Dynamo Dame in Danger!

There was a new superheroine in the metropolis: Dynamo Dame, the Lady of Lightning. The city's many news organisations were thanking their lucky stars that she wasn't as camera-shy as some of her peers. No, she seemed to thrive on the attention, hanging around to smile for the camera. She'd even spoken to Channel 6's Hank Waterman, giving him her name and title.

With that friendliness, there were plenty of photos of her out there. Some more dramatized: soaring through the air, flinging lightning bolts from her hands. Others just captured her posing, letting the camera have a good look at her.

Her stature was somewhat less than imposing, being maybe a couple of inches above five feet tall. Wavy, golden-blonde hair fell down to the height of her shoulder-blades, kept mostly back from her face. She had a rounded face, her skin soft and creamy. Her costume was all done in shades of blue, starting with the wide band of a mask that wrapped around her face. It obscured everything from her browline down to the tip of her nose, with holes for her bright blue eyes. She had a big smile, too, with her red lips spread cheerfully wide.

The rest of her costume looked almost casual on her short, curvy form. Her deep blue top was a little on the tight side, suggesting the lines of her figure even though it only showed the skin of her arms and an inch or two of soft-yet-lean stomach. Cheeky, golden letters stretched across her ample chest: by the look of things, 'DD' was more than just her initials. Adding to the superheroic flair was a waist-length cape of sky blue. The costume's lower half was a fluttery, blue tennis skirt, a set of thigh-high white socks, and blue ankle boots that did nothing to help her height.

There was a new superheroine in the metropolis, and some people weren't happy about it.

It was late afternoon, almost evening; the setting sun was starting to turn the clear sky orange. It was the first chance Dynamo Dame had to head out on patrol: she always cursed her day job as she slid into costume. The frustration was easy to forget, though, as she kissed the sky. The electromagnetic field surrounding her made her feel utterly weightless.

But she wasn't just out there to enjoy soaring. She was looking for crime to fight. Her half-headset was turned into police radio, keeping her alert. A report came in: a convenience store's silent alarm was going off. There was no information besides that, and the address... but that address was just a few blocks away. Perfect.

A smile spread across her face as she twisted in the air, and shot off to go do some justice.

The convenience store was a small spot, one of those places that looks squashed between neighbouring buildings in the inner city. As soon as Dynamo Dame touched down outside, she could see the situation through the glass door. The cashier, behind the counter, stood with his hands in the air. A lean man all in black had him at gunpoint.

That grin of hers spread wider, the excitement tingling through her like electricity. "Oi there!" she shouted out. A swaggering step took her under the motion sensor. The ding and whisper of the door opening called even more attention to her. "Gotcha!"

The robber turned and looked towards her, just in time to be facing her hand as she flung it forward. The lightning bolt caught him in the chest, threw him across the room, and he crashed against a refrigerator set into the wall. Normal criminals were always so easy.

She strode inside, still with that swagger. "Sorry for the mess, sir, but not to worry. All's safe now—"

"Another." The pale young man still had his hands lifted, his eyes wide. "There's another."

"Huh?" She hadn't processed it fully before she felt a sharp sting in her neck. Whirling around, she saw another man in black, a tranquiliser gun in his hand. He was advancing.

Her fingers crackled as she lifted them, but he was too fast. He grabbed her wrist and pulled it up, aiming her shot uselessly over his shoulder. She struggled, but her vision was going hazy, and she felt sluggish. In a few seconds, everything went black.

When she came to, her surroundings were very different. The room was small and a bit dingy, and the curtains kept the place dim. A hotel room, she guessed. She was sitting on the floor, against the wall. There was a cold, metallic bite at her wrists and neck -- handcuffs keeping her hands behind her back, and a Gift-blocker to keep her from using her advantages. She was literally powerless.

A shiver ran along her spine. Her heart started pounding, pumping fresh excitement through her body. She tried to ignore it, tried to crush it down, but it still shamed her enough to flush her cheeks.

