The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

1 Year Later—

Blitz

I hopped off the rooftop while Donner muted my landing. I looked up at my sister and smiled at her, offering a high five. She accepted, slapping my hand but it made no sound as she used her powers over vibrations to, like, make it silent. But one of Synapse’s thugs rounded the corner, and we both pressed against the wall, trying to fade into the shadows.

“I thought this was, like, the shift change?” I asked. Donner muted my question and rolled her eyes in response. Classic Donner. I let the ripples of electricity dance along my fingertips, ready to taze — I almost took that as my super name — Taze — to step out of my old man’s shadow, but when Donner chose Donner, I like, had to go with Blitz, our agent told us branding was everything these days, even with Synapse practically ruling the world — Synapse’s security — it was a woman in classic security guard garb, Synapse only hired or kept women, though our intel was like, totally perplexed as to why that was. Didn’t matter. We weren’t trying to take down the whole organization tonight. It was a simple rescue mission: save Omega Man and get him back to his super boys so they could regroup before Synapse took them all apart one super at a time. That’s how she destroyed every other team on the planet — including Dad’s team. If the Justice Boyz went down, the world was really out of freaking hope.

Oh, right! The guard. She, like, totally walked right past us. Stealth suits and literal silence will do that. And I did not crackle too brightly and give away our position like the Istanbul job. I may be a slow learner, but I was a learner. I gave Donner a thumbs up, and she rolled her eyes at me.

“Party pooper,” I mumbled to myself. I gestured for her to take the lead down the alley. “After you,” I whispered.

Donner didn’t even have the decency to glare at me dramatically. She proceeded down the alley pressed against the brick of the building behind us like a proper super. Dad would be proud. At the end of the alley, she poked her head around the corner, to make sure the coast was clear and —

Blinding light.

Screaming.

Donner sent a wave of thunder, shattering the building around her.

So much power.

Like, too much power.

My hands crackle and spark.

Thunder and lightning.

Donner and Blitz.

But the sun came out.

Surya.

Surya.

The Surya.

“Well fuck me sideways,” I said before the burning light turned everything dark.

I wake up with a splitting headache, my arms bound behind me, my feet hogtied unceremoniously, and a cold metal pressing against my wrists.

Power suppressant bands.

Apparently, it was one of Io’s last gifts to mankind before fleeing the planet forever — I still think Synapse killed her like she did Eidolon. Io and Synapse found a way to contain some of Synapse’s power in cuffs that would cut off the source of a super’s power. Just because I had a general distrust of technology and a spunky sense of optimism, I tried to send a charge over my skin and through the metal, hoping to blast it to ion-charged pieces.

No dice.

“Well, fuck,” I said. My voice reverberated around a dark and cramped room, my breath bounced off the wall and ran over my chin.

“Oh! Hey!” I said with relief. “They didn’t cover my mouth.” I tried to wiggle, but I was either in a mausoleum’s coffin, an MRI machine, or a capsule hotel room. Either way, I wasn’t going anywhere.

“Hello!?” I shouted. “Can anyone hear me?”

“No,” said a husky and familiar voice that was always tinged with the barest hint of disappointment.

“Donner?” I said. “Is that you?”

“Of course.”

“Where are you?” I tried to turn around and look behind me, but the space was too small, my limbs were tied, and I didn’t exactly have a lot of potential neck rotation. Anyways, the wall in front me looked as bleak as it did before. Charming prison Synapse had for me. Quaint even. “Are you in the cell next door?” I couldn’t figure out where her voice came from, but it sounded like it was behind me. But then again, everything was behind me. “If you can even call this a cell,” I muttered. “They don’t even have doors.”

“Behind you,” Donner said.

“You know, you sound remarkably calm considering our situation.”

“Your situation,” she said flatly, but it sent shivers over my body.

Which, of course, I now realized was wearing nothing but underwear. Jesus, Synapse. I had heard you’d gone full perv, but I couldn’t believe the former Champions for Christ Superstar was now a full-on evil and kinky villainess.

“Not … um … your situation?” I asked.

“No. Not anymore.”

“What do you mean? You’re free?” I tried again to sit up and look back behind me only to bang my head against the low ceiling. Classy. “Ow, crap nuggets,” I said. “Donner you gotta get me out of here. Then we can figure out a way to get these cuffs off and find —”

“I already got my cuffs off.”

“Perfect! Then let’s just —”

“Just wait. They’ll have you in the arena soon.”

“The …” I can be a little slow sometimes, but things clicked for me all at once. Her flat voice. Her location right behind me. The fact that her cuffs were off and no one could hear me.

“Um, hey, Donner?” I asked. “How do you feel about that psycho bitch Synapse?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?”

Not convincing. Or encouraging. “Would you say you love your new leader and dark mistress?”

“No,” Donner said.

Relief washed over me. “Fucking hell,” I said. “That’s good to hear. Now pull me out of here and tell me all about this arena and —”

“But it doesn’t mean I’m willing to fight her anymore.”

It was amazing how quickly relief could bounce right back to dread. Or even more impressive? Oscillating back and forth so many times in the span of a minute felt about the same as running a marathon. Trust me, I’ve almost finished one.

“No,” I whispered. “No no no no.”

“You won’t want to fight her when you see her operation either, Carrie.”

What’s worse than hearing your sister go ga-ga for the psychotic woman who has almost taken over the world? Hearing her openly using your secret identity while you’re captive in said psychotic woman’s base of operations.

“Donner …” I said. “Tell me she doesn’t —”

“Carrie Mitchell,” a new voice said behind me. “It’s time for your interview.” It had a slight Indian accent, which could have been anyone but in the Borealis, it had to be one person only: Surya.

