The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Miss Americana vs The Horned God

Chapter 4: Den of the Beast

DISCLAIMER: This story was originally posted to the superheroine story archive run by Mr. X over at Dangerbabe Central. Miss Americana is his creation; I encourage you to check out his site for more excellent work. This is a work of fiction, and all characters depicted are of adult age.

“No! Please, no more, I can’t take any more—OH!—Don’t...stop! Stop! I...I can’t...oh god, your fingers...please stop...you’re fingers are—AHH—going to make me....don’t make me...oh GOD you’re making me cuuuuUUAAAAAAHH!”

Miss Americana gasped, and bolted upright, dazed, confused. She was panting, her chest heaving, a sheen of sweat on her brow. A dream...she’d been dreaming, but already it had faded from her mind. What happened? Where was she? oh god, what was wrong with her head...?

She winced as the sudden motion caused a wave of dizziness to force her back down. She groaned, massaging her temples with trembling hands, waiting for the room to stop spinning. She struggled to get her rapid breathing under control. When finally she felt the throbbing subside, she risked openening her eyes, and was relieved when the room swam into focus. Gingerly she pushed herself up, suddenly noticing the thick, soft pelt that she was lying on.

Her brow furrowed in confusion, then realization came crashing down on the horrified superheroine.

The beast! He had—she’d let him—oh god where was she now?

She turned, looking about, her heart hammering in her chest. She was in another part of the cave complex, but unlike the natural cavern in which she’d encountered the monster, this one was chisled, refined. The walls were carefully carved with long, standing murals, though the carvings themselves looked like they’d degraded over the years so as to be barely recognizeable. Worn brass censershung from black chains along the edge of the chamber, though whatever incense they once held had turned to dust long ago. Tall candelabras dripped with ages of built up wax, and fresh candles sputtered in their sconces, lending a dim glow to the room. She herself was lying on a raised dias against one wall. It was a rounded pedestal, almost like the frame of a great, stone bed. It had been filled with layers of animal pelts to act as a mattress, and as Miss Americana shifted to sit up, it sagged with welcoming softness beneath her weight.

She struggled to remember what had happened, but her mind was so foggy. She remembered finding the mist-shrouded passage, remembered her surprise to find the beast waiting for her in the chamber that followed, and after that...

She flushed in shame. She couldn’t remember everything, but what she did remember was bad enough. He had drugged her somehow, subdued her with some kind of strange animal hypnosis...but everything after that was muddled, and if she thought about it too much, the dizzy spell threatened to knock her back down.

She looked down at her naked body. The monster had stripped her, she seemed to remember. Worse, he’d taken her power belt, though she didn’t think he knew what it actually did. She cursed under her breath. She’d been caught totally by surprise, and now she was somewhere in the cavernous complex the thing had called his...temple.

Power belt or not, she couldn’t just lie there until it came back. She had to find those girls and find a way out of this hellish place.

She shifted onto her side, and let out a loud, startled gasp as a sudden jolt of unnexpected pleasure. Her movement had caused her thighs to press together, and had inadvertently squeezed her incredibly sensitive mound. She reached down, winced as she tested herself with her fingers, and raised her hand back up. The tips of her red gloves gleamed wetly in the dim light.

What the hell...? She was soaked. Was it...her dream? What was wrong with her?

“Awake at last, I see.”

The voice made her jump, and she sprang onto all fours, and faced the carved portal at the far end of the room. But instead of the monstrous form of the beast, in the doorway stood the tall, lithe form of a woman. Her curvy figure was draped in white fabric that might have been silk, tied around her neck, gliding down her torso in two strips that covered her breasts before joining at her waist turning into a long, flowing skirt. The dress covered all the essential parts, but was scandalous for what it left bare; her breasts spilled out on either side of the strips of silk, and the front flap of the skirt totally revealed the entire lengths of her toned legs and her bare hips, and her tight, round ass. A simple chord was cinched around her waist, holding everything together. She was barefoot. Her blonde hair was tossled wildly around her head, and she was staring at Miss Americana with bright, relfective eyes. Almost catlike. It had to be some trick of the light. Suddenly, recognition flashed in Miss Americana’s mind.

“You’re Sandra Howlett!” she exclaimed, shocked and relieved at the same time. “You’re alive! But the others, are they...?”

