Lancelot and the Damsel
- 2 years ago
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The Dark Damsel Ch. 16 free porn video
(Continuing the letter to the Dark Knight regarding the claiming of the Dark Damsel and the Adventure of the Metahuman Sex Slave Ring. Based on reader feedback, I give you what many readers DESPERATELY want to have happen to Anaxandros…be warned.)
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About this time it dawned on me that I could use a really, really big gun.
Down the hall from my position at the crossroads, faceless thugs were lining up like Stormtroopers hunting down Solo and crew in the Death Star prison block. THEY weren’t carrying guns. THEY were just shooting rounds of corrosive green phlegm out of their hands. In this town, it’s never easy, is it? Its always some new and creative method of death…my boss has a saying about ‘keeping up with the Joker’s’ with new and creative means of pain and torture. Whoever came up with faceless mutants spitting loogies out their fingertips should get some sort of award, not only for coming up with the idea, but for convincing someone SANE to actually set up the bucks and the tech to pull it off. But I guess any world that has schmucks like Joel Schumacher putting movies about you on the screen has room for monsters with anal probing tongues or half-cow-half monkey assassins that know tae kwon do and fart living fire.
Give me a .44 Mag with one round in my pocket made of kryptonite and I’m a model of confidence and safety.
I used to carry a Desert Eagle, but I doubt you remember a night a few years back, Bats, when you stopped a drug ring run by Manny O’Dey and his New Russian Underground. I was working the night watch when you ever-so-casually slapped the piece out of my hand from the shadows, puffed yourself up and said OH SO righteously, ‘I don’t LIKE…guns.’ just before cold cocking me for the umpteenth time. The gun ended up broken in two…I don’t know about you but I’m not a rich man. Those things ain’t cheap.
But standing at the end of a long corridor with a half-dozen purple/white anatomically-impressive zomboids closing in on me, I knew what was going through Richard III’s mind when he offered up his entire empire for a quick ride out of town.
Let me say that, loogies-spitting aside, the faceless goons were pretty worthy adversaries. They are only trained for two specific tasks, one of these is to kill and the other is to fuck. Both of these programs are executed with extreme prejudice, without regard for age, gender or orientation. If you have a pulse, they will stop it. If you have an orifice, they will fill it. It’s what they do. I’m sure some sick fuck like myself (but with more of a flair for dramatics and customary) is living large off the residuals from that underworld patent.
Since I couldn’t negotiate with the clones closing in on me, I had to figure out a way to escape or get rid of them quickly. At the end of the walkway I found a cargo hook secured to the railing, the chain extending out and up into the dark warehouse. To the right of it was a metal door. I tried the door. Of course it was locked. The zomboids were about fifteen feet behind me, marching forward ‘thunp-thunp-thunp’ with their ten inch violators waving toward me like doweling rods looking for well water. They didn’t unleash green acid from their hands, so they apparently weren’t in ‘Kill’ mode.
I grabbed the heavy hook from its wall mount and climbed up the guide rail. In a surprising show of intelligence and strategy, one of the robots kicked at the railing, tearing it off its mounting. I fell forward desperately trying to hang onto the hook. My foot caught on the rail and twisted pretty bad. I was left hanging as the first of the zomboids came within arm’s reach. Thoughts of karma and balance crossed my mind. I kicked backward, landing the heel of my shoe somewhere I’d never want to kick a real person. It felt like I’d kicked a steel pole – a sharp pain shot up my leg and I wondered if I’d crushed my heel. But the strike did knock it backward and into the far wall, pushing aside two others, one of which fell off the broken walkway into the dark. It fell for three seconds before I heard it smash into concrete and crumble like a Yugo hitting a barricade at high speed.
I freed my foot and leaped off into darkness, leaving the zombies behind me. I swooped down toward the floor, blind to what stood in my way. As the arch took me to the far side of the warehouse, what I’d hoped for I didn’t see – there was no walkway or suspension on the far wall to hold onto and no way off the ride except down four stories to the concrete. I felt myself slowing and the wind shifted. I was heading back where I came from. I quickly spun myself around. Putting my weight into it like a kid on a swing, not knowing if it would help at all, I Tarzan-ed back across the warehouse, ignoring the pain in both feet as I neared the walkway with the broken railing. I could see the gray/purple outlines of the zombies in the dark hovering over the last known spot of their fallen comrade. I saw the metal door behind them. One zomboid stood between me and it, so I improvised a battering ram out of a very dumb, aroused robot.