“Donner, please,” I said as I felt a tug on my leg. I tried to claw at the walls of my cell to keep from being dragged out, but there was no point. My arms were bound. The walls were slick and narrow.

And Donner was always the stronger sister …

Pale green light wrapped around me as I was dragged over cool stone. I tried to get my bearings, but there was only the metallic gloom, dozens of other little cells like my own, and two pairs of legs. One thick and curvy in black leather — Donner. The other was bare except for sandals with rich brown skin that had a faint golden glow beneath it — Surya.

I squealed as Surya bent down and picked me up, but I made no sound. Donner had muted me. And as I was pulled up to look at my sister, I saw with dismay that she didn’t look different at all. Sure, her black suit with dark blue streaks in it — mirroring my dark blue suit with black lightning all over it — was ripped at the top down to the navel. But her face was the same. Round, gentle, calm, and sweet. She was always the loyal one. The strong one. The loving one. And she still looked that way. While one of the most powerful and vile supers on the planet held me in her arms like I was a stuffed animal, while I was bound in ropes, while the pale green light of the Borealis prison washed over us.

She was still the same Donner I knew and loved.

But it was all wrong.

“Donner, please,” I said but again no sound came out.

“Time to meet the boss,” Donner said. Her lips barely moved, but it felt like she was whispering in my ears. She was messing around with the vibrations, keeping it so that no one else in the prison could hear us. Was that because there was someone here that could help me? Omega Man, right? It had to be. If he knew that we were here, that he had allies, he would —

My eyes screamed in agony as my vision turned to a searing white. I felt my limbs dangle as Surya carried me, and the slight sway of movement as they took me to meet Synapse and what was probably going to be my utter demise.

She had a goddamn throne room.

It took forever for us to reach Synapse — I never knew the Borealis was so fucking big, it made me really rethink remodeling the Stormfront if I got out of this.

When I got out of this. Stay positive, Blitz.

Anyways, even longer than the hike was the recovery time for my eyes to see again. I was left on a warm rug while hogtied and left powerless with the stupid cuffs on me. I didn’t hear any sign of Donner or anything else, but that could have been my sister’s doing. The good news was that I had plenty of distraction from the rising panic that my sister was now in league with Synapse and her horny doom brigade. The bad news was that all I had to distract myself with was the rising panic that I was about to be a part of Synapse’s horny doom brigade with my own ripped uniform and too much cleavage showing. Jokes on them, though. I’d kill for Donner’s tits, but I was always more of the jolting sprinter to her booming thunder thighs.

“Jesus, that’s an awful fucking joke,” a voice said to me.

Not any voice.

Her voice.

One I’d heard over dozens of broadcasts. Not just her own propaganda machine that had rolled out once she owned the Western Hemisphere. But the news broadcasts about her, those recordings of her threats and speeches to her masses. She put demagogues like Hitler and Stalin to shame. Her people didn’t just follow her. They didn’t just worship her. No. They needed her. It was like she invented a new resource that most of the planet needed to survive. Every human needed food, water, shelter, love, air, and Synapse. There was no other way to be a human in this day and age. She owned everything completely. Utterly.

And now she owned Donner too.

“Oh don’t be so drab,” Synapse said. “She’s quite happy with me now, isn’t that right, Donner?”

“Of course, Mistress,” Donner said.

The room was still too blurry for me to take in, but it didn’t matter. Synapse was in my head. She’d anticipate my moves, knowing what I’d do before I —

“You’d be surprised,” Synapse said. “Humans are the most delightful of creatures. As much information as I have, and as much experience as I have in the human mind, I never —”

“You say that like you’re not human.”

There’s a pause. A long one. The one that normally comes before a kick to the ribs. To be fair, I was ready for many kicks to the ribs tonight, but not getting one fucked with me more.

“Can’t have you dinged up before the Arena,” Synapse said. “Bastille would kill me.”

“Being cryptic is like a hobby for you, right?”

Another pause. I flexed by abs, bracing for the blow, but it never came. Again.

What did come was an explosion of laughter. First from Synapse, then Donner, Surya, and another voice I didn’t recognize. I really did not like that there were more voices I didn’t recognize in the room.

“See?” Synapse said through more laughter. “That’s what I’m talking about.” More laughter. “Humans always surprise me, even when faced with the potential for utter annihilation.”

My vision was clearing. Synapse was on her throne, but there was a central rug that looked like it cost more than all the equipment in the Stormfront and four different — you heard me, four fucking different four-poster beds in each corner of the room. Synapse’s throne sat in the center of it all, and one side was Donner and Surya, and the other was a woman I’d never seen before. Everything else in the room was as ornate and excessive as the rug. Expensive artwork, luxurious fabrics, everything matched a crimson and gold motif as though Synapse was a fucking queen. Which, I guess she was to some extent.

“More than a queen,” Synapse said. “More than anything your world has ever seen. Closer to Jesus if I had to put myself to a name, though I’m more. So much more.”

“Holy shit,” I said. “You’re fucking —”

“Synapse,” Surya said. Her voice was strained. “Please.”

“I know you need your treat,” Synapse said. “But I’m having so much fun with this new toy.”

“Then let me and Kori go to my room and —”

“Donner,” Synapse said. “Help Surya relax.”

