Showgirl vs. the Mistress of Puppets!

by RiverDelta

Summary:

Ditzy superheroine Showgirl tends to get stares. From her obvious fondness for towering heels to her tiny costume's bright feathered crown, Showgirl has a certain reputation. She also has a submissive streak a lightyear wide.

She's a self-sexualizing woman whose deep hunger for justice and moral righteousness can only be matched by her just as deep hunger for pussy and cock. This Las Vegas-themed superheroine's uproarious internal perspective gives her a certain odd charm: one that more serious supervillainess Hex (Mistress of Puppets!) can't help but claim for her own.

When that mature, confident, black magic-wielding lesbian domme gets her hands on Showgirl, our compassionately curvy champion must figure out how to escape from Hex's evil doll-maker clutches.

...Or maybe being kidnapped isn't so bad after all?

Chapter 1: Music of the Spheres

Superhuman conventions were fun and all, but I wished I had more pockets on my costume. Sure, the shimmering bikini top and matching sequinned booty shorts hugged my body, but I'd forgotten my combat purse.

I wondered why I hadn't stuffed a Koko-Amaze wafer bar between my tits, earlier, because I heard my stomach rumble royally. I remembered, like a slap on my temple, that I had instead put my wallet in my bra. Did it count as a bra? Maybe, I thought. Dang, lots of people moving around in ocean currents.This place was full of joy dee vivrey.

A cutie in a maid outfit stared at me, before I realized she was staring at my feather tail. I realized soon after that she was staring at my plush ass: nice. Nice, I was pretty sure, was a city in Italy.

Wait, no, I was thinking of Pisa.

I also saw an insanely hot chubbier girl with a killer makeup job in a copy of my look, a guy doing a genderbent Vendetta cosplay with painted construction foam armor, and a bespectacled enby in a blue-and-yellow Pullout jumpsuit. Their hair was the shape and color of a makeup brush, I noticed, while they sipped their bottle of Feynman-Cola, and...

And I'd hit a line. My face almost bumped into the back of some very tall man in a suit and hat. I then tripped, and my face did bang against the back of the really tall hat dude.

Was this the line to see Hex, Mistress of Puppets?

I checked the sign in front: "Hex autographs here, please!"

Dang it, I thought. God, I knew, I'd offer myself on a silver platter to her given the chance: literally, I had!

"Hey, pal, watch it!" he said, facing me. Dude's hair was blue. With falcon-eyed perception, I noticed he was wearing a trilby. Those were sorta like fedoras, but with maybe 20% of the brim. He had a gun on him, a real-ass gun. I wondered under these draining halogen lights how he got that one in. Then, the realization hit me.

"Leading Man," I said. "I see you're up to your old tricks."

He stroked his chin, taking the time to observe. "Showgirl. I see you got another boob job." He said it with smarm.

"Oh, you like?" I asked, blushing and rocking on my feet.

Leading Man tilted his head. "What are they, now? Basketballs? Volleyballs? Beachballs?" He was doing a sneer thing, but he was also letting his eyes wander my cresting dunes and he really sucked at hiding that.

I was pretty sure he was trying to call me a slut, but he was staring and I did like it when people stared.

Tip for the guys and girls at home: If you aren't checking out notoriously slutty heroine Showgirl, or some other girl who's made it very clear that she's super cool with it in like whatever circumstances you're doing it, that's creepy and bad. Don't be a creep.

Anyway, I felt the sting on my cheek from the fall, and between that and his condescending boy tone this scenario kinda awakened something between my legs. "Dang, man, you're really cool," I mumbled. "I love that you shit-talk my rollicking marbles when I fall." I wished he'd be meaner. There were so many really fucked up things this Hollywood has-been could have said to my cleavage. Another tip for the guys and girls at home: don't let random people think it's okay to call you names, especially misogynist or stigmatizing language.

So, anyway, I was staring into his eyes. "Do you think you could get even more sexist? Maybe slap me? Play with my boobs?" I asked.

Great Gaia's gourds, I needed someone to just friggin use me. I crossed my legs, which was a little more wobbly than you'd expect. I was wearing seven-inch stripper heels, which I got using my superhuman powers of knowing people who make no-foot-pain super-science shoes on commish.