“Yes, we are all here,” Sandy answered, drinking in the sight of Miss Americana’s large, naked breasts with brazen openess. She continued to stare as she turned her head to call over her shoulder, “She’s awake. Bring a basin of water, and some cloth.”

A moment later, two more figured slid into the room, a young redhead and a woman with long, dark hair. Angie Blake and Carmen Santiago, Miss Americana realized. The two were dressed the same way Sandra was. They quickly and silently came to the side of the bed, one carrying a wide, shallow brass basin filled with water, and the other a handful of white cloth. Miss Americana couldn’t contain her relief.

“I’m so glad I’ve found you! We have to get out of here before that beast comes back! Lets—hey, hold on, what are you doing?”

The redhead, Angie, had soaked one of the cloths in the water and was wringing it out. She smiled at Miss Americana, then gently dabbed the cloth against her forehead. The coolness of the water against her skin brought a rush of relief, but Miss Americana brushed her hand away. “Thanks, but we don’t have time for that, we need to leave—right now!”

“We aren’t going anywhere,” Sandra said, her hips swaying as she walked to the foot of the bed. Then, just under her breath, she added ominously, “And neither are you.”

Angie climbed up beside her on her right, while Carmen slipped to her left. Miss Americana looked from one girl to the other, totally confused. “I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

Carmen pressed a freshly damp cloth against the slope of her neck, “We are trapped her.” She whispered, “There IS no way out.”

Miss Americana’s mouth fell open. She turned to Angie, but the redhead only shrugged. “We’ve looked everywhere for an exit, but the only way out is through a huge stone door...and none of us are strong enough to move it.”

“Only He can move it,” Sandra explained.

Miss Americana pushed Angie and Carmen aside as she made to stand. “Show me where it is, I’ll open the door. I’m a lot stronger than you are.” But even as she said it, her legs wobbled as she tried to take a step. She staggered, and tripped forward...right into Sandra’s waiting arms. “My legs...! They feel like jelly. What’s wrong with me?”

But Sandra shushed her, helping her back to sit on the edge of the bed. The blonde knelt in front of her, and took the wet cloth Angie held and began to gently press it against the masked heroines flushed cheeks. “You’re still weak,” she said gently, “Just rest a moment. Here.” She gestured to carmen, and suddenly a bronze goblet was in her hand. She pressed it to the heroine’s lips. “Drink, slowly.”

Before she could protest, Sandra tipped the goblet, and cool water rushed into her mouth. It made her realize how parched her throat felt, and she swallowed gratefully. She drank down the whole cup, then gasped for air.

Sandra was wiping the cool cloth against her forehead. The water felt heavenly against her hot skin. Miss Americana sank back onto the bed, and suddenly found Angie and Carmen pressed up on either side of her, supporting her weight. Against her protests, both girls began quietly running their own damp cloths along her neck, her shoulders, down her back. Despite herself, Miss Americana couldn’t deny how nice it felt, how much of a relief. She sighed. “A-alright, just for a minute, I just need to get my strength back. Are you girls alright? Has it harmed you?

Almost at once, the three girls paused. Miss Americana looked at each one, and noticed a sudden blush that colored their cheeks.

It was the young redhead who answered first. “No...he hasn’t harmed any of us. It’s not like that...it’s just...”

Her blush deepened, and she suddenly averted her eyes. Was what Miss Americana saw flash across her eyes...shame? Before she could press her though, Carmen began to speak.

“It’s worse than that,” she said, a tremble in her voice. “It...he...he makes us feel...good.”

And now she, too, had to look away. Miss Americana’s mouth fell open. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“What are you talking about? Good? He kidnapped you! He’s holding you against your will! How can any of this be good?”

Sandra knelt in front of her, resting her hands on Miss Americana’s knees. The sensation of her long fingers suddenly brushing against the soft skin of her legs drew Miss Americana’s attention.

“You don’t understand...but its like...this,” the blonde said slowly, wetting her lips. She looked up into Miss Americana’s uncomprehending eyes. “Have you ever had...sex, Miss Americana?”

Now it was the superheroine’s turn to flush in embarassment, her mouth working uselessly. “W-what do you mean—of course I have—that’s none of your busine—”

But Sandra shushed her again, her fingers softly running up and down the outside of Miss Americana’s bare leg. “Just listen. Imagine the best sex you’ve ever had. Imagine the best lover you’ve ever been with. This monster...this...thing...he’s better than any of them.”