“Synapse, you know that won’t work,” Surya protested. “It’ll just wind me up to — uuuuhn. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.” I hear a thud and look in Surya’s direction. She collapsed to her knees and was biting her lips to keep more moans from escaping her lips. I look to Donner and see my curvy sister with her dark and curly hair — down around her head for the first time in ten years, making her look like a hair model instead of the world’s most powerful librarian. Donner’s fingers are flicking — which she doesn’t need to do to use her powers. But as they flick, Surya bucks and writhes, staying upright but clearly in some form of pleasurable agony.

Fucking horny doom brigade.

“Please,” Surya begged. “Just let Kori — uuuuhn. Fuck. Yes. Fuck fuck. Yes.”

“What do you think, Kori?” Synapse said to the woman I didn’t recognize. “Should she have her reward?”

Kori — aka Korporeal — was the shapeshifter of Aurora Flight. Today, she looked like some lost teenager who had wandered into the Borealis. She had orange red hair and a thick patch of freckles over her nose and under pale blue eyes. She had thick glasses and a kind of nerdy high-schooler look with almost none of the sex appeal. She was lovely, sure. Some would call her pretty. But Kori could have been any bombshell she wanted in the world. This form had nice tits that were straining against her thick sweater and what looked like a nice ass and tight legs hidden by skinny jeans with simple leather boots. Classic Fall White Bitch Ginger.

“Warm her up,” Kori said. “The moaning is getting me hard.”

You also heard that right. Don’t worry, I did as double take as well, and sure enough, there was a growing bulge in the skinny jeans of Kori’s pants.

“What the fuck?” I whispered. But neither Kori, Synapse, nor Surya looked at me — to be fair, once I figured out how my sister was using her vibrations powers on Surya, I don’t think Surya was going to notice the apocalypse unless it was happening between her legs. But my sister — my sweet and innocent sister — glared at me with absolute contempt and utter scorn.

“Watch your mouth,” she hissed, and again it felt against my ear, as though she was whispering only to me. “Unless you want the same addiction as poor Surya.”

Addiction?

Now Synapse looked at me. “Yes, you see, poor Surya has a thing for girls, and only girls. It’s quite unfortunate, and I’ve found it to be utterly incurable. She can’t stand the more direct features of masculine anatomy.” Synapse arched an eyebrow and stared at Kori’s crotch pointedly. “But thankfully, the human mind is like any animal mind and open to conditioning and training.” Synapse hopped off her throne. Like the rest of Aurora Flight, Synapse wasn’t in any battle gear. Kori was in nerd central and had the fashion of a decade ago. Surya was in what looked like a bright red and gold bikini, sandals, and bracers like she was some slutty Amazon. And Synapse? Synapse put them all to shame in a tight lace top with long sleeves and the characteristic Aurora Flight cleavage and navel-neckline. She had tight black pants that seemed to be made of leather and white four-inch heels that she could probably stab me with. She had a thick necklace of sapphires around her neck that matched her cobalt blue hair that was up in an immaculate bun. She looked like a movie star, and she moved around her throne room as though she didn’t just own the furniture, building, and occupants of the Borealis. She moved as though she owned the air itself.

Synapse pat Surya on the head like she was a good doggy. “In exchange for each girl she brings me, Surya gets a little treat of one orgasm.” Synapse held up a finger. “But there’s a catch.” She turned her wrist and pointed that finger to Kori’s crotch.

The nerdy ginger was rubbing her crotch and what I had to imagine was a stiffening cock. It looked like she was moaning, but no sound came out of her mouth. I looked and noticed that Surya was moaning too — honestly, what must have been screaming by the way the veins in her neck flexed — but no sound came out.

Donner. Oh, girl. You were made for so much better than this.

“Surya can’t cum without milking a cock, and the only cock she can barely stand is between the legs of my favorite pet.” Synapse snapped, and Kori started to unbuckle her skinny jeans. I closed my eyes.

“Please,” Surya whined. She sounded right next to me as Donner let her power slip. Or maybe she was amplifying it. Either way — “Please fuck my mouth.”

“Oh no,” Kori said. Her voice made her sound young, but there was still the husky thickness of arousal and hunger. “You’re going to do all the work.”

“Please don’t’ make me. Please.”

“You say please an awful lot for someone who we both know is going to cave.”

“Fuck,” Donner breathed. “That’s hot.” But I didn’t open my eyes. I let the sounds wash over me. Donner was baptizing me in this audio porn production, but I wasn’t going to look. I wasn’t going to partake in whatever fucked up fantasy Synapse was orchestrating.

“Hear that?” Kori said. “The new girl likes it.”

“Please.”

The sound of a slap reverberates around the room, amplifying as Donner loses control, as she gives in to the scene.

“You know what to say,” Kori said.

“I need to cum,” Surya said.

“Who cums first, slut?”

“You do.”

“Where do I cum?”

“Down my throat. Please. I need your seed. Your cum. Your juice.”

Kori laughed. “My juice? Jesus, just for that I should cum on your face.”

“No!” The word echoed around the room, transforming as it went. At first it was a panicked and terrified ‘no.’ But as it moved and bounced, it became breathier. Hungrier. Desperate. Until it was a ‘yes’ washing around all five women.

“If she doesn’t swallow,” Synapse said. Her voice was calm, totally detached from the debauchery around her — the debauchery she created. “She can’t cum.”

“Each drop,” Kori said. “Like a good slut.”

“Yes, Mommy,” Surya said. “Let me suck your cock, Mommy. Let your drink your cum.”

And then slurping. Spit. Slobber. Choking. Coughing. The sound of a wet and messy blowjob, of throat-fucking deep and hard, of meat pounding into flesh, of lips smacking and moaning, of thrusting and receiving. It filled the room, washing over me. Like some teenager’s wild dream. But this was no dream.