Leading Man exhaled. "This is why I'd rather work with Vendetta," he said. "She might shoot at cops with an assault rifle, but at least she isn't a goddamn tart."

I moved up with the line, partially so he could keep insulting me.

Third tip for the guys and girls (and enbies) at home: Slut-shaming is bad and harmful, and promotes hateful, harmful ideas that legitimize real-world cruelty. Bigotry is bad and un-American, and you too can create a more empathetic world through respect and common decency.

"Oh, geez, thank you so much, you're so hot and cool, I totally am a tart and a slut," I said, wishing I could hold onto his arm. I blushed like red lipstick.

The line kept moving. I shuffled forward. Leading Man did too.

"Classic C-grade hacks," Leading Man commented. "You know, your horny gimmick isn't going to make people like you."

"Are you asking me to stop flirting? Just to check," I asked, with compassion and immense stiltedness.

Leading Man looked at my bust again. I blushed again. Someone could take their pussy or dick out in public and jack-slash-finger it to me and I'd be flattered. I'd ask them to do it somewhere more private, but hey, I might also strip for them.

Also, for the record, Leading Man was a B-grade hack, which I knew because he got fired from those action movies for doing so much cocaine he got super-likability powers. I guess he didn't have them on right now. "Flirt if you want, I like knowing how much smarter people like Robot Bunny, the Lady Inquisitor, and myself are compared to the riff-raff."

We kept stepping forward, while he sneered at me and I kept trying to push my tits up in the bikini top. They were the really fake kind of boobs, so they didn't move much, but I thought they looked cute on me.

We were in a sea of stands, a bazaar of the b... A bazaar of the buying-stuff-zaar.

I pulled my phone from a hidden pocket in my short shorts, checking the forums I used for nerd stuff. I saw a few alternate history stories, a few new comments in gaming threads, and in my nudes thread I saw Robot Bunny's official account making a comment on a pic of me and a clear dildo.

Robot Bunny: Oh, ho, from one super to another, Show, those lips look practically made to be used.

I saw that Jackie of Diamonds, Mobster Elite, commented right under her.

Jackie of Diamonds: When is she going to just start a BonyFans?

Robot Bunny: You misunderstand. You and I, we do what we do for money. Show, however, she does it for the love of the game.

Jackie of Diamonds: If you're good at something, don't do it for free.

Robot Bunny: The free market's a con.

Jackie of Diamonds: Nice to see the world's most anti-capitalist ultra-wealthy professional murderer, I guess.

"Would you please sign my album?" Leading Man asked Hex at her desk. Hex wore a sorta-frilly, purple and black witch costume, complete with striped thigh-highs. She was about twenty years older than me, maybe.

Before she was Hex, she was Hera O'Malley, clocky lyricist and guitarist for the band Shadow Stalker, then when that died she was a manager in the industry for a while.

She'd always had the people puppets powers, but it was a Nashton Syndrome case. Her powers had made her money, but she'd never been appreciated and it had gotten to her.

Hence why she had a cute, slender woman in a swimsuit with purple smoke over her eyeballs and who was dancing to Hex's finger motions. That was why they called the smiling cougar "Hex, Mistress of Puppets" after all. Well, that and her old cover of that Metallica song, anyway.

"Sure, of course," Hex said, her typical smirk on her face. Most people wanted to punch it off of her. I just wanted to lick her flamboyant boots. She signed the album: Lisa's Revenge, and handed it back to Leading Man.

"Thank you," he said, nodding his head a little and dispersing to another alley of the white-light con floor.

I approached Hex, who had those previously-mentioned boots on her stand's table. "I was wondering if you could autograph my chest?" I asked, begging, pleading in my tone.

Hex looked me up and down. "Sure."

I swallowed. "Really? That easy?" I asked. "I mean, if it's not something you're up for, if you aren't comfortable with it," I began.

"Sure. I just want one thing in return," she said. "I've had a long day signing." There it was. She wore vermillion lipstick, which I thought was kind of surprising but it did work with the purple.

"Do you want my soul?" I asked, begging, pleading for it. I could practically smell the magic in the air, and also my own strawberry-candy perfume.

