0 comments/ 17548 views/ 8 favorites A Sticky Situation for Sparrowhawk By: justtheone inspired by the CG artist Thew * She had been doing so well, for a change. Most of her previous attempts at superheroism hadn't turned out very good. But perhaps she was finally getting the hang of this business. Coming into her own, at last. It was a grand feeling. Sparrowhawk had discovered the hideout of a new villain calling himself (with somewhat surprising restraint) the Moderator. His thing was to kidnap women—often prominent public figures—and then force them to compete in degrading pornographic games, which he then broadcast on the internet. Most recently, he'd nabbed the city's new district attorney, Miranda Weiss. The Moderator's lair turned out to fill the top five floors of a skyscraper in the heart of downtown. It was actually right across the street from the central courthouse where Miranda worked every day. That entire top section of the building was supposed to be the offices of a sophisticated medical technology developer called Crisis-Release. But of course that was all only a cover. There were no offices in there at all. Only a complex, devious maze and obstacle course that his victims were forced to run through, pursued by robots. Sparrowhawk blasted inside through the roof of the building, and worked her way downward, moving as fast as she could. And that was pretty darn fast now. She had redesigned her green and blue powersuit with several significant enhancements. Perhaps it was still reckless to do this by herself—she could have contacted other heroines, to back her up. But she wanted to capture the Moderator alone. After that, the media as well as the rest of the worldwide super-community would finally start taking her more seriously. Up 'til now, she was always considered a well-intentioned but rather ineffectual, clumsy novice (and with good reason, sad to say, when she thought back over some of her more embarrassing misadventures). Now she was going to change that. Take her career to the next level. The Moderator's robots shot at her with laser rifles, but the beams couldn't hurt her, thanks to her armor. At least not so long as they weren't able to concentrate their fire on any one spot, and she was much too speedy and agile to allow that to happen. She tumbled and whirled among them, laughing all the while, her augmented strength enabling her to smash their heads in with high kicks, or to tear off their limbs in her hands. It felt like dancing. Great fun. Watching her through the cameras in every corridor, the Moderator kept sending fresh waves of robots against her, as she descended deeper into the labyrinth ... He must have built dozens and dozens of them—an entire army of the things, crawling out of the walls. The designs weren't very original. Some looked like skeletal men, and others were shaped like big scary spiders. But she certainly enjoyed destroying them. Soon enough at the rate she was going, he'd be sure to run out. But then they changed their weapons. They gave up on the lasers and tried something else. The new guns they used, with absurd bulbous tips that were clearly designed to look phallic, squirted wide streams of purple gel at her. They hosed her thickly with the stuff—it wasn't possible to avoid them. It got all over her. Smeared the lenses of her goggles so she couldn't see—she had to raise them to her forehead. Unfortunately that meant she was unmasked. Crap! To keep her identity protected, she would need to make sure once she got hold of the Moderator that everything his cameras were recording now got safely and irretrievably erased. But of course she had been planning to do that already, for the sake of all his victims. She would wipe out every trace of all those shameful spectacles he'd filmed ... Nothing with the missing district attorney had been released on to the web yet. But that didn't mean Miranda Weiss hadn't already been put through his maze. He never did live broadcasts—the Moderator preferred to edit his footage carefully first, adding music and other effects. Then she realized the purple gel was beginning to harden like glue, all over the outside of her suit. Making it harder for her to move. In fact if the suit wasn't as powerful as it was, she might have been immobilized already. But even so, as more layers of gel were sprayed upon her, she didn't think the suit's joints could continue to function for much longer. The gel was just too thick and sticky. Sparrowhawk fled around a curving passageway on her left that looked empty, partially collapsing the ceiling behind her with a couple extra-savage punches, and thus cutting off pursuit from the robots and buying herself a little time—a little breathing space. But she knew it wouldn't be long. Soon the robots would find another route to reach her. She tried to scrape off the icky gel with her hands, but it was no good. All that accomplished was nearly gluing her hands to her thighs. "Dammit! This is bad! This is bad! Shit!" Sparrowhawk realized