Miss Americana was aghast. “But...that’s insane! You can’t be serious!”

“She’s right though,” Angie interrupted softly. She held Miss Americana’s right hand and hugged it against her soft chest, almost like she was seeking comfort. “I...I’ve never felt anything like it. I’m not sure I have the words to explain...”

“Angie is young,” Carmen spoke now, looking sympathetically at the blushing redhead. “She was the least experienced of us. She was the least prepared for...him.”

The 19-year old nodded, clutching Miss Americana tighter. “He surprised me on my run,” she began, her gaze growing distant as she remembered. “At first I thought it was some kind of a bear. A cougar, maybe. I was terrified. Before I could run, he grabbed me, and pulled me close to him. I remember...I remember something came out of his mouth. Like smoke. It made me dizzy, weak...I fell asleep...”

The mist, Miss Americana realized, her chest tightening. It was that damned mist!

“I woke up here...in one of these rooms.” She swallowed hard, glanced at Sandra, who nodded for her to continue. “He was in there with me. He grabbed me, pulled me into his lap. He started...he started to play with my—my breasts...he used his tongue...” To her shock, Miss Americana felt Angie start to squirm against her. The girl’s hand began to touch and squeeze her left breast through the fabric of her dress. Her other hand had fallen lower, beneath the long strip that ran between her legs...where it rocked slowly, back and forth. When Angie continued, her voice was thick. Her eyes were glazed. “I couldn’t stop him. He made it feel so good...his breath...it made me so hot...it wasn’t long before I stopped asking him to. And then he started to lick me...down there!” the redhead gasped. Her fingers were moving faster now. Miss Americana was beside herself. The thought of this poor girl being taken should have made her furious...and yet the image of that monster holding her legs apart, against her weakining will, while he plundered her pussy with his monstrous, serpentine tongue...it made her feel uncomfortably warm. Unconsciously, she rubbed her thighs together. She didn’t notice the sinister smile that had formed on Sandra’s face as the blonde saw the movement of her legs.

“I don’t know how long he did it,” Angie continued, “But it felt like forever. He wouldn’t stop. Even when I gave in, when he made me...made me come...” she shivered, “He kept going. He licked me over and over, and I kept coming for him...I couldn’t help it. No one’s ever made me come like that before. I must have passed out. When I came to, he had bent me over, and I could feel his...cock...against me.” Her eyes were distant...dreamy. “I shouldn’t have wanted him so badly, but his tongue had done things to me, had made me...weak...wanting....when he told me to beg for him....I did. And then he—oh god, he...AH!”

She shuddered suddenly, stiffening against her, and Miss Americana realized the girl had gotten herself off, right there, right next to her. She could only stare mutely as Angie sagged against her, resting her head on Miss Americana’s shoulder. The poor girl! She was out of her mind, this was madness!

“It was the same for me,” came Carmen’s voice, and Miss Americana turned. The dark-haired beauty reached down and took the heroine’s hand in her own. “He broke into my husband’s house, carried me away. Brought me here. He seduced me much the same way he seduced Angie...except he didn’t need his tongue to break my will...all he had to do was show me his cock.”

“That’s not possible,” Miss Americana said, her eyes widening in disbelief.

Carmen smiled...almost sadly, “I am not naive, Miss Americana. I’ve been with many men, but none of them could compare to this beast. He...has the most beautiful cock I’ve ever seen. It’s huge. Bigger than any man could hope to be. I couldn’t...I couldn’t look away from it. When he put it in my hands, all I could think about was how hard it was...how hot...how easy it was to slide my hands up...and down...” Carmen’s eyes were glassy, and her hands began to slide, up and down, gliding along the soft red leather of Miss Americana’s trapped glove. The shocked heroine could only watch mutely as Carmen sighed, and rubbed her hand against a heated cheek, remembering...pretending it was the monster’s throbbing cock that pressed urgently against her skin.

Miss Americana groaned. The heat between her legs was getting worse. The lurid stories were racing through her mind, filling it with torrid, racy images. What was wrong with her? why was she feeling this way? These girls had been seduced...no, raped! She shouldn’t be feeling so...hot...