"You know I don't take souls," she said, licking her lips, her rather complex understanding of magic an outgrowth of how she mastered her puppeteer thing. She turned to the other clocky woman. "You're free," she said, and snapped her fingers.

The woman in the swimsuit bent over, took a good look at her own hands, and struggled for air. There wasn't any more smoke in her eyes, and she stumbled away.

"Oh, do you want me to eat you out?" I asked, begging, pleading for the chance to eat someone out, or suck her cock if she had one.

"I want a doll, Showgirl, a real doll. And you? Well, you do look like a RealDoll," she said, laughing at her own joke in a way that I actually found really charming and cute, because it had a certain amount of playful non-seriousness.

"Do you think my T+A needs to get XXXXL?" I asked.

She groaned aloud.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to hurt your feelings!" I said. She checked her nails. I kept talking. "Look, I don't want to disappoint you, or make you uncomfortable, or,"

She made a sort of "tch" sound. "Showgirl," she said, looking up at me. "I'm a villain. What kind of heroine are you?"

"A considerate one, I hope!" I said. "Can I make it up to you by taking my top off?" I asked.

"...Well, you don't need to worry about hurting my feelings, but sure. I haven't seen your tits in person yet, just online," Hex said. "So..."

I wondered if she fingered herself to me. I sure hoped she fingered herself to me. "You know, if you don't finger yourself to me already, I give you full permission, just as a stranger," I offered, squeezing my great big false mammaries. Mammaries was a funny word, I thought.

Hex blew me a surprisingly butch-feeling kiss, then stood up. She pointed a finger up at the ceiling, and all I could see was tinged in purple.

"Now. Let's blow this place early and get to work," I heard her say with sadistic relish.

I wondered what she meant, I felt myself lose control, and my body shambled after her. I instantly realized what she meant by wanting me to be a "doll".

I would have smiled wide if I could control my facial muscles. Dance, puppet, dance, baby.

Chapter 2: Bunny Trap

Summary:

Showgirl finds herself in the clutches - and taking the fingers - of the evil Hex: Mistress of Puppets!

"Lorelei Gannon," she said, and I quickly found that I'd been stripped and dressed in a black bunny outfit. It was a la those weird magazines from, like, the 70s, complete with black patent heels and fishnets.

"What the frick? You can't just say that!" I said. I was in some kind of basement. Some kind of... sex basement, maybe. It could have also been a murder basement, in which case I'd probably said the wrong thing just there. It was actually nice and cream-colored, with a soft brown couch and a flat-screen TV.

I saw a Sega Saturn 4 plugged into it, which seemed to me like a bit of a normie choice. I was a bit more of a Nintendo girlie. If I wanted to play Sonic: Apocalypse I'd just play it on PC.

"It's your name," she said. I saw crows' feet on the edges of her eyes. Hopefully this wasn't a "Showgirl gets butchered" scenario. She at least was wearing purple striped thigh-highs, which made me think she didn't expect to get any blood on her. Geez, it would suck if Vendetta and I had swapped villains.

"Yeah, it's my name! It's my secret identity!" I said, feeling the fabric of the bodysuit between my legs.

Hex raised her eyebrow. "You know, it really wasn't that hard to learn that. You're terrible at opsec."

I realized, then, that I was laying on a bed. It felt like a cloud, by which I meant that it was very bad at supporting my back. I wasn't bound, which was kind of a mixed bag. It didn't feel like my body was doing the puppet thing. "I don't know the meaning of the word," I said. I didn't.

Hex steepled her fingers. "You're really stumbling through this one, huh?" she said. I watched her blackened lips move. "The point is that I know who you are, and I'm going to tell the world if you don't—," she began.

"Oh my gosh, is this blackmail?" I asked, eyes widening. "Please tell me you're blackmailing me, no one's ever done that to me before," I added.

Hex frowned. "What?" she asked. The cleavage window in her dress was a pretty diamond. "Dammit, you're into blackmail," she said, her hands creeping onto the front of my tits.

Here's another Showgirl Statement for all of you enbys, girls, and boys at home: don't do that.