Gradually, her vision adjusted to the darkness. The two men were there with her, seated on the bed and solitary chair. Cans -- beer? -- were in their hands. They ignored her at first, but then one heard her shifting around.

"Well! Sleeping Beauty's awake." The bulky one, who'd had the dart gun. His tone actually sounded... friendly. "How're you feeling?"

Dazed. A little uncomfortable. Horny. She didn't actually say any of those. "Who are you? What are you going to do to me?" She cursed the slightly hopeful tone in her last few words.

"You don't need to know our names." The lean one. She could see a rubber vest under his open shirt: a little bit of insulation. "As for what we'll do... there are a few people out there who want to get a hold of a new superheroine."

She wriggled, shifting onto her knees. The socks insulated her from the roughness of the carpet. "Who? Who are you giving me to?"

"We don't know yet," said the bulky one. "Waiting to see who gives us the best offer."

Dynamo Dame winced. Dammit, she was on auction. "Um. And... what about you guys? What'll you do while you're waiting?"

The lean one glared at her. "Don't try to escape, Dame. You're ours now, and you're not slipping away."

Such power in that voice. She trembled, and hoped they both wrote it off as just fear. That was part of it, after all. "Okay. But what are you going to do? You aren't going to just sit around waiting, right?" Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She was dancing around the subject.

The bulky one shrugged. "If that's the job."

She chewed her lower lip. Maybe it was just her. Maybe nobody else felt the tension. But... she had to ask. "Are you going to ravish me?" When she actually said it, her tone was far too expectant. It didn't sound like a question, it sounded like an offer.

The lean one shot her another glare. "What are you playing at, Dame?" He set his can down, and turned to face her fully, his arms crossed over his chest. "You're just trying to get us to uncuff you."

"No! No." She was blushing, she could feel it, but the cat was out of the bag. "You don't have to uncuff me." She had a bit more control now. She wasn't left sounding like she really wanted her hands restrained. "Just... if you, you know, want to do something." She sounded so damn meek.

Now the tension was definitely there. Gazes were charged, whether the men looked towards her, or when they shared a glance between themselves. The lean one shook his head, warning his partner, but the bulky one didn't seem so uncertain. He started moving, slowly. His can was placed on the floor. He switched on the lamp, and even that modest light briefly blinded her. He slipped from the bed and walked over, one small step at a time, and then knelt down beside her.

It was painful to wait. She was gasping for air as her heart raced. His first actual move was to lay a hand on her breast. There was almost no actual stimulation: her shirt, her bra were both in the way, and it was just a pat. But the mental thrill was enough that she let out a whimper.

That responsiveness was all he needed. There was an incidental brush along her stomach as he grabbed her shirt's hem... and then yanked it upward. She shivered with the touch of air, exposing so much more skin -- all the way up to her collarbone, but for that last undergarment. Her bra was blue and silky, hefting her breasts up for a better display of cleavage at its low neckline. That caught attention: the lean one looked over too, with a bit of interest in his eyes. She'd always been proud of her tits.

He wasn't done yet, though. After a few seconds' staring, the bulky one noticed the clasp in the front, between the well-filled cups. Nobody was making eye contact as he reached for it, his hands moving carefully. The moments of fumbling felt like they took forever, but then it finally came open. The bra's two halves fell away, and those heavy breasts jiggled into a more natural shape, sitting apart from each other upon her chest. Their nudity was greeted by gasps -- admiration which had her groaning. They stared at her naked tits for a fair while, and just that much attention had her squirming. She was all but ecstatic: hands forced behind her back, effectively topless, her whole body subject to the whims of two strange men. All her shame over her lusts was, for the moment, forgotten.

That touch came back. The burly man's fingers were rough and calloused, a contrast with her soft skin. Blood rushed to her chest, flushing her bosom with heat, tightening her already-perky nipples. Lust made her hyper-sensitive such that every caress made her moan aloud. There was a lot of caressing, too: her breast was much too big to just fit in his hand, and so he roamed, stroking every inch of her surface.

