down on it with both his hands, chuckling ... Her torso was completely exposed, her freckled bony shoulders, her little boobs. Her belly too, with its striking washboard abs. Oh God. Her boobs. He could see her boobs. She hated her little funny-shaped boobs, she was always ashamed of them, and the professor was staring at them and leering over them like a demon, getting off on it. So gross! And she couldn't even put her hands up over them to block his view. Not until she wrestled her arms free from her leotard sleeves. And doing that was practically just assisting him to strip her the rest of the way! God! Then she found she could barely move anyhow. Her limbs felt sluggish, tingling all over. There was a buzzing in her head. The painful throbbing had faded—now this buzzing had taken its place. She couldn't speak properly either—her lips and tongue felt swollen and numb. Dentists could stop using injections, it seemed—they could switch to ray guns, if they wanted, now the tech was perfected. Same affect. She could testify. Well, once the feeling in her mouth finally came back. Ha. She tried to shout "Stop!" and "Let go of me!" and "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" All that came out of her face was a bunch of high pitched squawking gibberish and slobber. She tried to kick the professor away from her, and when that failed, to roll herself sideways off the cot. That didn't work either. She was too weak and clumsy to get away from him. "Don't worry," he said, "you will fully recover your faculties in another minute or so. I promise. Better if you just lie still until then. Try to calm down. I'm not going to hurt you; I give you my word. And flailing around like that will only do more harm than good." She kept right on flailing, all the same. Didn't stop him from getting the leotard off of her—didn't even slow him down. At least her arms were free now. Her first instinct, embarrassingly, was still to cover her boobs. She resisted it, though. Groped for his throat instead. Got hold of his neck and tried to throttle the shit out of him. Didn't work. He only clucked his tongue at her, and then grabbed her wrists and pried her fingers from his neck with humiliating ease. She was weak as a kitten! It was horrible! She started to cry. "Leggo me. Leggo my-ands." She was almost able to talk again. For all the good that did. "Fucker!" Well, that was satisfying—being able to swear properly. "Fucker! Fuck off!" "There, see? Just as I told you. You'll be back to your normal strength very soon," the professor said, "Hmm. Now, what am I going to do about that? Ah, this should work. Yes!" He darted aside for a moment to snatch her skirt from the floor. Her narrow white belt was unbuckled but still attached to it, threaded through its loops. He tugged it out. "This will do the trick." He used the belt to lash her hands together, at the wrists. Knotted them painfully tight. She screamed and cursed again. "You asshole! Don't! Stoppit!" "It's necessary, I'm afraid. Now I can keep you pinned pretty securely with one hand ..." As he then demonstrated. He pinned her facedown this time on the cot, with her bound arms stretched over her head. "And that leaves my other hand free to finish what I started." By which he meant the removal of her last article of clothing (leaving aside her stupid useless mask). Her tights. No! No! Not them too! She had to stop him! How could she stop him? If he got the tights too she'd be totally utterly—NO! No fucking way! It must not happen! He peeled them over the jutting ridges of her hips and next over her butt, then down her legs ... He took his time about it, savoring the act ... pausing every few inches to pinch and caress the new expanse of bare soft white flesh that he'd exposed, moist and slick with sweat, bristling with goose pimples. Extremely sensitized. She didn't hold still for this treatment. Thrashed around and kicked as hard as she could. None of it helped. In fact her desperately bicycling legs probably assisted him. There was a moment where he pushed the tights low enough he couldn't reach them any longer, to get them the rest of the way off. Not in the position he was holding her arms down. The tights were bunched up around her ankles. To take them off completely, he would have needed to shift his weight, and it might have given her an opportunity to wrestle out from under him or perhaps even flip him around so he would get pinned instead. But she blew the opportunity, kicking her feet too much in a brainless panic. She finished the job for him—kicked the tights completely off. She squealed, when she realized what she'd done—and that she'd done it to herself! "No! Noohh! Gahuuhhrr!" Now he had her utterly stark naked. And still pinned beneath him on the cot, flat on her belly with her arms stretched over her head. Pretty much completely helpless. Completely at his mercy. At least flat on her belly, her boobs were hidden, and her pussy too. Mostly. Her poor defenseless ass, though ... Like it was served up on a platter for him to do whatever he desired ... "Leggo of me! Get off me! Get off! Let go! You fucker! Swear I'm