the only thing she could do was remove her suit altogether, before it petrified around her body and trapped her inescapably. It was programmed with an emergency codeword, in case it became compromised, to fragment into its component segments and fall away off of her. Like if some outside force took control of it somehow ... Well, she'd never imagined a situation like this—defeated by yucky glue—but it certainly qualified, all the same. The suit was compromised and she had to get out of the thing. "Molt!" she said. All its seams popped at once, and then hissed, releasing steam. The gel coating prevented most of the segments from immediately dropping off to the floor like they were supposed to, but she was still able, with some effort and some swearing, to shake them free. They tumbled around her bare feet, with a clatter—for even her boots had gone now—each designed to split in half from top to toe. Her gloves had split and dropped off the same way. Leaping clear of the metallic pile, which still steamed a little, she found she could fully move again. There was no more of the awful gel left on her, except for a few tiny splotches stuck on her cheeks and in her hair. Unfortunately she was now almost entirely naked. All she had left was her panties. She wore nothing else under her powersuit. No bra, nor even a pair of socks. It wasn't comfortable otherwise. It fit too snug, and made her sweat too much if there was an extra layer of cloth beneath it. Also it was designed to interact directly with her nervous system, through hundreds of contact points that needed to touch her skin to work properly. That complex sensor system was what enabled her to control the suit so fluidly. Without the powersuit, she was just an ordinary young woman. Well, she still had her intelligence, and a lot of martial arts training. But she was no superheroine anymore. It was a dreadful, stomach shriveling sensation—the feeling of diminishment. Being normal wasn't something she could deal with any good. Not anymore. Not since she'd reinvented herself as Sparrowhawk. Her normal, plain, uncostumed self always felt much too small. Much too weak. She knew she had let herself become too psychologically dependent on the powers her suit gave her. But that power was so thrilling. So addictive. To lose it all the sudden, like this—and it had happened to her before, a few times—she couldn't handle it. She hadn't learned how. Her spirit just instantly fell to pieces, the same as her suit had. She started to choke up, and sniffle ... Tears welled in her eyes. God, it was so pathetic. She immediately turned into such a crybaby. She hated it but she couldn't help herself. When she lost her power, she lost control of her feelings. She started to run. Her situation looked hopeless, but all she could do was keep moving—try to find a way out of the maze, or at least a place to hide. Since she'd trashed the upper levels so much, and lowered the robot population a great deal in the process, if she could get back up there she would stand a faint chance of escape. She had to reach the hole she'd made in the roof. The Moderator wouldn't have had time to seal the breach yet. Once out in the open, what then? She couldn't fly down from there, without her suit. She would need to try to summon help, but how? Well, she wouldn't worry about that part. Not yet. Chances are she wouldn't make it anyway ... but she had to quit thinking like that! That was defeatist! She had to keep her courage up. It was so hard, though ... when she was practically stark naked. This was so absurd and humiliating. She kept her shoulders hunched as she ran, with her arms crossed over her chest, to hide her tits from the cameras. She wished she was bold enough not to worry about that—but she was too shy. Too embarrassed. She could imagine the Moderator laughing maniacally as he watched her, on his screen ... He would be loving this! A superheroine isn't supposed to let bad guys see her tits. It's just not dignified. How could you look a bad guy in the eye, after he'd disgraced you like this? After he had forced you to get naked against your will? God, it was unbearable to think about—but of course she couldn't stop thinking about it. The tile floor was ice cold under her bare feet, sending shivers up her spine ... but at the same time, her face felt scorching hot. Worse yet, the walls in this corridor were silver, and reflective. So she could see herself. She could see the distress and shame on her face, and the weakness. Her red cheeks, her teary eyes, her quivering bottom lip ... It was a frightened guilty little girl's face, not at all the face of a superheroine. Then a trapdoor opened beneath her, and she fell. Not far. It dropped her just one level down, into a circular white room. The floor was padded, like in a gym. Huddled on her haunches on the mat, she looked around at the robots now closing in around her from all sides. Four of the skeleton guys. They held no weapons, but they were reaching for her with their long-fingered