Just stroking. Just caressing. It was a cruel tease. She turned her eyes on him, giving him a smoky glare from beneath heavy lids. "Is there... anything else I can do for you...?" She hadn't even been pleased, and she was already short of breath.

The bulky man's face was mostly slack, as if shocked by what was happening. His eyes, however, were alight with hunger. He kept that hand moving while he spoke. "You wouldn't... bite me, would you?"

Dynamo Dame was shaking her head even before he finished asking. She wanted more than just groping, whatever it might be.

The bulky man did not need to be told twice. Perhaps he hurried out of worry that she'd change her mind. The next second, he was on his feet, struggling with his trousers. They were opened, as were the boxers underneath, and his hard organ sprang forward.

Kneeling as she was, Dynamo Dame was at the perfect height. She swooped close, nuzzling her soft lips against it. Part of her wanted to just take him into her mouth, to practically inhale him, but she knew what needed to be done first. She moistened her tongue, and drew it slowly along the side of his shaft, leaving a wet trail. The reaction was immediate: he groaned with pleasure, his face tensed. That urged her on, and she kept licking, turning or tilting her head to make sure she could reach every angle. It was a tough task, but the fact she had to work hands-free just made it more of a thrill. She licked him until he was practically dripping with her saliva, and only then did she put her lips around him.

The new sensation in her mouth was intense. Heat radiated from that organ, until it felt like he was trying to cook her tongue. He was throbbing, pulsing as every beat of his heart rushed blood through his manhood. To keep him from moving about so much, she got a solid grip with her lips. The spit she'd coated him with let her just slide along, taking more of him until she felt a bump against the back of her throat. There was no gagging -- she'd trained herself out of that long ago -- but still she stopped there, with an inch or two of meat still in the open air. Then she started working in a frenzy, putting all of her skills to the test, but multitasking above all.

It took masterful coordination to keep her head moving, bobbing back and forth, without slacking on the suckling. Her lips stroked his whole circumference with each motion, while she kept her tongue pressed up against his underside. The way she groaned into him, though... that was pure instinct. It felt like she was made to do it, to blow him. Not just because of her skill, but because doing it felt so right, so fulfilling.

From entering her mouth, the man lasted one, maybe two minutes. She could feel it approaching: she heard it in the tone of his cries, tasted it in the trail that dribbled onto her tongue. The seconds leading up to it seemed to drag on, but finally, he loosed a scream and his climax in the same instant. Thick semen splashed onto the rear of her tongue, a new spurt with each pulse of his member. She didn't let them build up. As each one came to her, she drank it down, until he gave her no more.

The bulky man stumbled back and fell to sit on the floor. His breath was ragged, he was barely conscious. She'd really done a number on him, but she wasn't even close to done.

She turned, looking at the lean man. "More?" she asked.

The next moment, he was next to her. Of course he grabbed her tits first. The sheer ferocity of his touch fuelled her fire, fed the sense of simply being used. His fingers dug much more firmly into her flesh, feeling more of her plush softness. But that groping lasted only a few moments. There were other things his hands had to do.

He undressed her, one piece at a time. Boots, socks, skirt... soon, everything that had concealed her lower half was in a pile on the floor, and his hands were exploring her again. All she had left was her open bra, lifted top, her mask... and those handcuffs. "You are one sexy bitch, Dynamo Dame. Big tits. Round butt. Skin so soft and smooth, especially these legs." As he said that, his fingers were tracing her thighs. He sighed. "Touching you is heaven."

She gave him a sultry grin. Her body moved of its own volition, pressing back into every last tap. "You can do more than touch."

With no more encouragement than that, he grabbed her by the collar and pulled her to her bare feet. No more words were exchanged as he dragged her to the bed and threw her onto it. She landed in an uncomfortable position with her hands trapped under her back, but simply didn't care. She knew what was coming, and eagerly splayed her legs.