I pulled myself up on the chain, lifting my aching feet in front of me as we connected. The shock screamed up my legs and into my hips. I was sure something snapped, maybe my ankle, but I hit the robot square in the chest, taking him off his feet and square into the door. His weight and velocity took him through the door like it was just a curtain of beads.
My momentum took me along for the ride and we both hit and slid across the concrete floor of the room beyond for a few feet, the robot waving its arms, head jerking around trying to figure out why it was suddenly being used as a sled. It scraped along the ground, slowing quickly. I felt it shift its weight, throwing me forward and off its stomach. I rolled and smacked the concrete pretty hard, skipping across the floor several feet before wrapping myself around a metal doorway in dim ruby light. I caught the wall in the stomach and it bent me around, my head smacking the opposite side of the wall where my knees hit…I felt the rapid onset of unconsciousness, but fought it – keeping in mind the concept of having my plumbing dug up by a 12′ metal dong.
The pain in my right ankle was extreme, taking my mind off the burning sensation in both legs. I knew the right leg was swelling, so I struggled to my feet and headed for what appeared to be an exit.
Of course the ‘exit’ was the entrance to the abattoir.
Stumbling into the room, it took me a moment to realize I was surrounded and another moment to realize that no one cared that I was there. Those present were engaged in either administering or receiving some form of sexual torture. There was more spandex than in a Bally’s health club advertisement, more pounding than a blacksmith shop and more flowing semen than an amateur highlights reel from the local adult video store.
The first thing I am absolutely sure about is being lifted up into the air by my belt and then turned to an upright position while still in the air by a firm hand pushing on my ass. The next thing I remember is a poke between my lower cheeks and the Marlboro croak of Granny Goodness saying, ‘Honey welcome to the party. I’m going to have you so delicious in a moment.’
The bad news was the poking between my aching ass cheeks was not a Desert Eagle. The worse news was that it wasn’t designed to kill me when it did its job, just make my next several hours very, very painful. Around me, there were women enduring the same kind of torture. There was a tall, olive skinned woman in a spotted yellow catsuit, scratching her claws down the back of what could have been Wonder Girl. Wonder Girl, probably JUST over 18, was in her red jumpsuit, but it looked more like confetti than clothing, leaving only the ruby star earrings and bracelets to identify her. Under different circumstances, I could have stared at her perfect 32C breasts for hours and traced the line of her legs until I was dizzy. But Granny he
ld my neck in her inhumanly strong grip as she said, ‘Cheetah, my dear…please show Mr. Anaxandros the proper use of our Discipline Rods.’ This ‘Cheetah’ grinned at me and picked up a belt from the floor nearby, which had a long, black dildo attached at the crotch. Instantly, the dark-haired prisoner began to scream, struggling against the bonds. Cheetah strapped it over her shapely thighs and locked the waist. It began to vibrate, sending a sudden wave of pleasure through the feline attacker.
‘It feeds off the fear and the pain of the violated…Miss Wonder Girl has had this coming for a while. You’ll see the more she fears it, the harder and bigger, the rod becomes.’ As the old bitch croaked on, Cheetah approached the teenage heroine with a look just a little more sane than Nicholson in The Shining. She took the tool in hand and stepped between the girl’s parted legs. Leaning onto the table to which Wonder Girl was strapped, Cheetah grasped the shaft of the device as she began to run her tongue slowly up the naked belly of her captive, running it around the firm curves of her abs, around her navel, sliding up her body and kissing her ribs, her sides and breasts, circling her perfect nipples as she writhed underneath, desperately trying to avoid the thick, black rod drawing in between her thighs. Cheetah locked eyes with the girl and softly kissed her bottom lip, then both lips and, as she firmly planted a long, wet kiss, penetrated her with the rod in a single, passionate thrust. The kiss muffled the cry of the heroine, who thrashed violently. Cheetah began to pound her hips against the younger heroine, groaning and purring with the pleasure this vibrating monstrosity provided her and feeding off the pain it inflicted on Wonder Girl.