“He let me pleasure him...no, worship him,” Carmen whispered, brushing her lips against Miss Americana’s trembling fingers. Before she could move to stop her, Carmen removed her red glove and pressed her bare palm against her flushed cheek. Miss Americana was surprised by how warm the woman felt, almost feverish. Carmen’s gaze was distant as she continued, “I begged him to let me...taste him....suck him...I knew it was wrong, but I felt drunk...dizzy...I took him in my hands. Touching it made me s-so hot, I...I...”

Suddenly her mouth parted, and Miss Americana gasped as the woman drew her gloved fingers into her hot, wet mouth. The sensation of her tongue caressing her bare fingers was impossibly erotic...and totally wrong.

“S-stop that!” Miss Americana gasped, “Stop it”!

Carmen bobbed her head a few more times, drawing her deep into her mouth, before letting her escape with a soft gasp. She licked at her lips. “He came in my mouth,” she whispered, looking into Miss Americana’s wide, staring eyes, “He flooded my mouth with his cum...so much of it...I couldn’t swallow fast enough...it spilled onto my face, my chin...by breasts...” She rolled her tits in her hands. “He sat back on the ground. His cock was still rock hard, still streaming hot, thick cum...when I climbed on top of him.”

“Oh...no...” Miss Americana whispered, “That’s...that’s awful...what he did to you girls was...awful!”

“Do you want to know the worst part?”

It was Sandra, speaking softly from where she knelt in front of Miss Americana’s tightly squeezed legs. Her voice had fallen to a conspiratory whisper.

“The worst part of it all was that he made us beg for him. Made us need him. His touch enflames you. His pressence makes you weak. The scent of him makes your head spin. He makes submitting to him feel like the most natural thing in the world...”

Lewd thoughts began to dance in Miss Americana’s mind. Were they dreams? Memories? Sandra’s words were filling her with a strange, familiar drowsiness. Her body sagged back, into the waiting arms of the two other prisoners. The reflection of candlelight danced in Sandra’s open, cat-like eyes, drawing Miss Americana’s gaze, fascinating her. In the darkest corners of her mind, a helpless, desperate, submissive voice was softly moaning, “Slut....slut....sluuuut...!”

Sandra held the captive heroine’s gaze and gently, slowly, began to sway. She watched as Miss Americana’s eyes stayed fixed on hers, hooded, open but unseeing, following her as she moved back and forth...back and forth. The evil blonde smiled, and began to stroke gently up and down her bare, smooth thighs.

“You know what its like, don’t you, Miss Americana?” Sandra’s fingers dipped into the tight seam between Miss Americana’s pressed thighs, tracing it...teasing it. “To be held against your will. To be made to feel things you didn’t think you wanted...needed. To lose yourself to the hot, irresistable need for pleasure...for sex.” She hissed the last word, watching in satisfaction as Miss Americana’s eyes grew wide, her face blushing red. Sandra smiled, and now her caressing fingers began to gently pry at Miss Americana’s trembling knees.

“Wait—what are you—”

“You fancy yourself a hero,” Sandra breathed, bending forward so that she could plant light, butterfly kisses along the top of the shocked heroine’s creamy thighs. Her fingers had wedged between her knees...trying to coax them apart. “But in the end you’re just like us, aren’t you? Just a woman...with a woman’s needs...”

“Stop that,” Miss Americana gasped, “Sandra, what are you doing?” She made to struggle, to get away from the blonde’s unwanted advances, when she suddenly felt strong, soft hands wrap around her own. She looked to her sides, where Angie and Carmen had each seized one of her arms, holding her tight. she pulled against them, but her strength was gone. She was as weak as a kitten. They had no trouble forcing her backwards, pressing her back into the soft fur of the bed, so that her ass slid down to the edge, toward the waiting, hungry eyes of the evil blonde. “No! Let me go! I’m here to save you! Let me go!”

But none of the girls were listening. Angie and Carmen each grabbed a wrist, raising and trapping both arms beside her tossing head. Her huge, firm breasts rose high on her chest, quivering enticingly as she struggled to free herself.

“But darling...thats what we’ve been...trying to tell you...” Sandra whispered, her kisses growing firmer, wetter. Her tongue drew tiny circles along Miss Americana’s trapped, struggling thighs. She looked up the prone body of the dark-haired beauty, past the rising mounds of her creamy tits, and into her wide blue eyes. “We don’t want to be rescued...and soon...you won’t either!”

