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Chapter 12
by TheDespaxas
Your brilliant escape plan is a success, sort of.
Trash talk.
"What the fuck do you mean by Neal Pearson doesn't exist? He had his cocktail in my twat all night long and I can assure you I didn't dream that. " screams Firebrand on her phone.
You are bound naked in the trunk of her car with a blindfold on your eyes. Actually given the smell of it you are pretty sure the henchman that blindfolded you used a pair of his boxers to do so and from the raw male scent, not a clean one.
You have still nearly an hour before getting your powers back and vanishing from the car when you get them will only give you away, you will be too far away from their lair to find out its location.
"No! Listen, we have wired 25 millions to the son of a bitch and he stiffed us on the deal. Put everyone on this, 100k from me for anyone that find him or the product and a night with me if they bring him back alive. " she rages. Say what you want about villains but Hot Stuff knows how to motivate workers.
You hear the screeching noise of brakes pushed too hard and horns honking to berate the nearly missed accident.
"Kurt, any idea who he might be working for? He was the one contacting us with this thing. " she asks.
"Never heard of a Neal Pearson before today, but you know what names are worth in this trade. Do you have a picture? If he's in the game I might make him out." replies the veteran henchman.
"No I don't have any pictures, the neighborhood is so shifty all the city watch cameras are broken. And I wasn't going to ask to take his picture during a fucked **** deal. LEARN TO DRIVE YOU CUNT MUNCHING DYKE !!! " she replies interrupting herself to verbally agrees other drivers.
"Maybe I should take the wheel. Park in this alley, I know a good spot for this package." he offers.
The car finally stops, just in time as a few minutes of her driving would have made you carsick a thing you don't want when your head is stuff in an old pair of boxers in an enclosed space.
Still blindfolded you still notice the light when the trunk opens.
You feel yourself thrown over someone's shoulder with a move that betrayed experience in the matter. You feel a finger slightly playing with your pussy as you are carried away from the car. The smell filtered through the fabric is familiar and you are pretty sure to be behind the Thai restaurant barely a block from your place.
You are gently put into a dumpster and a finger is pushed into your pussy before the knot around your wrists is loosened. You hear the loud clank of the dumpster being closed followed an instant later by the screeching tires of the car driving away. The aggressive driving is indicative that Firebrand is still behind the wheel.
You quickly escape your bounds and look around, opening the lid of the dumpster a little bit to spy in the alley.
It's deserted but something doesn't add up. Rather than rotting piles of Thai food the dumpster is filled with old newspaper. The thing that bound your hands is an old sleeveless shirt and you blindfold is leaving you with a pair of used boxers to wear.
You are a block from home and won't even have to streak. You begin to believe that you have some sort of protector watching over your fate.
Still it doesn't explain Neal mysterious disappearance both from is place and all records. You clearly remember him receiving mail addressed to his name.
Dressed like you are you don't lose time to go home using the hidden key in the brick near your door. Having to hide naked for six hours before using your powers to enter taught you that at least.
You have a few clues about something coming up but each answers is leaving you with more questions.
You can hardly go to the authorities with a story that would give out your secret identity, offer no proof or usable Intel and resting on a now non existant neighbor.
Just go home and think about all this.
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Perils of a Novice Superheroine
A generic superheroing setting drenched with sex and scandal
Acropolis City, the center of super-human and caped crusader activity in this particular world - with its own dizzying highs and lows, high-tech skylines and slums standing in stark, four-color contrast, it provided everything that a costumed megalomaniac or masked vigilante could ask for. In fact, as is usually the case where colorful masked characters are the norm, it has become something of an institution by this point. But although the mere existence of costumed heroes and villains no longer shocks people, these people - who, by their very nature, thrive on attention - keep finding new ways to stand out from the crowd and attract the eye. This last goal tends to get a lot of emphasis in the most simple, sexualized way possible. For reasons that the world's most brilliant scientists have yet to explain, latent super-abilities seem to manifest more often in women than men by a ratio of 3 to 1 or more. This is true even when the superpower isn't "natural"; paranormal artifacts fall into their hands, esoteric martial arts schools never seem to have a male heir, the technological prototypes they test always seem to be the ones that are most easily used or abused for good and evil. Unfortunately, the glory days of the past where citizens were happy to see any old masked do-gooder show up are over - in recent years, Acropolis City has established a ranking system of heroes where those who get high marks from the citizens and resolve incidents are rewarded with corporate sponsorships and (most coveted of all) seats at the prestigious League of Propriety. Those who intimidate the populace, cause excessive collateral damage, or simply don't excite anyone, garnering low rankings, get 'asked' to move to less prestigious cities. Few superheroes want to get stuck battling clans of villainous hillbillies and corrupt small-town sheriffs for the rest of their careers, so they're always eager to please the influential citizens of Acropolis City (judges, eminent scientists, first responders, and of course the all-important reporters). On the other side of the law, a similar dynamic predominates; only the most glamorous and charismatic costumed ne'er-do-wells can make it in this town. And so, the novice superheroines just learning the ways of battling for justice and order, without any team to back them up, always end up patrolling the skeeviest, most undesirable slums of the city and taking on the most thankless rescues. As if that weren't bad enough, most of them feel obliged to dress in ways that get more outlandish and revealing with every passing year while they fight the good fight and/or feed their craving for attention, depending on how you see the 'cape life'. As if that weren't troublesome enough, the superhuman mutations that make so many of these heroes' careers possible also result in greatly increased sexual sensitivity, particularly in females. The adventures and misadventures that these spandex-clad lady crusaders get into are often too hot to print for the kind of comics that their young admirers would read. Messy mistakes will be made, but you don't want to disappoint your readers, do you? So let the League know what kind of superheroine you are, your chosen name, powers, and appearance, and they'll send you out on your first patrols. Good luck.
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Updated on Jun 15, 2025
by micdan282
Created on Nov 30, 2016
by fyreant
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