Sexplanations and the consequences of crazy...

The ancient wooden stairs creak and the banister wobbles alarmingly under your grasp as you follow Krystal up the stairs trying not to look up her brief skirts while simultaneously totally trying to catch a peek of more bubbly goodness.

...cognitive dissonance is a wonderful thing! Or is it just moral hypocrisy you are fighting with now as your Id and Super-ego are fruitlessly searching about for their arbiter, the Ego, who has clearly had enough of today and fucked off. Smart fellow...

"So, ummm... you mentioned you are a Temp-Hench? What's that about?" You ask in a weak attempt at focusing on something other than the firm shelf of that flashing ass.

"Oooh, are you interested, Cutie?" Krystal asks, spinning to face you at the top of the stairs before pointing at a door on the left with an outstretched arm and stating "Bathroom."

Turning again and leading you down the narrow hall she begins to explain as you peek inside the proffered door to be greeted with, yes, an ancient bathroom decked out in putrid olive green mosaic tiling and cracked yellowing porcelain. ...yikes, the seventies called...

Listening to the pastel haired sexpot you quickly learn that as Temp-Henches Krystal and Crash had teamed up to hire out their "sinister services" ...there's the air quotes again... on a case by case basis to the various villains, mobsters and gangs of Libertine City. Their system, she explains, comes with several perks and advantages.

The first is exposure, working on word of mouth marketing meant the more contracts they took with lower echelon villains meant it was more likely that they would attract the attention of the bigger fish as they had with Professor P. Which had been a pretty big deal for the two professional skull-crackers.

The second was the ability to pick and choose which jobs they took, weighing risk vs reward and the potential for future contracts with the employer in question. Why pull a lowly, anonymous jewellery heist with a peanut like Diamond Jack when you could be **** a billionaire heiress with a true show pony like King Crab? Maybe even get to stand behind him - in frame, mind - when he makes his ransom demands to the news cameras.

More and more, the benefits and perks stacked up like suicidal lemmings. They were self-employed so they could pick their own work hours and set their own rates apart from those of the average goon. They could do all the office work from home and wouldn't be **** to deal with humdrum tasks like guard duty or living in some Hench-barracks on whatever compound, underground facility or volcanic island a full-time employer would require.

Nope they just got paid upfront to rock up to whatever cunning scheme, climactic battle, daring escape or whatever, play their contractually obliged part and most importantly; always have an escape plan in place to get out from under the shit. They were good, they were professional and they were building a Brand.

"...so Rhino is the exotic looking muscle and I am the brains, tits and ass. People hire us because they know that we make them look good! Like, "Hey, who is that massive bruiser and total babe robbing Libertine First National Bank with The Copywriter? Man but he must be doing well to pull those types of minions!" kind of good."

Krystal has stopped at the last door in the dusty hallway and resting one dainty hand on a brass doorknob so tarnished with age that it's completely green she looks coyly at you over one bare shoulder and gives you that schoolgirl giggle that makes your poor groin twitch.

"Sooo~ do you wanna see my room, Cutie?"

Did you ever!

Ducking her head shyly at your slack-jawed nod she takes your hand in hers before opening the door and tugging you into her private abode. Given the state of the rest of the house, you are actually impressed by what you see!

The light in here is muted and warm, heavy layers of lavender gossamer curtain the only window blocking out most of the daylight and changing it to a heady pink. The only other lighting comes from a strategically place table lamp with an equally heavy scarlet shade over the bulb ensuring the whole room is dimly lit in warm tones.

A large wardrobe with sliding mirrored doors takes up one side of the room reflecting everything inside the snug place and on the opposite wall a hanging mural, lit up by traceries of tiny white fairy light reads "Eat Prey, Love" leaving you frowning at the spelling and punctuation wondering if it's an error or... probably not, I mean, have you met this girl?!...

Central to the room is dominated by a large circular bed that looks as though it was torn right out of a love hotel from the 1980s; all plush, overstuffed and covered in cushions, pillows and soft, stuffed toys. A hot pink bra and a pair of fluffy handcuffs dangling carelessly from the wood frame headboard.

Between that bed, the massive wardrobe and a pair of bedside tables there's not much room to move in here and Krystal just guides you to the foot of the bed pushes you down you down onto it. Her whole energy seems to have shifted dramatically from the over-stimulated, getaway driving lunatic to something more akin to a slightly shy if excitable teen showing her beau her bedroom for the first time and it's really doing it for you. Even more so when she begins to undress...

"So yeah, we're doing really well with our little outfit, and after today I expect we'll be hitting the big leagues!" She says untying the lacy white apron around her waist. She catches the doubtful look that you quickly try to school off of your face and quirks an eyebrow at you with a hint of agitation ...Wow, but her eyebrows are pink too...

"Hey, don't judge our success by the state of our digs, Mister and don't go ruining the mood either! You've gotta show this girl a good time and I wanna enjoy myself properly." She reprimands with a pretty pout of those soft, moist lips and a wagging finger so you can only smile apologetically back at her.