Miss Americana stiffened as Angie and Carmen each suddenly took one of her tits in a warm, possessive grip. Skilled, knowing fingers began to knead and massage her massive mammaries, rolling them, gently milking them from base to tip. Their soft, feminine hands soon had her tits tingling all too pleasantly. Despite herself, Miss Americana felt herself responding to their erotic manipulation. Her struggles weakened. Her breathing began to speed up. And when they turned their attention to her rapidly hardening nipples, she let out a hoarse, reluctant gasp of pleasure.

“My, your breasts are sensitive, aren’t they?” Sandra said, smiling as her fingers managed to slip a little further between Miss Americana’s knees. “And there’s nothing like the touch of another woman who understands just how to make you feel. Don’t you think so?”

“N-no! I don’t want this! Let me go! Stop—Oh!—stop...touching me!” Miss Americana snapped, and tried to buck herself free of the vile vixens holding her down. But she had no leverage, and they easily subdued her attempts at escape. Carmen responded by taking her rigid nipple between thumb and forefinger...and gently beginning to twist. Miss Americana gasped as the motion sent pangs of undeniable pleasure through her body, right down, it seemed, to her suddenly throbbing clit. Carmen and Angie exchanged knowing glances, then Angie followed suit, trapping her other nipple, and gently begginging to roll it between her fingers.

Miss Americana stiffened, arching her back as jolts of unwanted pleasure erupted from her trapped nipples. She barely stifled an intense moan, her useless hands clawing at the fur blanket. “DON’T!!” she groaned, teeth clenched, as Carmen and Angie began to pull at her nipples, drawing them up and away from her body, until her breasts were almost perfect, alabaster cones jutting from her hammering chest. All the while they continued to slowly twist those oh-so sensitive nubs back and forth, back and forth. This time, they managed to drag a stilted, but betrayingly sweet, groan of pleasure from the restrained heroine.

The attack on her breasts had lowered her defenses, and Sandra had taken the opportunity to slide her penetrating fingers in a few inches further. They now pressed insistently on the hot, trembling flesh of Miss Americana’s inner thighs, probing, stroking, inviting her to spread herself wider...

No! Miss Americana summoned what strength she had, and clamped her legs together, trapping Sandra’s intruding hands. The blonde clucked in admonishment. “Now, darling, that’s not very cooperative of you. I know you’re starting to enjoy this. Why keep fighting? Why not just lie back, and let me take you someplace...nice...”

“L-like hell!” Miss Americana snapped, looking down past her tormented tits to the blonde’s smirking face. “You three have been...brainwashed! And if you think I’m just going to lie here and let the same thing happen to me...!”

Sandra regarded her with a mix of amusement and derision, her cat-like eyes sparking. “You think you’re so strong? Very well then. Let’s see just how long you can keep these pretty long legs of yours from spreading for me.”

She nodded to her two accomplices, who smiled in acknowledgement. All at once, they let go of Miss Americana’s throbbing nipples, letting her tits fall back to her chest where they settled with a heavy, enticing jiggle. The masked heroine gasped in relief, but her sentiment was short lived. For no sooner had her bouncing tits settled when Angie and Carmen each suddenly drew a succulent nipple into their hot, wet mouths.

“OH! Wait-stop, what are you....oooOOH!!”

But the ravenous beauties ignored her protests as they devoured Miss Americana’s vulnerable breasts. They would alternate between sucking on them so hard her nipples began to throb in ecstacy to rolling and flicking the engorged nubs with their wild, silky tongues. Their rampaging mouths had turned her aching breasts into conduits of sheer pleasure, every moment that passed her protests grew weaker, weaker, until at last they had reduced the once-proud champion of justice to a helplessly moaning, begging mass of quivering tit-flesh.

Worse still, Sandra’s fingers had resumed a gentle undulation against the inside of her legs. Trapped as they were, they couldn’t move much...but sultry, insistant pressure was enough to force Miss Americana to focus on keeping her thighs squeezed tight. She couldn’t risk the horrible (wonderful?) things those devilish fingers might do if they got any more freedom. But restrained as she was, overpowered and outnumbered, she knew she was facing a losing proposition. How long could she hold out? She had to come up with some way to escape, before...before the unthinkable happened.