Around them, the mysterious Zatanna, serviced a Faceless Thug through a glowing dental ring gag, taking a long, thin cock into her mouth in short, rapid lunges of her head, pulling against the chains that held her to the wall. The Thug had already torn open her frilled blouse and her breasts bobbed with the motion of her mouth. The Thug suddenly grasped the back of the magician’s head and shot forward, cumming hard and long like a repeating rifle into her mouth…
I looked to the right. Over against the stone wall, a blonde in black fishnets struggled against heavy iron chains and a ball gag. Black Canary was safe, for the moment, but fought and raved against the torture of her colleagues….
Behind a curtain, many more slender, sleeping female bodies lay on tables awaiting the same treatment…. I felt the pressure of the black cock behind me again, and a hand pressing against my chest, pulling me back. Granny pulled me tight against her thick, leathery chest and I could smell sweat-stained wool and heavy burlap thick with musk. I felt another hand cupping my crotch, fingering my cock, semi hard from the show put on before me. Granny Goodness grunted something like a laugh over my shoulder and a squeeze that made me see stars.
In the next minute, I was over a table, gasping for air and hoping the searing pain in my balls wasn’t the result of their sudden bursting in the hands of this evil, ugly witch. I could look up and see Wonder Girl’s peril, the joy of Cheetah, still fucking and sucking her prey wildly. I could see the rod shuttling In and out of the teen’s pussy, glistening with juice, unbearably thick and unthinkably long. Wonder Girl was yelling, lifting her legs up higher, tight against the restraints to help give passage to the proxy cock. Cheetah brought her weight down on the girl time and time again, her wet lips repeating the name…’Wondergirl…wondergirl…my wondergirl…my slave….my slavegirl….yesss…yesss….give me your pain, wondergirl…..’
…and then it hit me between the cheeks so sudden and quick, I had no time to mourn my lost anal virginity.
There are those who say I had it coming for a long time, that karma is a bitch of a thing. There are those out there, Bats, who’ve read of my exploits and its been said quite plainly that I’m a monster, a bastard and a hater of women. To them, I can honestly tell you I know the pain of which I write.
I’m thankful I didn’t have time to get scared, because the size and force with which this shaft entered me, I couldn’t have handled more. Instead of the Discipline Rod, they should have called it the Irrigation Rod. felt the hot breath of Granny Goodness on my neck, her hands clawing at my shoulders, pressing me down to the bed and her heavy-ass hips, pinning apart my legs and my ass to the table. She rocked back and forth, driving the 12-inch rod deeper into me, the weight of warm, vibrating stone expanding my bowels. I screamed, taking a share of the ultra-violence I’d given out and hoping I wouldn’t feel this thing in the back of my throat.
I watched Wonder Girl recieve the same, huge package over and over, almost with the same rhythm, as if I could, telepathically, feel what she felt and understand why she thrashed so madly against the penetration. I thought I saw her ride with the thrusts, making the most of the storm by turning into the wave. Taking her lead, I met the attacks instead of resisting, giving clear passage to the thrusts instead of blocking which I knew would tear me up from inside. I felt the thing inside expand and vibrate, sending an almost pelasurable feeling through me, but it was so damn creepy and disturbing I resisted and concentrated on accommodating this violation. I couldn’t stop the storm, so I buckled down to ride it out.
With that attitude, the assault wasn’t so bad. Perhaps my lack of fear or pain kept the cock from growing any bigger. Perhaps I just took a point of not resisting any more…perhaps I just blocked it all out, but my submission seemed to take the wind out of Granny’s sails a bit. ‘If I can’t tear you apart, little man, I will fuck you until you beg me to stop. I want to hear it from your lips… tell me you’re a little whore.’
I said nothing. The pounding intensified, deepening into me until the pressure was so painful I cried out. The pain caused the cock to expand more. She withdrew as it did and I knew I couldn’t take it again without bursting. I opened my mouth to say what she wanted…to get her to stop before the end of my career was a perforated bowel.
There was a lift, a sudden expulsion that was both terrible and strangely pleasurable, like the relief you feel after a long time locked in the car on the road in desperate need of a bathroom. I cried out again. I felt the sudden rush of endorphins that signaled my ass returning to its proper shape and volume. The sudden cool breeze where there had been a warm wet stink meant that the hag had dismounted completely. The sudden violent shaking of Cheetah and the equal thrashing and gasping cries from Wonder Girl brought the entire room to climax, I guess. I tried to right myself, but my back was out and my ass was on fire. The best I could do was roll over and hope the floor under the table wasn’t as hard as it looked.