Kicking off her sensible black flats she saunters up to you before lifting one silky leg and resting her white stocking-ed foot on the bed right between your legs, less than an inch from the uncomfortably tight bulge in your pants. Your eyes trace involuntarily up her shapely, nylon clad calf, over cute, bare knees and up her generous, silken thigh until it disappears beneath the short hem of her maids uniform.

Had this been a cartoon world rather than a comic book one, you'd bet that your tongue would have unrolled from your mouth like a length of wet, pink carpet to hang down to your waist as you panted like a over-excited puppy at this moment. Take back some of the control Dumbie, she's clearly toying with you! Say something!!

"So... you are bad guys then?"

What the actual fuck, Dude?

Krystal's sweet little smile turns decidedly more wicked at this mealy-mouthed attempt at sexy banter and her eyes get a bit of that mad glimmer in them you recognize from earlier in the day. So you can shakily chalk that one up for a point for your side ...if only by dumb stupid luck...

"Well... we certainly work for some bag guys, don't we?" She purrs, all sizzling seductress in her tone as she begins to roll the white knee-highs slowly down, wiggling her toes at your crotch teasingly, "...and what's so wrong with being a little bad? Are you calling me a bad little girl?"

Tossing the nylon aside she replaces one foot with another and once again you are admiring her silken flesh and another firm thigh.

Seriously though, who identifies as a bad guy? Isn't everybody supposed to be a hero in their own narrative? Even the worst villains perceived their own actions as noble or justified from their own warped perspectives. Is this a messed-up Krystal 'thing' or a comic book logic type of 'thing'? Who gives a FUCK man, just call her a bad girl already!

"The first time I saw you Krystal, you were shooting green **** at some of Libertine City's strongest - like a very bad girl." You say earnestly watching the second stocking slip off revealing the cutest painted little toenails to have ever set your cock to throbbing.

She likes that, her smile and eyes growing wider and she climbs up into your lap, straddling your bulge and pushing your jacket off of your shoulders so she can rest her forearms on them, looking down at you with those spectacular pale tits all but pushed up under your chin.

"Yeah, mmmmmm... that was pretty hot, wasn't it?" She moans and you can feel her resting her soft, panty-clad warmth down against your tented lap threatening to send your agonized cock into a full blown barbarian rage. Panting needily you look up into her dazzling brown eyes and can see the glint mad excitement in them goading you on... wanting more.

"...and that sexy little outfit you're wearing to tease us all? Only the naughtiest, nastiest girls would wear something like that."

Her pelvis is pressing down hard against your trouser teepee now, her hips rolling in little circular patterns as she seems to want to press you up into her womanly softness; panties, trousers, boxers and all. You groan in both desire and discomfort looking down but can't see much beyond her bulging titflesh thrusting up into your face and that is plenty fascinating all on it's own.

"You don't like my lil' dress?" Krystal hotly breaths into your ear, finding one of your hands in hers and bringing it to a small zipper located under her arm. "Then why don't you take it off, Stud?"

With the barest of fumbles you find the tiny tab and draw it down in one long, luxurious motion. The bubblegum sexdemon lets out a sigh as you do, arching her back exquisitely and grinding herself harder against you as practically peel her out of the sexy maid outfit.

First the silver cups fall away, revealing her huge, perfectly buoyant bouncers - all creamy, flawless round flesh capped with pretty pink nipples already hard and pebbled with arousal ...and pierced! Dear fluffy Lord above, why is that so goddam hot?!... Yep, twin little bars pierce both tips of puffy perfection and you are pretty sure a thick spurt of your precum is warming top of your pantly pyramid now. You want to drop your mouth to them but fierce hands grab the sides of your head, latching into your hair and painfully dragging your gaze up to meet her wild, blazing brown eyes again.

Crazy... don't stick your dick in - oh fuck!

"What. Fucking. Else." She hisses through clenched teeth as her full lips curl back in a manic rictus, her humping hips work at the mechanical pace of a pneumatic piston and your own bulbous member is crying out for liberty or ****!

"That fucking... groan... getaway! What kind of badass bitch... aurgh... drives like that? That was fucking crazy... I- I thought we were... were all going to fucking die!"

Or die fucking... please oh please, just let me get my cock out before you snap the poor thing in half!

It's ride or die at this point when, unexpectedly, Krystal lets out a deep groan as she shudders above you stilling and seizing up momentarily, not even breathing. You take the opening to tear the rest of the silver maids dress off of her, tearing the zipper all the way open and shucking her out of it like the worlds sexiest oyster, leaving her near-naked in only a lacy pink pair of boy shorts. Lacy pink boy shorts with a conspicuous damp patch where the tip of your heavily clothed pole is pressed into her juicy peach of a camel toe and leaving you feeling conspicuously over-dressed.