hands. She screamed. Jumped up and tried to run. But they were too close and too quick, and they seized her. She was caught! Oh God, she was caught! She was doomed. Two of them held her arms, forcing them away from her chest and straight out to her sides. So her boobs were exposed. She felt her defenseless nipples tightening and throbbing in reaction. It was almost like they were crying out silently to her, accusingly. Like they were feeling fear of their own. Because she had failed to keep them covered and safe. Another of the robots hooked his fingertips into the hem of her panties—he was going to peel them down. But he didn't do it right away. He hesitated. He was drawing it out, to torment her ... She writhed and kicked. But it wouldn't do any good. All she did was tear the hem, a little, thrashing around so much while the metal man didn't move at all. "Let go of me! Don't you do it! Don't take them! Don't you dare! You've no right! You'll pay!" "Make her naked," drawled a voice, from a speaker. "Push them down around her knees." The robot did this. Now they trapped her knees together. Her own underwear had been used to bind her legs, unless she chose to wriggle her knees until they loosened and she made the bunched-up panties slide all the way down around her ankles ... But she didn't do that. She didn't want to do that. She didn't want to lose them completely. She wanted to be able to pull them right back up, the second the other guys let go of her arms. If they ever would. "You bastards! You bastards! You can't do this to me! You can't treat me this way!" But they could. And they did. She was a prisoner. She was helpless. She was naked. The Moderator's cameras were taking in all of this. Every inch of her body. This would be a really good moment for a friend of hers to show up out of the blue and rescue her ... The proverbial nick of time. Right now was definitely it. Like Night Raven, for example. She owed her. Sparrowhawk had once saved her bacon from a situation just as bad as this one. Or at least she'd tried to. She had blown it a little, so in the end, Night Raven had to save them both. But she wouldn't have got the chance to do that if Sparrowhawk hadn't shown up. Her involvement distracted the bad guys, if nothing else. Sadly, the help she needed failed to materialize. Night Raven seemed to have missed her cue, and no other superheroes or heroines suddenly burst through the ceiling, like they should have. Because this was the kind of luck she had. Which was none. Or just the bad kind—she always got plenty of that. "I'll make you pay for this! I promise you I'll make you pay!" She was still blushing, and trembling, and weeping, but at least she was speaking with defiance. With fierce conviction. She wasn't making a greater fool of herself by pathetically and uselessly pleading with him. At least she managed not to sink so low as that. Now the two robots that weren't holding her arms—the one that just pushed down her panties, and the fourth one—they each produced an object from a slot behind their backs, and held the things up in front of her. "Choose your punishment, trespasser," said the voice from the walls. The Moderator himself, no doubt. "Which will you have? Which are you courageous enough to face?" One of them was holding a ping-pong paddle. Oh God. The other object was a large vibrator. Very large. It was bright pink in color, and it had blinking lights built into it. It was a bizarre shape, with lots of knobs and ridges on it. It had two heads, a big one and a little one. The little one above the big one, and angled a little back from it. She'd had one of her own like that, for a while. Not quite as weird—no lights, not so many extra protuberances. But it had two different size heads arranged in that same way, for stimulating the two best spots on you at the same time, in a way a man's penis never could. But then she dropped it one day and it had broken on the floor and she'd never replaced it. Too embarrassed, actually. Even to order one online, believe it or not. She had used the thing too often, while she owned it. That had been a lonely time for her, while she was experimenting with her first powersuit prototype. Lots of long hours and painful setbacks ... Sparrowhawk took a breath and swallowed painfully a couple time to clear the nervous tightness in her throat, and then she said, "I choose the damn paddle, you bastard. And to Hell with you." She almost immediately regretted the choice and wished she could take it back. She wanted to be tough enough to face this, but she feared in her heart and in her guts that she wasn't—not even close. Still, it was done, and she was proud of herself, for making that pick. It was the appropriate response for a heroine. "Are you sure?" said the Moderator, "I think you will change your mind, before very long." "Damn you! Get on with it, if you're going to do this shit! I will not break! I'll not give you the sick satisfaction, you vile psycho!" "But I believe you will break, Sparrowhawk. I