I moaned, trying to get her to be rougher. "More, please!" I begged, as she groped me. "Please," I squeaked out.

"I should have kidnapped Vendetta," Hex mumbled to herself, which I blushed and moaned at.

"Mommy?" I squeaked out. I tried to spread my legs, to really give her a good view of my strong thighs.

"Not into that," she said, waving a hand. "Look," she said. "I just want to turn you into a doll and ravish you."

"Why'd you bring up Vendetta?" I asked. It wasn't like Vendetta was anything special. She was only an ace sniper in the Miaotian War. Quickly falsely convicted for a crime she didn't commit, she was locked up in the most dangerous prison in America's MAX-CAGE wing. When a Mafia thug broke her legs in prison on orders of Don Salvatore DeSanto, RettuCorp used illegal cyborging surgeries to enhance Vendetta's body and allow her to use an experimental Russian suit of power armor. Defying all those who would control her, she stole the suit and now uses it to fight a neverending, bloody, intensely lesbian war against organized crime and corporate greed.

Okay, actually thinking that over, maybe she was cooler than me. I wondered if she had some kind of cybernetic, transforming dick-vagina.

Frick, did Vendetta have a cybernetic dick-vagina? Was that a thing? "Hex, do you know Vendetta?" I asked.

She exhaled, long, like my college professor after I tried to submit an essay about the heteronormative implications of beloved reality TV show One Dude and Like Twenty Ladies. "...A little? She's a big Shadow Stalker fan. Can we get back to this whole kidnapping situation?" she asked.

"Does she have a robot vagina, and if so, can it turn into a penis?" I asked.

Hex stared through me, like a Stairmaster. "No, no, she just has a regular pussy," she said, and her expression looked a little like she was melting. "I... I brought her up because usually she's a lot less... okay with this."

"Oh, you're into consensual non-consent?" I asked. "I can totally do that, yeah, we just need to discuss and negotiate our expectations, needs, desires, and limits beforehand, you know?"

Her face sank into her hands. "You're not even complaining that I dressed you in a slutty bunny waitress uniform. There's supposed to be... Lorelei, you're the first person I've kidnapped who wasn't freaking out or shit-talking me."

"My name's Showgirl," I said. "You can't just mix my secret identity and my regular identity. Those are two different identities. It's not like a nickname! I'm not Lorelei 'Jim' Gannon." Her hands traced down my sides, eyeing my honestly obscene curves. "You can totally keep doing this, though."

"Oh my God," she said, in another one of those hot-but-frustrated-professor-exhilations. "I'd send you into the Pain Dimension, but you'd probably like it."

I had to admit, she wasn't wrong. "Hey, uh, Hex, why'd you dress me in this costume in the first place, if you wanted some kind of normal, PG-13 hero-villain interrogation?" I asked. It was like I'd kissed her on the nose, or rabbit-punched her in the boob. "No, seriously," I said. "Think about it. Like, my reputation is super obvious, you really didn't expect the bimbo superhero to do bimbo superhero stuff when you dressed her in the four-inch heels and the outfit with my whole-ass ass out there? I guess I'm just a little confused?"

She answered with a jerk of her hand, and I saw purple. My body rose off of the bed, and with the jerking of her fingers she made me step off of it. I wobbled just a little in the heels, due to the off-center way she made me stand up.

She twirled a finger and I twisted around a hundred and eighty degrees. She pushed her finger down and I bent over the bed, my ass on full display. I felt her hands in their arm covers press against my ass cheeks, which she kneaded in her hands. She chuckled. "No, not PG-13. I just expected a little more token resistance, but you know what? I think I can work with this after all." I felt the warmth of her probing digits against my skin under the wide fishnet holes. She pulled me physically with her hands on my hips, so my rear pressed against the front of her skirt.

I couldn't speak, so she did it for me. "Yes, Mistress!" she made me say, controlling my voice as she ground against me.

She yanked me off of the bed, and twirled me around a few times, just because she could. At least, I imagined that that was what she was doing. She reached her hand down to my ass and cupped it. I thought I almost heard a sinister smile make its way onto her face. "Oh, boy," she said. "Happy birthday to me."