gonna kill you for this! Gonna kill you! I swear! I fucking swear!" He slapped her bare ass. It stung so bad and she couldn't even fight back. "Just hush up for a minute. Listen to me now. It's time to get serious. It's time for you to shut up and think about your circumstances. You need to face the realities of your present predicament. Your options are very limited, from here on. I'm going to offer you a couple choices. I need you to hear me out, think it over, and then make your decision. All right? Are you listening? Are you ready?" Knockout didn't answer him, but she'd stopped moving and stopped yelling. She waited. She had better settle down and listen, like he said. It was a humiliating agony, but it was what she had to do, so she'd do it. Pretend to surrender. Only viable choice right now. She held still and kept her face down, nose burrowed deep in the musty-smelling mattress of the cot. Fuming, biting her lip—but trying to calm down, or at least to fake it. While at the same time, inside, she was steeling herself in mind and body and spirit for whatever terrible shit was going to happen to her next. She must maintain personal psychological discipline at all costs. That was key! Husband her strength and bide her time until the right opportunity presented itself to correct this situation. Then she would save herself and take out this villain, just as she succeeded in doing before. A chance would come—she mustn't miss it when it did. Things looked very grave at the moment ... All the same, she mustn't lose heart. Mustn't let herself. She was a fucking superheroine! A Worthy Adversary Even if she was absolutely naked. Even though it was most the mortifying and shameful experience in the world—to be stripped and pinned down helpless like this, by her greatest and deadliest enemy, after she thought she'd bested him and put him away for good. She really needed to pee, all the sudden. Real real bad. Tickling under her belly like crazy! She was terrified she wouldn't able to keep holding it much longer. If she wet herself, all the sudden, in front of him, she would probably die on the spot. Or she hoped she would. She would have a heart attack or her head would explode, or maybe both things would happen simultaneously. All three things, rather. God oh God. She had to stop thinking about it. That only made the tickling and burning inside of her tickle and burn worse and worse. "When I leave here," the professor said, "I'm going to be taking your costume with me. So be ready for that to happen. Start dealing with it now. A trophy—not for myself. It's for my associates, waiting outside to pick me up and fly me out of the country. They will make a great deal of money off that outfit, selling it to some depraved collector. My friends would much prefer that I bring you along as well—they would like to sell your body, the same way. I'm not going to allow that to happen. I told them I would, but it was a lie. You are too special to me. I am going to have revenge on you—you owe me that, and I owe it to you—but I have no wish to see you permanently destroyed or enslaved. So when I leave here, I'll be leaving you behind, right here on this cot. I will reactivate the forcefield, and you will be left naked inside it, when your peers find you and release you, but you shall not be harmed. Just as I promised you earlier. First, though, we must settle the account between us. And we must do it here, before the cameras that continuously record everything that happens in this chamber. I'll also be taking those recordings with me, when I go. They will be as valuable as your costume, or perhaps more so. Once we finish this performance. Capturing you and undressing you made for quite a thrilling spectacle, but our future viewers will want to see a bit more. A proper conclusion to the drama. How we conclude it, I'm going to leave up to you. Two alternatives—pick whichever you prefer ..." A pause. Somewhat lengthy ... At last he cleared his throat, quite theatrically. "Hmm. You missed your cue, my dear. That was the part where you were supposed to ask me what your alternatives are. Go on now. Ask me out loud." "What are my fucking alternatives?" "Only one is fucking, actually. The other is, you blow me. Well, a bit more to it than that. Not much but a little. I shall stand up and you in turn, obviously, shall kneel down before me at my feet and humble yourself. You've never humbled yourself for a man before. A girl like you never would, not willingly. Not even to a man you loved—you wouldn't love any man that would ask that of you—let alone a despised enemy like me. That's why I want to see you do it. For me. That's what will make it so perfect and beautiful a revenge. You'll do more than kneel naked. That will be difficult enough, I know, but then you will tell me that you were a fool to test me. Because brave and beautiful as you are, you are no match for me. I want to hear you say those words, looking me straight and fierce in the eye when you say them, and then you'll take my cock in your mouth and pleasure it until I'm ready to paint your pretty masked superheroine face all over with