This was a nightmare. This was some porn-inspired erotic dream that I must be having because I watched a lot of hypnosis porn when I was a teenager. And let me tell you, when it’s happening in front of you — when your sister is there, and you’re bound and helpless — it isn’t hot. Synapse’s scene, Surya’s degradation, or Kori’s growing hunger did nothing to turn me on. All I wanted was to be home, was to wake up. That’s all the whole world wanted. We could pretend Synapse dominated the planet was humanity’s giant fucking wet dream, but it was nothing more than a twisted nightmare. We all wanted to wake up.

“I’m so sorry,” Synapse said. Her voice sound close. Donner was moving it against my ears again, trying to make it sultry and sexy.

“Open your eyes,” Synapse said. Her breath was warm on my neck and tickled my ears. I opened my eyes, and she was kneeling right in front of me. Her hands were working slowly on my binds, freeing me. “You don’t need to watch this, and Surya was right, your due for the arena.”

“The arena?”

Synapse smiled at me. It was wide and warm, and my chest filled with fuzzy tingles. Before I knew it, I was smiling back. She was showing me more tenderness than my own sister. Why was that? What had I done wrong that upset Donner so much?

“It’s okay,” Synapse cooed. “She just doesn’t understand.”

“Understand what?” I said as the binds slid off me. I was pulled to my feet by Donner, but my sister looked at me blankly, saying nothing.

“What it’s like to still have hope,” Synapse said. “Come. There’s one more member of Aurora Flight to meet.”

Synapse grabbed one elbow and Donner grabbed the other, but I didn’t resist as they led me out of the room. I glanced back as we walked out of the room. Tears were rolling down Surya’s face while she took Kori’s cock as deep in her throat as she could manage. The beautiful Indian woman with dark eyes and thick eyeliner. The sun goddess some called her not long ago. The only lesbian on Aurora Flight was begging for cock and choking on it for Synapse’s amusement. She was broken and used. She was nothing but an animal now. But her hands were in her bikini bottoms, furiously fucking her own pussy. She didn’t complain as she gagged for air. She didn’t mind this life one bit as a big smile spread over her lips despite the pain of being forced to suck on cock to cum for the rest of her life. At least she got to cum. At least she got pleasure.

I looked back to my sister and wondered what fucked up programing Synapse had done to her.

And what waited for me in the arena.

I knew it was going to be Bastille.

I’m not an idiot. I can fucking count. Eidolon was lost to the Gray. Io was gone. Two members of Aurora Flight were furiously fucking in Synapse’s throne room, and one was escorting me along with my sister to my doom.

That only left the bruiser.

Which made the term ‘arena’ appropriately terrifying to little ol’ me without my powers — thanks to the Cuffs of Screw-Supers-Very-Much. Of course I had some basic martial arts training — it’s basically Super 101. But I didn’t really get past the basic black belt at the YMCA. Sorry, Dad, but I couldn’t really stomach all the Kung Fu mysticism like Donner could, and anything else felt like a weird off-brand version of Pilates. Am I regretting that now? Absolutely. Dad could make fun of me all he wanted in the afterlife, but for now I needed to find a way out of the cuffs if I wanted a chance against —

The lights of the arena blinded me as I was carried through the portcullis by Donner and a super I used to know as Marvella. At least the Hispanic super hadn’t gone full bimbo slut like my sister with Synapse’s signature neckline — belly line? Marvella was still in her bright green and silver suit with red cape that she’d worn flying through Mexico City and almost single-handedly ending the cartels and kidnapping rings. Now she belonged to Synapse.

Just like my sister …

Right. Sorry. The lights. No time for moping, Blitz, focus on narration. Through the portcullis, there was a ramp that led down to the sandy arena floor that was about fifty feet below the observation deck. It felt more like a gladiator arena from Ancient Rome rather than some octagon MMA ring.

“Fun fact,” I said as Donner and Marvella brought me to the center of the sand pit. “Arena means sand.”

“And sands were used to clean up the blood,” Marvella said to me. “Everyone knows this.”

“Well now they do,” I said back. “I just told them.”

Donner rolled her eyes, and it was enough to give me a glimmer of hope. If her annoyance with my bad jokes was still intact, it meant that her personality was still buried in her brain. Synapse hadn’t completely rewritten her, and there was a chance of me getting her to wake up. That meant I could wake her up, and she could get these cuffs off me. From there, we could both make an attempt at busting out. We didn’t need to save Omega Man today, we just needed to run like hell and —

“Welcome to the arena,” Synapse said. I looked up and squinted through the bright fluorescent lights blinding me — okay, there were some vague MMA or Soviet Prison Camp vibes going on. Synapse was sitting on yet another goddamn throne with attendants fawning over her and offering her treats and drinks. She looked regal, and I really wanted to punch her in the fucking face and —

“In time,” Synapse said. “If you handle my champion.”

I lifted up my arms — thankfully unbound — and showed off my cuffs. “How about a fair fight?” I asked.

“Of course,” Synapse said. “We wouldn’t want it any other way. Marvella? Donner?” I stood looking dumb and shocked as my sister and the Mexican Miracle both took off my cuffs.

For a moment.

Just a moment.

Then I was lightning again.

Charging my limbs to move faster than should be physically possible for anyone but pure electricity like me, I darted between Marvella and Donner. They didn’t try to stop me. They could barely see me. I ran to the portcullis that wasn’t closed yet, that was giving me hope, that was my first way out. I could escape and come back for Donner. I could get reinforcements and try to —

My knees gave out.

My ankles went stiff.