She let me talk. "Wait, it's your birthday?" I asked. I then realized that it was probably some kind of witty comment, and that it had just gotten over my head.

She took a moment to answer. "Yeah. July 10th," she said, a little quieter.

I realized she was wearing a lot of makeup: lots of blacks and purples, from eyeshadow to the more subtle stuff with foundation. "Happy birthday," I said, in an equally-quiet voice, just to match the tone.

She blushed furiously. I guess I accidentally used my seductive voice. "Well, toy, there's nowhere for you to escape. This house is locked down by my minions. You're trapped here, Showgirl, for as long as I desire you to be," she preened.

I wanted to reach to steal her hat, but I figured that that would probably break a boundary. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt the feelings of my kidnapper. "...How long is ‘as long'?’" I asked.

"Forever, pet, I'll destroy your resistance the way that a flask of acid dissolves a marble," she said, making me grope myself shamelessly.

"Really? You mean it? Forever?" I asked. "Okay, well, I'm flattered, and I think we need to talk about a few things first, but..."

Hex rubbed her temples with her perfect nails. "...My God, you think this is a BDSM situation. This is an actual kidnapping. I'm going to ravish you, Showgirl. I'm going to fuck you into a quivering little mass."

I raised a finger, which had the remnants of my nail that I'd bitten off. "Well, I'm not opposed to an actual-factual real kidnapping, and..." I trailed off.

Hex paced back and forth for a moment, while I helpfully stood there. "...I'm going to be honest, I knew my subjects were always going to secretly enjoy it, but I was sort of hoping for more of a struggle anyway."

"Oh, yeah, I love those fanfics, too," I said.

"What's a fanfic?" she asked. "Whatever. Well, I control your body, and you can't run. If you try to escape, I'll have my men and women hunt you like an animal and bring you back here. If you escape them, I'll hire Dark Vendetta to do the job."

Okay, that put things into perspective. "...Oh. Okay. I guess... I guess I am stuck here," I said. "Can you piss on my face?" I asked.

She looked as though I'd asked her to do something gross, like eat food with a mushy texture. "How stupid are you?" she asked.

"I have a doctorate in history, with a specialty in American literary and cultural history," I said, hoping that would explain everything.

"Went to grad school. Pretty stupid," she commented, and my gaze sank. My gay also sank.

"Look, if I'm not your type—," I began. She answered by sticking her hand under the sweep of the bodysuit's bottom and putting two fingers into my wet little snatch.

She fucked me, rough, perfectly, and I ached out little squeaks as my curvaceous hips swayed back and forth in her arm's grasp. "How are you this tight?" she asked.

"Oh, I paid my way through grad school waitressing at a RettuCuisine," I said. "I found Doctor Cutter and got her to fill me out, fix stuff, make me tighter here or infertile there. She wasn't really open to it originally, but I had the money and offered to dress up as a police officer and..."

"Doctor Cutter? Lorelei! She's a murderer! She's insane! How the Hell did you get Doctor Cutter to give you plastic surgery? She eats people!" She still fucked me with her fingers, dancing inside myself, and the things she was saying kinda did make it better.

"Oh, I know it's actually really hard to figure out, but RettuCorp is actually a front organization for Doctor Cutter and the Ward. That's why the first part of its name, 'RettuC', is Cutter backwards," I said, in what I hoped was a compassionate kindergarten teacher kinda tone.

Her hand pushed into me, wet and slick, and she took a second to think on that. "...RettuCorp. Cutter. RettuCorp is a Cutter front." Her hand stopped, briefly, then got back to work making me squeak like an adorable mouse girl. "...I don't know how it took me this long to realize that. Does... Does that make you a cyborg?"

"Yeah!" I said. "It's where my powers come from!"

She traced dark lipstick down my neck. "Then maybe you're more useful than I thought. Tell me, Showgirl, have you ever wanted to fall to darkness?" she asked, like a vampire. She could have just bitten me. I would have even liked it.

She forced her fingers into me, and I groaned out a leaky orgasm onto her hand.

"There we go," she said. She laughed, a roar of subjugation. "You're mine," she said, and all I could do was blush.