That’s when she realized that something didn’t feel right. Or more precisely, something was beginning to feel altogether too...good. The twin assault on her breasts, totally against her will, was having a profound effect on her body. Her breasts felt as sensitive as they’d ever been in her life, and as the two lovely ladies continued to inflict their insidious tongue lashing, a warm, irresistable lethargy began to spread from her abused chest. It was getting harder and harder to keep her head up. The mattress was soft, the feeling of the coarse pelt made her skin tingle. And at the tightly-pressed juncture of her thighs, her trecherous pussy began to pulsate.

As a familiar, terrifying pressure began to build, Miss Americana’s eyes suddenly grew wide, and her head rose up to look down at the leering Sandra waiting patiently before her trembling knees. “Oh...no...!”

The blonde smirked. “Something wrong, Miss Americana? Poor darling. I don’t think you’ve thought this little plan of resistance all the way through...”

Miss Americana groaned in despair, tears welling in her blue eyes, as the truth began to sink in. The constant friction of pressing her thighs together was stimulating her heated sex. She could feel the hot wetness trickling out of her aroused pussy, where the movement of her legs forced it to churn...soaking her aching pussy lips, and making her trapped clitoris throb with unanswered need. The harder she fought to keep Sandra’s fingers at bay, the more she ended up stimulating her own cunt. She was slowly but surely driving herself to a devastating climax.

She reflexively relaxed, just for a split second, to try and relieve some of the wicked pressure, but Sandra, poised like a waiting serpent, was ready. In the momentary breach in her prey’s defenses she was able to slip her long, slender fingers until they were heart-stoppingly close to Miss Americana’s aching sex before the prone heroine gave a warbled cry of denial, and clamped her legs back together.

Sandra’s tinkling laugh made her heart sink.

“Oh, almost!” the blonde grinned, “A heartbeat later and I’d be all over that pretty pink pussy of yours right now.” She gave her fingers an experimental flex, then leered at Miss Americana, seductively chewing on her lower lip. “But maybe...this is close enough?”

Those fingers began to move again, only this time, to Miss Americana’s horror, they were far more mobile. They were scant inches away from her throbbing cunt...and were now sliding through the trails of slick wetness leaking from her aroused pussy. The lubrication let her glide sensuously against the heated, pressing flesh of her inner thighs, massaging her, projecting pangs of wicked delight into the very heart of her womb. She could feel those wriggling fingers sliding closer and closer to her reluctant pussy with every halting, heart-stopping push. Insistant. Aggressive. Demanding access to her vulnerable sex. The sensation was unbelievably erotic. Miss Americana let out a long, agonized moan, and though she still tossed her head in denial, she could feel her resolve wavering. The strength was beginning to drain out of her aching thighs.

Sandra gestured once more to waiting companions. It was time to crush the last of Miss Americana’s feeble resistance.

The helpeless heroine let out a gasp of undeniable pleasure as her abused nipples suddenly popped free of their hot, sucking lips as Angie and Carmen fell beside her on the bed. She watched felt them press up to her, and an instant later felt their hot, cinnamon breath as they brushed their succulent lips against her incredibly sensitive ears. A shiver of unmistakable lust shot down her body, and she let out a reluctant, all-too-turned-on moan.

“Did we make you feel good?” Angie whispered hotly, tracing her lips tantilizingly along Miss Americana’s earlobe, making her neck and sides erupt in goosebumps. A second later Carmen’s voice was in her other ear, and she shivered anew.

“I loved sucking on your tits,” the woman moaned, “Please, may I suck them again? I’ll make it good for you. So, so good...”

“Oh please,” Miss Americana gasped, “please stop, I—”

“You what?” Angie said, “Like it too much? Then why fight it?”

“We just want to pleasure you,” Carmen sing-songed sweetly, taking possession of Miss Americana’s vulnerable tit again with her searching hand. She gave it a loving squeeze. “And we know just what a sex-hungry woman wants...don’t we?”

“N-no...!” Miss Americana moaned, her eyes slowly beginning to droop. “Can’t...let you...rape...me...”

“You’ve got it all wrong, honey. It won’t be rape,” Angie whispered, blowing into her ear and making her moan against her will. “We’re going to make you feel so good, you’re never going to want us to stop...”

“Spread your legs, baby,” Carmen sighed dreamily, “You’ve been fighting for so long...just relax...let yourself fall open...relax...”

“Give in,” urged Angie, “Let yourself go...you want it so bad...”