know that you are quite powerless, without your suit. My robots are very angry with you, for destroying so many of their brethren. I fear they will be quite harsh with you. I would recommend you choose the other instrument. They will still use it harshly, but you will not suffer. Most of my audience would prefer to see that as well. Not all, but most. They would rather watch you submit to pleasure, than to pain." "I will not submit to you at all! I will not perform for your amusement!" "Yes you will. Your performance has already begun. You must accept that. Reconsider your position. You are naked and powerless. By the time my robots are finished with you, you will be begging them to allow you the relief of an orgasm. I know it embarrasses you to imagine yourself in such a state, but it will happen. There is no escaping this, Sparrowhawk. It is only a question of time. Why not embrace it? Why not spare yourself the spanking?" "Just shut up! Go to hell! Do your worst, you sonofabitch!" "Well, just keep this in mind. If you do decide to switch, all you have to do is ask." "Never! Damn you!" "We shall see. You heard her, boys. You may spank the woman now. Teach her the error of her ways." The robot with the paddle walked around behind her. The two holding her arms and shoulders each crossed a lower leg in front of her shins, to brace her legs and give them leverage on her. And then they forced her to bend at the waist, and better present her bare ass. She was lifted to the balls of her feet. Now she was bent so far off balance, if they hadn't been holding her, she would have toppled over on her nose. She was spanked. Not gently. Not at all. It wasn't too bad, at first. But soon it got bad. It got harder and harder to bear. Until finally she couldn't bear it at all. Not with any dignity, at least. Her feet kicked behind her. She tried twisting her hips, to avoid the blows. It did no good at all. The sounds it made—Swack! Swack! Those dreadful sounds stung her almost worse than the hits themselves. She imagined each stroke wouldn't have burned her bottom half as much if they only didn't sound like that—so terribly loud and brutal and appalling. Swack! She began to shriek. Anger helped at first, for a while. "You bastards! You fuckers! Ohnnhh! God! God damn you! GOD! Damn you! You've no right to treat me like this! I'll make you pay! I swear I'll make you paAAHHhrrhh! Guhhrrhhnn!" But eventually anger wasn't cutting it anymore ... It was replaced by overwhelming sorrow and humiliation. She must not break! She must not beg! But it just went on and on. It would go on until she gave in and disgraced herself, the way he wanted to see. She succumbed to despair. After that, she started to beg. She couldn't prevent herself. She knew it would do no good. But she did it anyway. Her desperation was too strong. "Please! No more! Ahhahhnn! Please oh please! Mercy! No more now! Nuuhhrrgghh! I can't take anymore! I can't! I beg for mercy! All right? I give in now. I'm begging you! Hnnh! This is what you wanted, right? So fine. You win! I'm begging! Please!" "Your punishment is not complete, Sparrowhawk. But as I told you before, if you are too weak to endure the paddle, than you may take the other punishment instead. But you must ask for it." "I do! I do! All right! I do!" "You must ask me nicer than that, Sparrowhawk." "Please! The vibrator! Use the vibrator instead! Please! I can't stand the paddle anymore! Please punish me with the vibrator now! I beg you!" So they did. They lifted her feet off the ground completely, and slid her panties the rest of the way off. She whimpered as they were torn from her. Then the robots held her legs as wide as they could stretch, supported from under her knees. The stretching, that sensation in itself, forced another pitiful moan from her. "Oh God. Oh my God. Ohhh noo Gawwwd." You'd think there was a saturation point with anxiety. Where your capacity for anticipation and dread would just cut off. But if there was such a point, she still hadn't reached it. Because her tension continued to build and build—it made her curl her toes so tight that her feet cramped. Felt like they'd both got pounded on the arches with hammers. And her vagina was gaping open. She couldn't make it close, in this ghastly suspended pose—she strained as hard as she could down there, but it didn't seem to do any good. She didn't have the strength anymore. She had no strength left at all. Absolutely none. Her whole body felt limp as a ragdoll, except she was quivering all over. Her teeth were chattering, too. But she didn't feel cold, not at all—instead she had a fever. She was boiling inside. The Moderator's robots could have fried eggs on her forehead, if he'd wanted them to. But of course that wasn't the kind of performance he was interested in ... A Sticky Situation for Sparrowhawk "Oh God. Oh God. You're stretching me too much. I can't believe this is happening to me. I can't believe I'm letting you do this. God. I'm scared. This is dirty. This is so