Served Raw

Madame Masque’s tower loomed over Los Angeles, its glass walls reflecting the warm sunlight. Inside the penthouse boardroom, Kate Bishop lay sprawled on a long white table, her naked body draped across a crimson silk tablecloth that ran beneath her like a red carpet. The red fabric framed her like a centerpiece, every curve, the lean muscles of her thighs, the subtle swell of her B-cup breasts, the tight, supple arc of her ass pressed against the table all on brutal display. Her skin prickled under the arctic blast of AC, nipples hardening into stiff pink peaks, as chilled sushi maki rolls and nigiri clung to her body, their icy weights pressing into her like perverse jewels. Shiso leaves, glossy and green, barely covered her shaved pussy, one corner already peeling back to let the cold kiss her inner thigh. Her breasts, meanwhile, were only covered by a pair of leaves with rows of nigiri placed upon them.

“Bon appétit… Gary, that’s your cue,” Madame Masque drawled, her gold mask reflecting Kate’s humiliation.

The sheet ripped away. Light seared Kate’s eyes. “Don’t twitch. Don’t fucking move.” Kate thought to herself. Her black hair, pinned into a tight bun by 2 arrows, tugged at her scalp as men in tailored suits leaned in, their greasy gazes crawling over her.

“Gentlemen,” Masque purred, pacing beside the table. “This last quarter, our profits soared for the twenty-first quarter in a row. You managed to make this company a fortune on both sides of a global recession.” She paused, trailing a gloved hand over Kate’s shivering stomach. “But they call me the supervillain. As a token of gratitude… this girl.”

Then—Harold, Masque’s wiry lieutenant and Kate’s accomplice, leaned in, whispering urgently.

Masque stiffened. “Ah. Hold on.”

The room stilled. Kate’s lungs froze as Masque stormed out, heels clacking, Harold trailing. The door hissed shut as she ordered the men to dig in to their treat.

Hands descended. A fat thumb brushed the leaf over her pussy, lifting a spicy tuna roll. The shiso shifted, cold air licking her mound. Shit— Kate’s gut clenched. Another man plucked a salmon nigiri from her breast, his nail grazing the leaf directly on top of her nipple. The leaf beneath it slid sideways, exposing half the areola. She burned, her pulse thundering in her ears. “Hold. Just hold on till masque is far enough away.”

“Mmm, fresh,” a suit slurped, rice sticking to his chin as he devoured a maki roll picked from her ribcage.

A man’s clammy finger grazed her inner thigh, plucking a tuna roll. The leaf beneath it shifted, exposing a sliver of bare skin near her pussy. “Fuck. Fuck. Hold it together.”

The leaf over Kate’s pussy clung by a thread of condensation, the chilled air gnawing at her bare slit. Maki rolls trembled on her stomach as a sweaty-palmed exec plucked a nigiri from her hip, his knuckle grazing her shaved mound. The leaf slipped another millimeter. “Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.” Her thoughts repeated. She was a few centimeters away from full exposure. Across the building, Harold’s finally lead masque far enough away

“Now!,” she thought, urgency sharp.

Kate exploded upward, sushi scattering. Her breasts bounced free, nipples flushed and rigid, the men’s eyes bulging as she clamped a hand over them. “Every last one of you sit the futz down and shut the futz up right now!” she snarled, yanking the arrows from her hair. Black waves cascaded down her shoulders, and her iconic bangs framing her furious glare.

“As soon as I wipe the salmon from my nethers,” she hissed, swiping remnants of rice off her torso, “I’ll be getting my costume on and taking my leave of you creeps!”

“I catch any of you looking,” she snarled, “and I’ll have the very eye what snuck the peek. Are we clear?”

No one breathed.

She stood, fully naked now, one hand clinging to her breasts while the other hand swiped at the salmon clinging to her pelvis, icy slime smearing her shaved lips. the delicate pink folds briefly visible before she twisted away as she bent to grab her backpack of gear placed by Harold underneath the table. Her cheeks flamed as her toned rear flexed, round and supple, the curves gleaming under the lights. Straightening, she yanked out her purple bodysuit, the fabric unfurling with a snap.

Kate stepped into the suit, the fabric slithered up her legs, clinging to every contour. the defined cut of her abs, the curve of her hips, the hip holes exposing her bare pelvis. No bra. No panties. Just latex suctioned to her skin, her breasts clearly visibly stretching the material as she zipped it to her throat.

“You should be ashamed!” she spat, strapping her quiver. “I’m old enough to be your daughters’ super cool…and just a little bit worldly younger…awesome friend!”

Boots laced, gloves secured, quiver slung, and bow strung, she bolted. The hallway swallowed her, but the humiliation clung like the stench of soy sauce and wasabi.