Of course, it was and I howled as I landed, first, on my elbows and, next on my wounded ass. I pulled up my pants and looked around from the floor. I saw Granny’s shadow, but couldn’t see her feet. I could hear her grunting, but she didn’t move. I tried to sit up , but the room still spun around me. I rolled some more and managed to peek out from behind the table. By that time, Cheetah and the Faceless Thugs were all around and I watched as they tried desperately to pull Granny down off the noose that had been wrapped around her waddling neck. She was hanging several feet off the ground, suspended by a girder in the ceiling. A missing panel near her bloated head showed where the attacker escaped to….Batgirl was here.
Granny shot me a look of contempt and rage. Her body rolled around to face the far wall as the brutes and villains tried unleash her. I struggled to my wrists and backed away and toward some form of exit.
I could see the army I was supposed to rally against the captors
…Power Girl, Barda, Ice, Fire, Jade…younger members of the Titans, all unconscious on exam tables. They were no help to themselves, let alone my sore ass. Against the wall, Black Canary tried desperately to skittle the lock in her shackles while the guards were distracted. Zatanna and Wonder Girl tried to recover from their attacks and were barely conscious themselves. I couldn’t help them or myself. The best I could do was try and escape. Beyond Cheetah’s table was a large panel that lay open – the convenient ventilation shaft escape, right? Of course it meant crawling across the floor and squeezing into the dark murky stink beyond, but I did…and was gone. I knew it had been too easy, but at the time I didn’t care.
I crawled along what was really a crawlspace between rooms, a gap between walls where techs laid out the electronics and power lines through the joint. It wasn’t’ a job done to usual human specs, there were weights and gauges I didn’t know and conductors that looked like they were literally alive, snaking their way up and down the walls, carrying pulsing, glowing lines of power along their lengths. I kept moving slowly, barely on my feet and afraid to touch anything that wasn’t plaster, brick or concrete. I found myself at an intersection in the wall that went straight…up.
The sides of the intersection did not have a ladder, but a series of interchanging mounts drilled into the wall like those on a telephone pole, I slowly climbed up a level, hoping the light I saw was one of the observation galleries looking out over Gotham Harbor. I thought about Supergirl, wondering how long it would take her to return. I wondered most about Batgirl and if I would finally reunite with her in these tunnels where she, undoubtedly had been hiding all this time. I was so focused that I didn’t notice I was passing another vent on the floor directly below that light above me. I didn’t notice until I heard a voice behind the nearby gate say, ‘Give me lights in the cage, please and bring me Prisoner Alpha.’
It was so close I nearly fell the two stories to the ground. I stopped instantly and quietly, turning to peer into the gaps. Beyond was a small, dark control room with an electronic monitor board like a video or music editing suite and a single, high-back chair before it.
The man at the control board sat behind a 2-way mirror in shadow, looking out into the brightly-lit cell with white walls. There was a low hum coming from the central control and a range of red indicator lights that flickered off from time to time without alarm or cause.
The high back of the chair prevented me from seeing who he was, but I could tell from the infrequent grunt or chuckle that the occupant was male and wore shiny tipped shoes. From my perspective in the ventilation duct, I couldn’t see much more of the control center. I had a perfect view, however, of the cell.
A moment passed and a panel in the far wall of the cell slid open. One of the faceless monstrosities that had chased me around the warehouse entered, carrying over his shoulder the limp body of a woman in star-spangled shorts and red boots. Behind the first was a second Faceless Thug who carried a long golden rope which seemed to be tied about the woman’s neck.
‘Set her up nicely, boys. She has to be perfect.’ The man in the chair said into a nearby microphone. Obediently, the two Thugs daintily dropped the woman to the floor, holding her aloft by cupping her under her large, perfectly formed breasts. Her long, glossy black hair fell around her face and the gold tiara she wore. The rope had dug into her flesh a bit around her neck. Her eyes remained shut, but she was able to stand upright. The second Thug raised the woman” arms and the Man behind the console pressed a single button. Immediately, two robotic arms sprang from opposite corners of the ceiling down, clamping around the woman’s bare wrists. The thug then kicked apart the woman’s tough, muscular legs and another button revealed two more arms that clamped on her booted ankles. The arms pulls back and bent at joints along their length.
Rowan
- 22.12.2021
- 7
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