damn dirty. I'm so scared." She didn't think they would be able to affect her with it. Not like they wanted. Of course she was afraid she would turn out to be wrong. And it would still be humiliating and horrible, even if the vibrations didn't get to her the way they were supposed to, when they prodded her spread parts with the thing. But considering what they'd put her through already, she didn't think her body would be capable of any real sexual response, no matter how much stimulus they applied. She was simply too embarrassed and freaked out and disgusted with herself. You couldn't make a girl feel sexual pleasure, when she was in such a lowly state. Especially after you'd just beat her bare ass fiery red. Right? Wrong. She found out she was wrong. "Oh my! Oh dear God! It feels—it feels so—Oh! Wait! Oh! Oh no!" In fact she was already dripping wet and tickling inside, before the end of the tool had made contact with her. Her despair and shame hadn't blocked arousal—instead those emotions had already triggered it. And enflamed her. Her parts had become extra-receptive. The slightest brush against them, it set off lightning bolts all through her body. She screeched, bouncing and kicking in the robots' tight, cold hands. But they kept her suspended, firm and open. They used the toy harshly on her, like the Moderator promised. They used it just as harshly as the paddle. And again she begged. At first she begged for them to stop, or to at least go easier on her ... "Not so hard! Not so deep! Oh please! Please I beg you not so deep! It's too much! I can't take it! I can't, I swear! Oh God! Oh shit! Too much! Ahhnnhh! Ahhuuhhaahhrrnn!" She threw her head back and screamed and screamed. The young heroine had never experienced physical pleasure of this intensity. It was humbling, in fact. The small fragment of her mind that was still capable of semi-coherent thought was genuinely awestruck. This villainous Moderator knew his business. His machines had reduced her to a state of utter subjugation. Practically mindless. She was completely dominated now, and would remain so as long as the robots continued to stimulate her in this fashion. God, an individual could become addicted to these sensations. She'd been foolish to come into this place and challenge this villain. He was too smart and too efficient, and worst of all, her body had turned out much too susceptible to his manipulations. Perhaps most women were, once a mad scientist like this figured out which buttons to push, so to speak. And pushed them. This was a perfect punishment, perfectly designed. It was doing exactly what a punishment is supposed to do. Make her feel she'd done wrong, and make her sorry for doing it. She was. She felt guilty and ashamed of herself, and she made a vow inside that she would never dare to challenge the Moderator again. "Ohhoohh uuhhhuuhhaahhrrr God! Please no more! Please I can't take it! I can't! Huuhhoohhuuhh! It's ... it's gonna make me ... You're gonna make me ... You can't do this to me! I'm a goddamn superheroine! Stop! Oh stop! I mustn't let you make me ... But I can't stop it! I can't! Oh God! God I think I'm gonna ..." But then, when the robots did finally relent, it was at the worst possible moment—or the ideal one, from the Moderator's perspective. It was just before her body was about to achieve climax. Only then did they remove the source of stimulation. So she had to beg for them to put it back. She didn't even hesitate. Simply couldn't help herself, at that point. Past the proverbial point of no return ... "Oh god! Wait! Don't stop now! You mustn't stop now! I'm so close! You got me so close! Oh you fuckers! Oh please don't stop now!" It was just like he had told her. She was really doing it! He had absolutely conquered her body, and her will! God—the shame! But she could not stop begging. The need they had awakened inside her was just too powerful. "Please! Oh please! What have you done to me? You can't leave me hanging like this! Not now! Not like this! I need to finish! I have to finish! Oh God! Please! Finish it! I wanna come! I have to come now! I have to! God! Please!" But they didn't give it to her. They didn't let her get off. "This completes your punishment," announced the Moderator. "It was a fine show, Sparrowhawk." "No! No! God! Not like this! Oh God!" "Put her down the chute now," he said. "Farewell, Sparrowhawk. Until our next encounter." Another trapdoor opened, and the robots tossed her down the hole. She slid down a long spiral tube. It was a long trip. She screamed the whole way. At the end of it, she found herself deposited into an alley full of dumpsters, behind the Moderator's skyscraper. Her bare bottom, still scorching hot and throbbing from the paddle, bumped on to the gritty pavement. She shrieked once again, springing to her feet to clutch her bottom. "Ow! Ow! Owee! God! My ass! My poor ass! Oh God!" And her pussy too—God, it was aching and burning inside just as bad, or maybe worse. And oozing, too, of course. It had oozed all