My legs locked.

My lightning faded.

I fell.

Lying face-first in the sand, I was forced to be baptized in the roar of the crowd’s laughter. Dozens of supers — maybe hundreds. They were all on the observation deck glass — I assumed bullet proof — that was reinforced with black steel bars like a prison cell. This was a cage for supers, and I felt certain Synapse wasn’t going to let me blast her adoring fans instead of fighting her champion.

I mean, she wasn’t even letting me fucking walk.

“The cuffs take a sample of my power so that from a distance —”

“Right right,” I said, as I tried to stand up. My legs didn’t respond, but I lifted my face out of the sand with my arms. “You can cut it off at any time. Got it.”

“The rules are simple,” Synapse said. A tingling sensation washed over my legs. It felt like they were asleep, but I rose to my feet. You can call it a stubborn attachment to dignity, but really, I needed to stand if I wanted to look around the room for any possible information: ways out, tactics, weapons, Donner’s amused eyes at seeing her favorite and only sister humiliated this way. “You can’t use your powers on anyone but my champion.”

“Bastille,” I said. “Let’s call a spade a spade.”

Synapse’s smile spread. It was awful and cruel, and something about it felt practiced. It felt just as fake as her smile at all the Champions for Christ concerts I saw her at while I was growing up. Was she bored? Did she regret this? It didn’t matter. All that mattered right now was getting through the next moment and the next fight.

“If you defeat Bastille,” she took a sip from a glass of wine, “you can go free. No complications. No trackers. No games. You have my word.”

“Your word doesn’t mean much.”

“It should. I’ve always been honest about what I want and what I am. I’ve always kept my promises. Isn’t that right, pets?”

“Yes, Mistress,” the arena crowd echoed in unison. Even Donner and Marvella next to me repeated their mantra like puppets on her strings. Chills crept over me. This wasn’t a cult. This wasn’t even brainwashing. They weren’t people anymore. Even if Donner could roll her eyes, it was all an extension of Synapse’s will.

“No,” Synapse said, her voice losing the amusement and turning sharp. “I never make anyone do anything they don’t want. Even your sister obeys because she wants to. She wants what I have to offer, and I offer it freely.” She spread her arms. “Each of my pets comes to me willingly, and each of them stay because they want to.”

“Like Surya?” I asked.

Her cruel and practiced smile returned. “Yes, like Surya.”

“It doesn’t seem like she has much of a choice.”

“Everyone has a choice, even if it is a miserable one. And of this fight, if you lose to Bastille, you will be given the same choice.”

“Fuck you,” I said.

She arched an eyebrow. “We’ll see,” she took another sip of her wine with one hand, and with the other she twisted her wrist as though the show should go on.

The crowd erupted in cheers.

I turned to the portcullis. Donner and Marvella were leaving the arena, walking past the blonde colossus that was Bastille. She was always the bruiser or Aurora Flight, an impressive Frenchwoman who was over six feet tall, broad shoulders, thick legs like tree trunks, tight muscles all over her body, and —

Her freaking naked body.

My mouth went dry.

Something about her wearing nothing at all shook me. I could see scars on her flesh which should have been impossible. She was invulnerable and bulletproof. She didn’t look like a bodybuilder but like an WNBA player with tight abs and crisp lines over her arms and legs. She was a well sculpted machine, almost too smooth and domineering to be human. Except for those scars. Those scars showed her to be a warrior, and so did the tight and determined look in her face. Her blue eyes were narrow, and her jaw was tight. Her fists were clenched as she walked barefoot into the arena amidst the cheers of her fans. Her body was hairless — including her crotch. The blonde hair on her head was in a loose ponytail as though she was going for a light run at a gym before getting a latte with the girls. But none of that bothered me as much as her impressive tits. Not because of their size, but because of — because of —

Because of the piercings.

Simple bar piercings through both of the nipples. And on anyone else, they would just look fucking hot. But on Bastille? The impervious? The invulnerable? What force on earth could have made it possible to pierce her nipples?

I looked back at Synapse, knowing she was reading my thoughts and my terror, knowing she could tell where my eyes were focusing as I sized up my opponent. She shrugged as though she was answering my question, as though she had no idea what was strong enough to pierce Bastille.

Bastille walked casually to the center of the arena and the portcullis lowered slowly behind her. I backed up, bouncing on my feet to try and wake up my legs completely. I let the lightning dance over my fingertips and shot a few arcs back and forth from hand to hand like it was slinky made of a bright blue electricity. For her part, Bastille seemed completely unimpressed. I imagine she’s had to defeat every single super in this building. Marvella. Donner. Hell, maybe even Omega Man. They said she didn’t feel pain. She was impervious. Super strong. Fast. Athletic. A seasoned warrior. And did I mention goddamn fucking impervious.

The lightning danced between my fingers like a poker chip, bouncing from knuckle to knuckle. Maybe she was impervious, but lightning wasn’t going to go through her skin. It was going to get right to the heart of things. Maybe I could short-circuit her and —

“Ready to begin?” Bastille said. Her voice was beautiful, and the loveliness of it caught me off-guard. It was slightly accented from her French origins but there was a delicateness to it. I guess I had expected the harsh bass of a gladiator or behemoth about to crush me.

I looked around the crowd once more. Supers I recognized. Supers I respected. Hell, Supers I feared. All of them had been defeated. All of them had been offered Synapse’s choice. All of them had chosen poorly.

Like Donner.