Miss Americana could barely articulate words of resistance any more. As the girls continued to whisper sweet seductions into her defenseless mind, she could feel herself slowly drifting further and further away. Her body no longer seemed like her own; it responded to their whispered calls with trecherous obedience. Her back arched, offering her mountains of heated tit-flesh to their marauding hands. Her stomach fluttered and spasmed. She could hear her heartbeat throbbing in her ears, felt it in her engorged nipples, in her rigid little clit. And gradually, irresistably, her taught thighs began to relax...and to spread.

Sandra grinned lascviciously as she effortlessly parted the beguiled heroine’s trembling thighs, pressing her wide. Miss Americana let out a groan of defeat, shutting her eyes as tears of shame rolled down her face...but she made no move to try and close her spread legs, revealing the engorged, soaked lips of her bare pussy to the hungry eyes of the evil blonde kneeling between them.. Her sex was literally throbbing with unwanted arousal, humming in time to her frantic, pumping heartbeat.

“Now, your pretty little pussy is all mine,” Sandra breathed, sinking her fingernails into Miss Americana’s firm, sumptuous ass like a lioness snaring its prey. She lowered her head, fixed her cat-like stare on the helpless heroine’s swooning face, and slowly dragged the tip of her tongue along the spasming length of pussy laid out before her.

The effect on Miss Americana was electric.

Her hips heaved, and a strangled moan of unwanted ecstacy ripped from her slender throat. Her eyes snapped open to watch helplessly as Sandra reversed the motion, tracing along and between her swollen pussy lips, mewling like a cat at a bowl of cream. Every long, smooth, muscular stroke of that devilish tongue sent a wave of knee-shaking pleasure coursing through her prone body, battering her will, hammering at her reluctance and rewarding her submission with forbidden bliss. Despite herself, Miss Americana was soon reduced to a panting, gasping, sordid mess under the devious lesbian’s lingual lashing. Beside her, Angie and Carmen pleasured themselves as they watched their mistress’s assault on the defenseless heroine. Their moans and sighs rang in her ears, joining her own in a chorus of female ecstacy that filled the candlelit cave. All the while, Sandra watched as Miss Americana fell further and further into her sexual control. She teased and tormented, licked and sucked, driving up her arousal, all while carefully avoiding that rigid nubbin of flesh that throbbed and begged for her attention. Soon, Ms Americana lacked even the strength to hold her head up to watch the blonde temptress work over her feverish cunt. It tossed in hopeless denial on the soft gray pelt, even as her trecherous hips rolled her pussy again and again into Sandra’s hot mouth. She couldn’t stop herself, her body had a mind of its own. Her poor clit ached in neglect. Just a touch would send her over the edge, would end her misery. Her shame was being burned away by the pleasure resonating between her legs. She wanted to come...needed to come!

She felt hands on her breasts, caressing, squeezing, manipulating her tits with a warm familiarity that made them tingle...and she realized they were her own hands, suddenly released her lesbian captors. Her wontoness made her blush with shame, pushing back the haze of pleasure that had fallen over her addled mind. She winced, summoning the remainder of her will, and shoved her hands over her weeping sex, blocking off Sandra’s clever tongue.

The blonde arched her eyebrows at her, breathing heavily. “What’s this? Still trying to fight? Oh darling, that’s adorable.”

“I won’t...I won’t let you just have your way with me,” Miss Americana hissed, hoping she sounded braver than she felt. It was all she could do to keep her hands still against her throbbing pussy, when it veritably screamed at her to touch herself, to stroke herself, to satisfy the evil urges Sandra’s cunt lapping had set it motion.

The blonde just smiled, and lowered her face back to the slender fingers blocking her from her prize.

“That’s a shame,” she breathed, planting grazing kisses on the backs of Miss Americana’s trembling hands. “I was just about to start on that delicious little clit of yours. I’d been saving it for the end. Why, it must positively ache right about now...”

To her chagrin, Miss Americana had to concede that the witch was right. Her poor clit stood rigidly out from its protective hood, throbbing. The heat from her hand was making her squirm. Suddenly, she felt Sandra’s tongue swipe at her fingers. “S-stop that!”

“I don’t really think you mean that,” Sandra smiled, slipping her tongue into the slim gaps between Miss Americana’s slender digits, seeking again the hot, gushing pussy hidden just behind. The sensation of that strong, wet muscle trying to get past her final, defiant gesture was undeniably arousing, disturbingly so. Miss Americana had to grit her teeth to stifle the moan that welled in her throat. Sandra’s golden eyes were drawing her in, making her head swim...she shut her eyes tightly, shaking her head in defiance.