my semen. To demonstrate my mastery of you. Now obviously that would be a very hard and humiliating thing for you to do. Every aspect of it would be an excruciating torment for you. So if you'd rather not, we can finish things another way. Your second choice, you don't have to say anything at all, I will just bend you over my lap and spank your bare ass, and then, once I feel like you've taken enough of that, I will fuck you. Doggy style, on this cot. You'll take it like a bitch. In fact while it lasts, you'll be my bitch. But again, you won't have to say anything to me, as it occurs—you won't have to make any embarrassing admissions in front of the cameras. It won't be as total a submission. You won't be giving anything up to me—it will only be an act of taking. And I won't come on your face, if we do it that way. I shall come inside of you. Fill you with me, deep as I can reach. Don't worry about getting knocked up, either. My condition—I mean the genetic engineering I self-administered that allows me to become Monstrous—inadvertently rendered me sterile, in the process. An unforeseen side effect. So it goes." "I thought you promised you wouldn't hurt me. Now you say you plan on spanking me and raping me." "Only if you don't take the other option. And don't be such a baby about this. I'm sure you can handle a spanking, my dear. It will sting and it may leave some ugly marks on your pretty white butt, for the next few days, but for Heaven's sake, I've seen you fistfight with cyborg ninja dinosaurs, and as I recall, those nasty chaps had retractable bone spikes in their fists, and chainsaws built into their tails. If you were game for that sort of contest, surely you've courage enough to face a bare-bottom spanking! As for the sex—it will be strenuous, certainly. Non-consensual. It is meant to be a punishment, and a ritualized assertion of dominance, same as the spanking. But again I won't be too rough on you. I'm not setting out to cripple you. That's not my cup of tea. I shall endeavor to make sure you are properly lubricated throughout the transaction, for my own comfort as much as yours. In any case, I am of the opinion that no humiliating revenge fuck is truly successful unless the victim is compelled to orgasm, regardless of her reservations. If all one can manage is to tear the girl up inside and make a ghastly mess of her, one is only making a fool of oneself. That's no conquest; there's no art at all to it." How could he speak of rape as an art? How could anyone let himself go that far over the edge? And what deluded self-aggrandizing bullshit—thinking he could make her come against her will. Never in a million years. The very idea—God, it was so absurd and yet so appalling all at once it made her shudder all over, and clench inside. Giving up that much to your nemesis ... You couldn't help but imagine what that would feel like—it would never ever happen, but God it would be shattering if it did, if it could. The ultimate disgrace. You couldn't recover from an experience like that, could you? No way in Hell. It would haunt you the rest of your life and drive you nuts. "You are evil," she said, "Not psycho, either. Not insane. Just evil. An evil shit. That's what you are." "Yes I am," he admitted, "Totally and irredeemably. That's why, before I finish, I will be able to make you come for me, if you've the daring and the curiosity to put me to the test again. What do you say? Shall it be that, or the other? Choose your punishment." "What if I won't? What if I defy you altogether?" "Then I suppose it will have to be Option Number Two, by default. The first option means you've accepted your defeat and the consequences. The ramifications. The second means you haven't yet—not completely. It means you are still trying to hold out. Still hoping you can turn the tables on me, somehow down the road. Admirable spirit. That won't happen, I'm afraid. In the end, you will face the truth of that. In the end, one way or the other, I will have your absolute surrender and submission." "Never! Never! Fuck you! Never! I'll die first!" "No you won't," he said, "and now, my dear lovely Knockout, best and bravest and most beautiful of enemies, I'm going to prove that to you." 3. When he was putting her over his lap, she wrestled free from him for a minute. Problem was, after that, she had nowhere to run to. Even if she kept just dashing around and around the cot in circles, keeping out of his clutches, the fucking ray guns would eventually blast her down again. She tried going on the offensive. Tried kicking him in the nuts. All that ended up doing was giving her foot to him. He caught her ankle with both hands, and she couldn't jerk loose again. He wasn't strong enough, however, to topple her over. As much as he shoved and tugged, she just hopped around him on her other foot, in sync with his every move. He couldn't force her off balance. Meanwhile, she was loosening the belt around her wrists with her teeth ... Another few seconds, she would have been able to whale on him again with both fists. And they were too close together just then for the stupid robo-guns to intervene and save his ass that time. He did a lowdown dirty trick. She would have had him, she would have won ... But since he had her bare foot trapped in her hands, he tickled the bottom of it. She never saw that coming. It wrecked her, instantly. It was like being electrocuted. She screeched and collapsed backward on the cot. He didn't let go or quit tickling her. When she tried to kick him with her other foot, that only made things worse again. 