Madame Masque

Madame Masque and a bunch of goons with guns are standing on the floor of the bank, overlooking some tied-up hostages. Their heads turn as they see Kate kick the door in, her bow at the ready, wearing nothing but a skimpy bikini.

"Drop the weapons, losers!"

One guy raises his gun, but the others are too busy laughing at respond. An arrow zips through the air and knocks the gun out of his hand, disarming him. Kate scowls.

"What's so funny?" she says.

"You're in a bikini," Masque helpfully points out. "What's the matter? Don't people pay enough attention to you?"

"That's not important! You're busted, is what's important."

"More busted than you," says Masque, taking a good look at Kate's small breasts, barely concealed by her tiny bikini top. "Trying to distinguish yourself from the other Hawkeye? I can see why people would confuse you for a boy."

"Shut up and drop the guns!" More arrows from Kate's bow disarm the other goons, but Masque doesn't seem deterred. Her hand flashes out, and a knife whirs across the room, neatly severing the strings of Kate's bikini top.

"Eek!"

She squeals and clasps the purple fabric to her breasts. Unfortunately, this means she has to drop her bow. Before she can repair her mistake, Masque has grabbed one of her goon's guns from off the floor and is pointing it directly at a hostage. Kate freezes. Masque smirks, though it's hard to tell through the mask.

"Drop the top," she says.

"But..."

"Do it."

Reluctantly, Kate lets the bikini top slither through her fingers. She stands in front of Madame Masqe, the goons and all the hostages with her arms by her sides, her tits bare, her nipples stiffening in the air conditioning, her toes curling with shame. Even some of the hostages start to chuckle.

"Excellent," Masque purrs. "Nice tits, Kate. We're going to have some fun with you..."