My throat caught as I watched my sister sat next to Synapse — her new Mistress — and offered the beautiful blue-haired woman a fresh glass of wine. My sister that had got me into the hero business. I didn’t want to follow in Dad’s footsteps. I saw the toll of the hero life, and I didn’t want it for myself. I wanted a family. I had a boyfriend. I had thoughts of being a doctor. I had dreams, but when your sister looks at you with her big brown eyes and says it’s about helping people, what do you say?

You fucking say, “Let’s go, and I call the blue suit.”

I looked back at my opponent, at Synapse’s champion, at the beautiful Bastille in her naked glory and impressive muscles and fucking pierced tits. “Let’s go,” I said as the lightning washed over my hands. Bastille smiled and spread her legs, ready to move. But she couldn’t move fast enough. No one could.

I was goddamn lightning.

I let the lightning dance over my feet, and I was gone. I charged in slower than my max speed, trying to leave a few surprises to catch Bastille off guard when I really needed them. But she barely tried to guard herself — the cocky bitch thought I couldn’t hurt her. Well, while I respectfully withheld my speed, there was no fucking way I was going to reduce my power just to appease this Amazonian. I pressed my palm against her ribs — as close to her heart as I dared — and I pumped everything I had into her. Not a taser. Not a lightning strike. But a goddamn power plant pressed into her side, rippled up and down her muscles, overwhelmed her heart, charred her bone, singed her hair, and blasted her away from me and into the wall of the arena with a sickening thud.

The crowd stopped their murmurs and cheers. Smoke rose from the smoldering form of Bastille. I didn’t gloat or soak in my success, but I wasn’t a killer looking to charge in and finish her off. Instead, I spread my legs, bent my knees, got on my toes, and braced myself for a counterattack. I didn’t know what Bastille could do from so far away, but I was ready for anything as large as a chunk of wall thrown my way or the devious pocket sand — granted, she had no pockets for her sand.

But I’m not gunna, lie. While the typical adrenaline rush of a fight surged through me, there was something else lurking at the periphery of my emotions. I couldn’t pay much attention to it — not with the ever-looming possibility of non-pocket pocket sand. But it was a kind of swelling pride, a warmth washing over my body and thrilling my bones. I was surrounded by some of the most impressive supers on the planet, and all of them — all of them — had been defeated by Bastille. But not me. Not Blitz. She was too fast and too strong. That’s what they were all thinking. That’s why they were quiet. The pride fogging my brain made me risk a glance at Synapse, and even her bitchy smirk was washed away. She had offered my freedom if I won, and I could see on her face that she didn’t think I’d win it.

And now she could see how wrong she was.

Bastille slowly rose to her feet, and I looked away from the world’s horniest and most psychotic bitch and back to my opponent. A blackened mark in the shape of my hands was on her ruined side, but she had no other marks. No other cuts or bruises. No blood running from her lip. Nothing.

“Really are impervious, huh?” I asked.

Bastille said nothing.

“Too bad electricity has a way of slipping between those spaces, doesn’t it?”

She charged, and I was braced myself. I thought about dashing away. I was faster, and while I couldn’t hurt her with anything but lightning, I had to assume she got tired. Besides, although the crowd was now seriously entertaining that I could win the fight, we all knew that if Bastille got her super strength hands on me, it was game over. I wasn’t blessed with any of the supernatural toughness most supers got as part of their power package. One bunch from this juggernaut, and I was done.

All that to say, I didn’t run.

I let the lightning dance up and down my legs, and I moved.

Lightning doesn’t strike from the sky down. It strikes the ground and goes up, reaching its destination before it even leaves its location. It’s like it moves backwards to our senses, our perception can’t handle how it moves through the air, so it rationalizes. It edits reality because anything that can move that face, anything that makes that sound, anything that causes that much damage, well …

Well that’s just too much.

I was against her other side before Bastille’s eyes could fully register me. I was dumping most of my power into these few minutes and few blows. I knew it was risky, but I was throwing out the earlier plan. I didn’t need to save my power for a surprise attack. I was Blitz — like fucking Blitzkrieg. I needed to end the fight before Bastille got her bearings, before she started accurately estimating me.

I placed my hands on her ribs, and I pushed the lightning from my feet and into my hands, blasting her with everything I had. But she was learning fast, and she was almost ready for me. She blasted away from me, but not before getting a grip on my suit. We both flew through the air together, but I had to think fast before she pinned me. She could crush me in her hands if she got a good enough grip.

Without hesitating, I used another burst of speed to slip an arm out of the sleeve she had grabbed. She pulled, and the arm of my suit ripped away, and the crowd gasped thinking that Bastille had ripped my actual arm off. We rolled as we landed, but I switched the speed to my legs and scrambled away as Bastille lunged for another one of my limbs, missing barely.

I tried to recoup on the other side of the arena, but Bastille wasn’t playing around anymore. She was already charging at me, and it bothered the hell out of me that her face wasn’t a mask of rage or a look of intent. She had no scowl, no grimace, and no snarl. Her face was serene, and there was a hint of a blissful smile on her lips as she charged across the arena to rip me apart, her breasts bouncing with each stride.

These really were the craziest and horniest fucking people I’d ever seen.

It was my turn for pocket sand, and I scooped some from the arena floor as I rolled away from her. When she charged again, I filled her eyes with the stuff — and to be delight found that they were also totally impervious. She didn’t even blink as the sand hit her eyes and grabbed another arm. I tried to slip from the sleeve, but her grip was too tight. Panicking, I sent another surge of lightning through her skin. It wasn’t as strong as the first two — I was really running out of juice. There was no satisfying crackle of my energy and no ionization of the air around us. She didn’t fly back through the air or even break her grip on my arm. In fact, I’m not sure I even hurt her as she … as she …

As she closed her eyes and moaned.