'Cause he caught hold of that foot too and tickled it as well—using his tongue that time, under her toes. She squealed and hollered and even begged him to stop, after a few more seconds. Couldn't help herself. "Please! Please! No more! Stop! Stoppit! Oh please! Oh please!" She also lost control of her bladder and peed all over the place. It blasted straight up in the air like a high-pressure lawn sprinkler on a golf course, or a Yosemite geyser! He stopped tickling her after that—after the spraying petered out—but by then she was nearly unconscious again, her whole body limp. All she had the strength to do was gasp, and whimper a little, when he rolled her over and dragged her across his lap ... sitting on the opposite side of the cot from the one she'd just drenched. After a long, lingering moment of panting stillness, she woke up to what was about to happen: "No! God! No! Wait!" Having got her over his lap, he seemed in fact to have been quietly waiting for this realization to hit home, and thus energize her once more to resume her struggles and kicks, futile as they remained. "No! Oh no!" "Yes, yes," he said, "Oh yes!" Then he spanked her. The first spanking she'd ever received in her life. It went on and on and on. Whap-whap-whappitywhap-whap ... Whap! Whap! WHAP! She yelped and squirmed and sniveled. She kicked her feet and pounded her fists on the floor under her upside down head. The need to pee came back, the tickling burning squeezing inside—she'd just emptied herself, yet it was still as strong and urgent as before. Not fair. Horrible. The spanking didn't actually hurt very much. It got worse as it went along, but never to an unbearable degree. What was unbearable—what made her cry and shiver all through it—was only the fact it was happening and she couldn't make it stop. The embarrassment, the anger, and the feeling of utter useless powerlessness—something she'd never experienced before, not like this. Never in her whole life. She was being spanked naked over the knee of her arch nemesis. She'd never before felt like so much of a girl, in the worst possible sense. A little helpless girly girl—weak and silly and stupid and pathetic. It almost made her glad that the professor had taken her entire costume off—she didn't deserve to wear it, since she let this happen to her. She didn't deserve to be a superheroine anymore. Suddenly he stopped paddling her. Instead, still keeping her bent over across his lap, with her red tear-streaked face drooping to the floor, he started prodding gently between her thighs at her pussy, from behind, with his fingertips. Petting it, poking into it, but only slightly and very softly. She groaned. It was all she could do. The feeling there, that touch ... Oh God, the way that felt! It didn't feel like it was supposed to. Or actually it did—just not when it was the fingertips of this horrible evil man doing the touching. Using the very same hand he'd just been slapping the Hell out of her asscheeks with. A hand that hurt her butt like that shouldn't also be able to make her pussy feel like this ... Oh God. God. Oh. Oh no. At least so far she kept these words inside. Still, that hid nothing. He knew what was happening to her. He was watching her toes flex against the concrete each time he prodded inside of her—she didn't know her own feet were doing that—while at the same time his fingers could feel everything he was making her feel. Or the evidence of it. The trembling. The residue. The spillage. "Ha," he said, "I thought so. I thought you were the type to respond this way. Didn't expect it, did you? You're so wet now. Your punishment made you wet for me. Ha." That desperate need to pee again—the burning squeezing tickling inside—that wasn't what she thought it was. Not just that, anyway. It was also this, the whole time—a different urge, yet just as desperate and impossible to suppress for long. The scorching wetness he was touching now. And stirring it further, with his fingers. It was arousal. It was lust. Oh God. Oh no. How? Why? And what would happen to her now? But she knew that already, didn't she? Of course she did. Of course. There was only the one answer. This whole entire time, it seemed. It had all built to this moment. It had always been building to this moment between them. The heroine and the villain, captor and captive. This feeling. This realization. "It can be pretty sexy-feeling to lose, you know," said the villain, "And to be made helpless. Even to be disgraced. Especially to be disgraced, sometimes. It's not just like this for you alone, don't worry. Depends who does it to you, and what you think of them, and how strong the feelings are, positive or negative, or both