down her legs, clear to her knees. God. So much! Now what was she supposed to do? It was the middle of the night, and she was in the middle of the city, far from home. Stark naked in the streets. Nobody was around to help her—but at least nobody was around to see her in this disgraceful condition either. Soon the Moderator would broadcast his recording of her punishment for the whole world to watch, and laugh at her. The whole fucking world would see her stripped and spanked and made to beg. Turned wanton despite all her resistance. God, what a show, what a spectacle. Oh God, how could she stop it from happening? How could she save herself? How could she get her powersuit back? She had an older backup model at home ... Would it be good enough? Not a chance. How could it be, if the newer version hadn't turned out good enough? Still, she would have to try. No other choice. She would have to go back there—tomorrow or the next day, no later—and take the villain on again ... but did she dare? Did she have the courage? She wasn't sure. What if she failed again? What if she only ended subjected to another disgraceful punishment? God, the feel of the toy upon her. Its twin heads, buzzing like bumblebees, both drilling her most sensitive places. It had been agony—but so good! She wanted to feel it again. She couldn't think straight. She had to get home. How was she was going to get home? She'd just have to run—sneaking though backstreets and alleys like this one, as much as possible, along the way. Oh God—this was going to take forever, and it was going to suck so much. She hated the feel of the gritty hot concrete under her bare feet. It made her me feel so dirty and barbaric and helpless. She was terrified of stepping into dog poo or cutting herself on broken glass or something. And her ass wouldn't stop aching, and neither would her oozing desperate pussy. Sparrowhawk realized she would have to ease it, right here and now, before she did anything else. At least it wouldn't take her long, in the condition she was in. And it would help settle her down and clear her mind. No one would see, no one would know. She stuck her fingers inside herself and rubbed. Oh God. God that was what she needed. Not as good as the toy felt—but good enough to get her done. The fucking evil robots had left her so worked up. She couldn't remember ever feeling this wild and horny and desperate in her whole entire life ... She was right about it not taking long. Sparrowhawk got herself off in the alley in only twenty seconds. But as it sparked and clenched and gushed against her palm, the orgasm was so strong she couldn't stop herself from moaning out loud. "Oh shit—Shit! Ohhhoohhuuhhnn!" She thought she would maybe pass out. And she almost lost her footing. She almost fell over on her face. "Wow. Oh my. Oh man. Shit." Fluid dribbled on the concrete from her crotch, and some splashed on top of her feet. Maybe she'd made herself pee a little. Gross. Well, at least the crazy animal need was out of her system. At least it was taken care of. Then when her head cleared and she opened her eyes, she saw there was another camera mounted on the wall right over her head. Same kind of camera as all the others in the Moderator's maze. It was pointed right down at her. Oh God. He'd still been watching her. He'd seen everything. He would have recorded it, too. He'd filmed her making herself come. "No! Oh no! It's not fair! You bastard!" How could she have been so stupid again? Why couldn't she have controlled herself? "You made me! You made me do it! It wasn't my fault!" But of course deep down in her gut she knew it was. Or at least she shared the guilt. She should have been stronger. She should have been smarter. She should have been able to beat him, but she hadn't been good enough. A real superheroine would never have let him catch her, never let him punish her. And certainly never have given in to the sensations. But in the end that was exactly what she'd done. She fled the alley, shrieking, her hands covering her face. She didn't even bother trying to be sneaky. What was the point anymore? She just ran straight down the sidewalk of High Street, her face screened but otherwise totally exposed, sprinting as fast as she could. And it didn't end up mattering. There was little traffic, and nobody on the sidewalk but some bums. They whistled at her, and some cars honked. But nobody tried to stop her. Assumed she was just another crazy person, in the crazy city. There was one lone cop, parked close to her apartment building, killing time ... Sparrowhawk didn't notice him, but he saw her running around the corner to get to her back door. But he let her be. Sparrowhawk didn't have a clue about this fact, but most of the cops in town knew who she was and where she lived. They knew she was an up-and-coming superheroine, but not a very successful one. "Prone to mishaps," her file read. This wasn't the first time she'd been spotted streaking home in such a state. And no doubt it wouldn't be the last.