The crowd erupted with delight as Bastille held my arm, her face transforming into one of absolute ecstasy as her head tilted backwards, her mouth opened wide, and she hummed to herself.

“Oh yes,” she said in her French accent. “More.”

She pulled on my arm, and I screamed in pain as I was sure my arm would come off, separated at the shoulder, tendons ripping, stringy flesh pulling tight as she —

But there was no pain.

And she only ripped away my sleeve.

The crowd roared again, and somewhere deep inside of me, the same warmth that washed over me the first time I blasted her across the arena hit me again. Was it pride? Was it the adoration of the fans? Was it —

I didn’t have time to reflect as Bastille grabbed my suit by the neck. I put both my hands on her stomach and blasted again.

“Oh fuck,” Bastille moaned as the electricity rippled through her body. “Yes.”

She pulled with all her might, and my shirt was ripped to pieces, leaving only the pants of my suit and my black sports bra.

With the brief moment of Bastille’s hands off me, I sent lightning to my feet and jumped backwards, trying to create as much distance between as I could.

But she was quicker than I thought.

As I soared away from her, her hands lashed out and grabbed my legs. She lifted me up, and for the first time I understood her impressive height. I knew she was over six feet tall, but she felt almost seven or eight feet as she lifted me in the air, and my body dangled from my one captured leg. The crowd laughed as I must have looked like a toddler compared to this half-giant woman. She lifted me up until we looked eye to eye.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked. Her voice was husky, and her eyes were glazed over with obvious lust. “Touch me.”

I had to end this fast, and while I think I was morally opposed to it, between the surge of heat roaring in me from the cheering of the crowd and the absolute certainty that I was fighting for my life, a kind of ruthlessness budded inside me. I reached out my hands. Before I had tried to stay away from her heart, but compassion was going to get my killed. I reached for her chest, aiming for the heart with her my hands crackling. She wanted me to touch her? Fine. One last touch to get me the hell out of here.

But Bastille moved at the last moment, lowering me as I reached for her heart.

And my hands didn’t touch her chest over her heart.

They touched her tits.

And lightning ripped from my hands and superheated the metal piercing her nipples.

And electricity danced over the thousands of nerve endings in breasts and nipples.

And Bastille dropped me as she moaned in delight.

No. Not a moan.

A roar.

I thudded into the sand, dazed and drained. And the crowd cheered as Bastille thrust her hips. The scent of heated metal, ionized air, and lust filled the arena. But even then, my body couldn’t manage dread as I knew I had lost. It wasn’t cold with fear or pulsing with pain. It was still warm with the crowd’s cheer, as though I was a performer in their little show. And I was putting on a good performance. I wasn’t supposed to win. Of course, not. Synapse would never put me against an opponent she thought I could beat. I was playing out a script, and in this scene, I lost while the crowd cheered, and Bastille got increasingly turned on. I closed my eyes and thought of my sister playing this same character. I thought of each super forced to play out this role for Synapse’s amusement. And I couldn’t even muster rage at the psycho bitch. I couldn’t conjure up despair. All I could do was close my eyes and apologize to my sister, that I couldn’t rescue her and get her out of here, that we couldn’t be together.

I opened my eyes, and Bastille’s pussy hovered over me. I didn’t resist as she lowered it over my mouth. She faced my legs, and if we were lovers, she could sixty-nine me. But we weren’t lovers. We were opponents, and I had lost. She was the victor, and now it was time for me to play my role as both the loser and the laurels. I was her prize, and I thrummed with pride that I was going to play the role beautifully as the crowd cheered.

I had never been with a woman before, but it didn’t matter. I knew what to do. My body knew the script. As Bastille leaned forward and pinned my legs down, her pussy lowered against my lips, and I stuck my tongue out. I had never tasted a woman before, and part of me expected it to taste like a man: salty — too salty.

But it was sweet.

God, it was so fucking sweet.

Like cream.

Ice cream.

It soothed the burning pride in my body as the crowd cheered us on. It washed away the aching disappointment at failing my sister and my family — at failing the world. It was better than food, better than air, better than my goddamn powers. There was nothing like it in all the world. Thick. Warm. Sweet. Like butter. Like mother’s milk. Like home. Like peace. My first tentative lick was quickly replaced with another.

And another.

And another.

And another and another and another and another and another and another and another and another and another and another and another and another and another and another and another and another and another and another and another and another and another and another.

With each lick, the crowd’s roar got louder. They mingled with Bastille’s moans, as she stopped pinning my legs down and arched her back. I imagined her teasing her pierced nipples. I imagined the crowd all admiring her pierced nipples. I wondered if they were all pierced. I wondered if Donner was pierced. I wonder if I would be. What would my powers feel like? Would the metal thrum with heat each time I blasted something? With every burst of speed, would I feel a charge in my nipples? Would I be turned on simply by being powerful? By being me? And would it feel nearly as good as the cheer of the crowd? Would it be half as yummy as the taste of Bastille? Could anything ever compare to the taste of Bastille?

Or maybe it’s not just Bastille.

It was an errant thought, but as soon as it slipped inside, I couldn’t let go of it. What if Bastille wasn’t the only one that tasted this good? What if every woman did? Maybe that was my problem? I had too much salt for a lifetime. What I needed was this cream. I needed metal and thrumming and warmth and the eyes of the crowd and power surging through me and — through my tits — and this. This feeling. This feeling forever.

Jesus, I hadn’t lost.

I had fucking won.