intertwined. Didn't this stuff ever occur to you, my dear? But I'm sure it has, deep down. We're all the same under the surface. I know what I'm talking about. I speak from experience. A long life's worth." "Stop that! Don't touch me there! Stop!" "I won't stop. Why should I?" "This wasn't—Guhrrh! The deal! You were just supposed to—Ohhhuuhh! Wait! You're just supposed to—Stop that and listen! Hey! Take your fingers out! Right now! You're just supposed to spank me!" "You know better than that. The spanking was the only the first part of it. Now we're moving on to the next part. The better part. For both of us." "No! Not like this! You said you'd do it doggy! That's what you said! Gonna make me your bitch, right? Isn't that what you wanted?" "Is that what you want now?" Of course not, not really. She'd fixed on the notion that the fucking wouldn't feel as good. She might have been right. His cock would be more brutal than his fingers, when he put it into her. He'd lose his poise. Start pounding away heedless like guys always did, when she let them ... She wouldn't take pleasure in it anymore—not like this, with just his hand, the way he was rubbing her now. She wouldn't come. Guys never made her come, when they fucked her. No matter the position—they were always too rough, too fast, too heedless. Always got carried away and spoiled it for her. So that was how she'd stop him from making her get off. She had to get him to move on to the proper sex. Then she'd suffer again—in the right way. Save her soul. "Are you done spanking me? If you're done, let me off your lap. My head hurts worse than my butt from hanging upside down so long. Fuck me for real, if you wanna fuck me. Use your cock like a man. If you think you're a man." "I will in a minute," he said, "Just one more minute. I'm not quite done spanking you yet." He pulled his fingers from her pussy, thank God—then started slapping her some more. Only he didn't slap her asscheeks this time. This time, he slapped her right on her pussy. She came. "AHHUUHH!" Her pussy sprayed again, when she did. Not as much as when she was tickled, but still. "Uhhuuhhn. Uhhuuhhn. Uhhnn." "How was that?" he asked her. Took a minute or so before she'd got her breath back enough to answer. "I hate you. I hate you so much." "I know." "You were right about me, too. I did have a crush on you, like a schoolgirl for her teacher." Why did she say that to him? Because she couldn't hold it back any longer. All her barriers inside had all come crashing down. "It tortured me so much. I practically worshipped you. And then I found out you were evil. I wanted to die. I still want to die. How could you do this to me? How could you reduce me to this? I've fought so hard. I've fought as hard as I could and it's never enough. It's not fair! You have so much power over me! I can't do anything about it, whatever I try! Oh God, you made me come. You haven't even fucked me yet and I still let you make me come!" "Will you kneel for me now?" he asked her. "Will you accept my cock into your mouth?" "Would you still rather have that from me than the fucking? I guess it hardly makes a difference now. I already came for you, you've already won, and then you'll get to come either way." "I'll come better if you suck it. If you're looking up at me. If you've surrendered yourself, entirely. That's what I want." "Fine, you evil fucking bastard. I will," she said, "I'll do it. I surrender. Everything." "Then show me." He shoved her off his lap to the floor. She pushed herself up on her knees with her bound hands and swiveled around to face him, as he rose to his feet and unzipped his jumpsuit—presenting his cock to her lips. She had to sit on her heels to get the level right, choosing on her own to do that rather than bending forward. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth wide as she could to engulf him, but he stopped her, clutching her short bleached hair. "Speak the words first. Rub your pussy while you say them." She couldn't remember exactly what he'd wanted her to say, just the gist of it. "You won. I lost. I'm a big loser. I challenged you and I guess that was stupid. 'Cause look at me now, about to suck your cock." "Open your eyes and look at me. Don't stop rubbing your pussy, girl. Do it harder. Harder!" "Shit. Oh shit. Oh. Ohhooh. Dammit! God damn! You're making me ... you made me surrender to you. Took away my costume and then you made me come for you and you could probably do it again, probably whenever you want. Hell, I'm in your power, you evil fucker. Maybe I always will be. Anyway, here we are. I'm naked on my knees and I'm fingering myself for you and I ... I surrender. I fucking surrender! I surrender! Uhh! Uhh! Dammit! Uhhuuhhnn!" "Good girl," he said, "Very good." And he fed her his cock, deep as she could take it down her throat, choking her with it. "Urk! Urk! Urk!" She only had to hold it there a few seconds, though, before he was ready to pull out and drench her face. He pumped a wide white mask of semen across her face that hid her features far more thoroughly than her domino ever had, bellowing her name as he did. "KNOCKOUT!"