“Just one lick,” Sandra whispered, pushing harder, feeling the gaps widening under her questing tongue. She could now graze the heated labia with the tip. “You’re so hot honey, so turned on. Do you really want me to stop...?”

“Stop it....no...please no...” Miss Americana pleaded, her brow creased. Her will was wavering. The tip of that invading tongue traced fire on the sensitive lips of her pussy, making her gush with renewed need. Her clit pressed insistently against her slick palm. Her pleading grew hoarser, her breathing heavier, as Sandra began to wear down her last ditch effort to resist. She could easily slip her tongue between slack fingers to lap against the juicy prize beneath. She sucked on her fingers, stroking them like tiny cocks. Miss Americana groaned.

“Just one, honey,” Sandra breathed, slowly maneuvering that guarding hand out of the way more and more. Her quarry was panting, her eyes shut tight, trying desperately to keep her raging need under control...she didn’t realize how far back Sandra had moved her hand. Her fingers barely covered her swollen mons, and her labia were almost completely unguarded. Worst of all though, her fingers had spread wide enough now that her clitoris was dangerously exposed to the evil blonde’s insidious attentions.

The blonde saw the tiny, pulsing nubbin of flesh at the apex of her prey’s dripping sex, and finally brushed it with her insidious tongue.

“OH!” Miss Americana gasped, her hips heaving. “OH don’t...stop!!”

“Don’t stop?” Sandra giggled, “I don’t intend to...”

Her tongue snaked down, lashing at that engorged button, making Miss Americana cry out. Every wet caress sent a whip of electric pleasure convulsing up her body. Her hands flailed uselessly, settling on her blonde assailant’s head. She knew she should fight, should try to push her away...but her hands wouldn’t listen. They spasm-clutched at those curly blonde tresses, luxuriating in their soft thickness, but couldn’t force her away from her relentless assault.

Sandra was in no hurry. After tonight, she knew the buxom beauty would be unable to deny her anything. She’d be her sister, her slave, her plaything...just like the Master had promised. Her skilled tongue caressed the seat of Miss Americana’s pleasure, circling it, flicking against it, forcing the dazzled superheroine to experience sensations she had never imagined a tongue could elicit from her rigid love button. Sandra listened as the moans became pants, and the pants rose to desperate whimpers. She coaxed that sensitive nubbin of flesh as Miss Americana’s hips began to heave, raising them up, up, pressing into Sandra’s insidious mouth. When it was clear her beautiful prey could take no more, Sandra sank her claws into her tense ass, and went for the kill.

“Now, you’re all mine,” Sandra breathed victoriously, took Miss Americana’s throbbing clitoris between her soft red lips, and began to suck. Hard.

“OHHH! OH MY GOD!” the overwhelmed superheroine could only scream as the orgasm that she’d just barely held at bay came crashing through, arching her back, making her muscle seize uncontrollably. Her clitoris exploded under Sandra’s loving minstrations, her pussy spasming as the pleasure wracked her body. Sandra rode the orgasm expertly, prolonging it, trapping her prey on its ecstatic plateau for as long as her body would allow. When at last Miss Americana’s thrusting hips gave out, collapsing back to the bed, the devastated super heroine was a flushed, panting, trembling mess.

Tears, both of pleasure and of shame streaked down her face. She’d lost, totally. It didn’t matter how hard she fought, how hard she tried to deny it, in the end, she’d been overwhelmed by the three vixens and drawn into their web of lesbian torment. And though tried to deny it, the warm glow that suffused her now was all that was left of one of the biggest orgasms in her life. It shook her to her core.

What kind of a hero was she? How did she expect to save these girls if she couldn’t even save herself?

“You’re not a hero at all,” came a deep, mesmerizing voice from within her subconscious, “You’re just another weak female. A slut...my slut.”

“Y-your...slut...” Miss Americana repeated helplessly, her eyes glazing over, the glow from her orgasm reinforcing the post-hypnotic words the Beast had planted in her fertile, sex-addled mind.

Sandra saw the glassy look, saw how the prone heroine’s skin erupted in a fresh, radiant blush, and smiled at her companions.

“Call the Master. She is ready.”