There’s a surge of pressure against my head as Bastille squeezes her thighs against my head. She lowers herself, and I find my tongue can go deeper. And the deeper I go, the sweeter it tastes. The better it feels. The louder the crowd gets. The more Bastille moans. Their cheers are thunder, and my tongue is lightning. Thunder always comes after lightning. It’s the sound of lightning. It’s my power. It’s the sound of my power ripping through the air, like my tongue ripping through Bastille.

Yes.

This is my power.

I let the last bit of my lightning dance along my tongue as it slithers inside of Bastille. The woman shrieked with pleasure, and her juices flowed. Her sweet, sweet juices. Like nothing I’d ever had. And the best part? They were conductors. As her juices flower, my lightning drank up their power and danced all the way up into Bastille’s deepest and innermost parts. I imagine the woman had never had an orgasm like this before, and she squeezed my head with her thighs, as she clenched and arched, as she fucking screamed until it was the only sound I heard — the only sound I wanted to hear. The warmth inside me — call it adoration, call it pride, call it vanity, call it lust, call it pleasure, call it arousal, call it whatever you want, all I know is that it felt fucking good — surged into a bonfire, and then it was like I was electrocuting myself. The lightning wasn’t my power flowing through me. I was riding it. It was slithering inside me like a tongue, like a lover. It was fucking me, and I was moaned as I was so close to cumming. I was playing my role. The crowd didn’t want to see Bastille and I fight; they wanted to see us fuck. That was my role to play. That was my character in this script. I was going to make Bastille cum like no one else had before. She couldn’t be penetrated, but my lightning could get past that. I could get inside her. I could ride her blood and nerves like the lightning fucked me.

I was close to cumming alongside her. I could practically cum from licking her alone. Just a little longer. So close. I could feel my power between my legs, fucking me, filling me. I was going to cum, and —

Bastille rolled off of me, and it felt like my power was jerked away from all at once. The large, blonde woman thrust against the arena floor as an orgasm ripped through her. I wanted to feel what she was feeling. I wanted to cum for all the adoring fans. Because we were never gladiators. No. We were porn stars. That was our role, and I knew how the script ended now. My hand reached into my pants and pressed against my wet pussy and —

Nothing.

Nothing.

I felt nothing as my fingers drew circles over my clit. No pleasure. No power. No lightning. Nothing.

Before absolute despair and dread could wash over me, someone was picking me up. I didn’t look to see who. I didn’t care. I had to cum. I had to make myself feel the power like Bastille felt. A finger slid into my pussy, and I charged it with electricity, but I felt nothing. Nothing at all. All of the pleasure was fading as strong hands carried me out of the arena and through the dim hallways of the Borealis. They felt even dimmer now without Bastille, without the power rippling through both of us, without the taste of her sweetness.

How could I have gone so long in life without tasting that sweetness?

My mouth felt dry without it. Everything felt empty. I was close. So close to cumming. Even without touching my clit, a few more licks of Bastille, and I would have been there. I would have found that sweet relief.

And then it struck me.

The women carrying me had pussies.

Fuck. Every person in the Borealis had pussies.

The world was filled with sweet pussies to lick.

And then the world opened up in front of me.

Not Bastille.

Not other pawns in Synapse’s game.

The goons carrying me dropped in front of Synapse’s throne. Her pants were gone, and she wore no panties. There was only her damp pussy as her legs were spread in front of me. She was perfect with her blue hair, those sapphires, and her lace top. I wondered about making her yelp with tiny jolts of my power. I fantasized of cumming without touching my clit, just from my tongue slithering deep inside of her.

“No one does anything they don’t want here,” Synapse said. Her smile wasn’t cruel. I had read it all wrong before. It was delightful. It was the smile of a goddess. “Do you want to serve me?” she asked.

I nodded. Words were hard, and I had to save my tongue’s strength for licking.

“No one stays here who does not want to,” she said. “Do you want to stay here?”

I nodded. I didn’t want to talk. I’d agree to whatever she said. We both knew that. If I didn’t get to lick her soon, I was going to explode. I had to. I had to. She knew it. She could feel the desperation inside of me, making me stupid. I had to cum, and to cum I had to lick. And the fantasies were ripping me apart, making it even harder to form thought. I wondered about making the lightning dance inside of Synapse’s pussy. Of feeling it climber her body and into each nerve ending. Of forcing it and focusing it to her tits. I wondered if she had nipple piercings. I wanted to feel them warm as the current pulsed through them and —

“Oh not me,” Synapse said. “But all my girls bear my mark.” She gestured next to her, and I noticed my sister for the first time. I didn’t know how long she had been there, but her suit was unzipped, and her impressive tits were puffy from being recently pierced. Cobalt blue bars were through her nipples, and I wondered what color they would be if my lightning was warming them. I wondered what her nipples would feel like as her piercings were like rods to my lightning.

“I need you to say it,” Synapse said. “Then your sister can pierce you, and you can drink me.”

“Say what?” I said. I had just noticed that Donner was working with some equipment, and next to Synapse were two cobalt blue bars with no nipples to pierce.

“Not yet,” Synapse said.

“What?” She was smirking, but I couldn’t keep up with her. I just wanted to cum. To drink. To feel my power flow through me and my lover at the same time, making both our pussies light up with pleasure. That’s all I wanted. That’s all I’d ever want for the rest of my life.

“Say you want it,” Synapse said. “Say you want to serve me and stay here. Say you consent.”

I’m not sure what I said. I’m sure it was a yes. I would have given up anything and everything to shut her up, to get back between her legs, to drink her sweet pussy and feel my power riding both of us.