Trapped

Nightingale knew she was awake when the thundering headache pounded inside her head. Every time she turned her head too fast, the room would spin. Sounds were either too loud or not there at all. And the light, God, the light was a knife. Her limbs were heavy, but she still tried to move. Chains, thick, industrial ones, wrapped around her binding her arms to her sides. She looked down and found herself on an old, torn up couch.

“There she is.” Her vision focused, finding the thug that had swung at her sitting on a stool. “Names Tank, hon and I gotta say you are probably the hottest super I have ever seen.”

He approached Nightingale, his fingers trailing along the edge of her costume, teasing the bare skin of her midriff. She squirmed, the chains rattling, as Tank's touch became bolder, slipping under the fabric to caress the softness of her breasts.

"Stop," Nightingale demanded, her voice betraying a hint of breathlessness.

"But we're just getting started," Tank replied, his eyes gleaming with mischief. He withdrew his hand, only to bring it down with a sharp smack on her thigh. The sound echoed in the room, followed by Nightingale's gasp of surprise. Tank spanked her again, the impact causing her to arch against her restraints. Nightingale's cheeks flushed, whether from the sting of his hand or the heat that was beginning to pool within her, she couldn't tell. Tank's spanks grew rhythmic, each one punctuated by Nightingale's involuntary squeals.

“Having fun?” He asked, his voice thick with arousal.

"Fuck you,” She spat back. Tank unzipped his pants, freeing his erect cock. It was thick and hard, throbbing with the promise of forbidden pleasure. Nightingale's eyes widened as he took himself in hand, stroking slowly, his gaze never leaving hers.

Tank stepped closer, his knees brushing against the couch. He rubbed his dick over Nightingale's face, the warmth of his flesh seeping into her skin. She turned away, but there was nowhere to escape. The scent of his arousal filled her nostrils, a primal reminder of her own vulnerability.

"Open your mouth," Tank commanded, his voice barely more than a whisper. Nightingale looked up at him defiantly but slowly she began to part her lips.

“Oh shit it’s a super!” A voice outside screamed.

“Fuck I’m out of here!” Came another.

“For fucks sake! What is going on?” Tank yelled as he stuffed his dick back in his pants. “Don’t worry baby, I’ll be back in a minute.” Tank left the room giving Nightingale the valuable time she needed.

Tank walked outside to where a couple of thugs were standing around.

“What’s going on?” He demanded.

“What’re you talking about boss?” One of the thugs asked.

“All that yelling, what was that shit?”

“We didn’t hear anything.”

Realization dawned on Tank. “Oh fuck!” He raced back inside but was too late, Nightingale was gone leaving nothing but the chains that once bound her.

Nightingale dropped onto a rooftop, breath ragged, chest heaving. She'd spent most of her energy using her powers to distract Tank. Every part of her screamed to turn back, to make Tank pay for what he’d done. But she wasn’t in any condition to take him on. Not right now. She clenched her fists, forcing herself to stay still. She needed time to heal. His time would come and when it did, it would be all the more satisfying. But what bothered her most wasn’t Tank, it was seeing Devin there. She’d given him so many chances because she thought he was really trying to make a difference with his life. So why was he at the Corpses base.