He knelt between her thighs. Eagerness had him fumbling, but his pants were gone almost fast enough to sate her. The tip of his hard prick spread her lower lips, and he sank in, sending sexual fire through her whole body. She didn't know his name, and so her scream was just wordless.

It was the first time that evening that her needs had received any consideration, and she needed it. Though she'd only received a few selfish touches, the situation itself had primed her, heated her. Her body was ready for the rough ride he gave her. In spite of her tight inner grip, her sheer juiciness made each thrust almost slippery.

He pounded her with abandon, each push rocking her entire body and sending indescribable pleasure through her being. The pressure built and built until finally, she just exploded. She almost deafened herself with her won scream, and her vision just went blank, and he was still fucking her. Just as she was calming down, he pulled himself from her and knelt at her side. A few strokes finished him off, and with a groan, he decorated her breasts with his gooey load.

She got no respite. The bulky one was back and wanting more. Strong hands grabbed her hips and forced her into position. She was on her knees again, her back towards him. She couldn't see him, couldn't look into his unfamiliar face. She could just feel his hands on her hips, feel him sliding into her dripping pussy. She was wonderfully powerless, unable to even move her own body. If he wanted her to, he just moved her himself, bodily pulling her into every push he gave.

The sound of his hips slapping into her rear was almost as loud as their voices and the ecstasy they shouted forth. He was holding nothing back, and the sheer vigour -- how much and how obviously he wanted her -- did as much for her as the lubricated friction of the actual sex. She could already feel the tingling in her loins, the sparks running along her spine. She didn't know how long it took, but orgasm claimed her again. This time, her partner didn't last so well. He withdrew, leaving her gaping and empty, and his seed instead gushed down onto her thigh. As soon as his adrenaline rush ended, he fell away, unconscious.

She still wasn't finished, not yet. Glancing around, she found her next destination. The lean man had ended up on his back, his pants still open. Some awkward wriggling on her knees got her into his lap. He seemed stunned that she still wanted more, but it was a pleasant surprise to him: she could see the light in his eyes. With a deft touch, he lifted his manhood, and she hurried to impale herself on it.

This time, it was her show. All he did was lay there, feel her ass, and stare at her tits. It was up to her to bounce, to move against that rod to get what she needed. She was slowing down. As much as she hated it, as happy as she would be to just fuck all night long, she was actually starting to lose steam.

This ride lasted longer, neither man nor heroine able to muster the wild passion of their earlier coupling. So the candle burned more slowly, but still burned. With how far ahead she could feel it coming, the anticipation of her pleasure was all the more powerful. Each twitch of her hips drew it closer, a little at a time. She almost grew impatient, but finally, it reached that boiling point. It rippled through her more quietly this time, in a few ways: her voice was already hoarse from moaning, and couldn't do any more. He was fast behind her, and she lifted off him to receive that pearly stream across her stomach.

Her lover passed out, and she was left the only one awake in the room. She was exhausted, but after her third climax, finally satisfied. For a while, she knelt there, basking in the warming glow.

Then he appeared, literally teleporting in out of nowhere. He was a tall man in a long coat, his silver eyes glowing. With a quick glance, he found her. "Dynamo Dame..." His voice faded as he looked her over. His glances were brief, resuming eye contact soon. "My name is Schrodinger. I found you as soon as I could."

She cringed. Naked from the bust down, hands cuffed behind her back, with the semen from three loads marking her skin and two men laying in a daze beside her. Not the best first impression to make on another hero. The guilt, the shame, returned in force.

The rest was done in awkward silence. He found the keys to her cuffs and collar, as well as the rest of her clothes. In seconds, she dressed herself, but still felt dirty in all sorts of ways.

The silence lingered even after she was clothed. Eventually she broke it, as she pulled the window open. "Thanks for finding me," she murmured. "I'd... better get home." She jumped through the opening and flew out, just as fast as she damn well could.