Chapter 3: Showgirl for Sale

Summary:

Showgirl meets a monster, has an orgy, goes grocery shopping, and gets hooked on a horse-man romance novel... Not in that order.

"You're mine," she'd said a few hours ago. I woke up in her bed, after a very boring dream about Robot Bunny sticking her heels into my pert little—

Well, some things are better left unthought. You can break a stiletto off trying to do something like that, anyway! I sagely considered, the idea of that waking me up like cold water up my nose.

Her bedroom was kind of a monument to her own vanity, I thought, literal platinum records and awards framed all along the walls. She had a copy of Stormcharger Saga, Book One: Daynight Rider on her nightstand, by Velicia Kay. It had a cover of a very generic brown-haired woman looking up at a giant horse-man with a Saturn Five hard-on.

Oh, well, don't mind if I do, I thought. Then, I gingerly reached over to the book and started to flip through it:

"Kairi Hausvik," the stallion roared, his raging manstiffness interrupting me. He strode to me on his two iron-hard legs. I woke up frightfully in the night, my university school books scattered around my room. "They want to kill you," he said.

When it came down to the horselords, I had been told about them since birth. There were a number of key rules:

1. Don't trust the horselords. They lie.

2. If a horselord makes you pregnant, you turn into a horse. You must never get pregnant.

3. The horselords cannot feel true love.

My mouth gaped open as I looked at the text. The prose hooked me, like some kind of animal that you'd see on a hook, and I got fifty pages into it before I realized I was doe-naked. I rolled my eyes at my captor's silly antics and got back to the book.

Grave Stridelynn stared at me in a deadly appraisal. I wasn't one of those stupid bimbos from my college who were there to party, but of course those brainless mean girls were dead in the Wyld Hunt and I'd survived. I clutched my horselord.

"You may die today, Kairi," he said.

I grimly nodded. "If I were to die, my King of the Daynight, I'd want it to be here, with you."

"By Pegasus, what of our brood?"

I patted my full tummy. "They'll know when they grow up that their mommy killed for them."

I had it in my head: Grave's black, matted fur; Kairi's bob and contemptous pout; the Porcinarian Jaegers charging at them with their swine-tusks, and the torchlight illuminating them under the Daylight Night's darkest height.

I could see Kairi's struggle for her children: her foalboys! The chemistry was organic. This wasn't some plastic story about some girl meeting a man; this was a story of love and life, a complex statement on the—

"Lorelei?" Hex mumbled. I guess she woke up. She crawled across this giant flood plain of a bed and spoke in my ear. I turned my head, and saw a late-forties redhead in purple silk, not the stallion-man-king of my dreams.

"Yeah?" I said. "You have really good taste in books!"

She took a second to respond. "That's, that's not mine. That's my, my little sister's book. I'm not." I asked her if she was a furry. "Not a—,

"What?" she asked. "What's a furry?"

She put her hands on my breasts, and I leaned into her touch. Not that it really meant anything, but it was secretly kinda cool to know that my tits were like three times the size of hers. It was like a high score in an arcade game.

I tried to explain. "Okay, well, uh, a furry is someone who likes anthropomorphic, human-shaped cartoon animals. While it's not necessarily a sexual or fetish thing, there is a notable subset of that community that is sexually attracted to—," I began.

"Never mind," she said, rubbing her eyes. She looked like a queen: a queen who was really good at rubbing her eyes. "My point is that it's not even my book, anyway. It's my sister's. My sister who's..." She blinked three times. "I'm forty-eight, now. I don't read ravishment fantasy romances, and if I did they wouldn't be heterosexual."

Oh, well, that explained that. "Well, I'd love to meet your sister sometime and talk to her about it!" I chirped. I liked the word "chirped". It made me feel like a bird. She continued to grab onto me like a teddy bear or an unofficial body pillow of the singer Paige, her hands moving across my insanely-hourglass'd naked self.

***

In her wildly-amorous civilian identity of Lorelei Gannon, Showgirl found herself standing in the middle of the Never Think About Yourself Grocery Store, wearing nothing more than a tiny metallic Hex-purple string bikini and flip-flops. As her nemesis Hex searched for the least-expired bag of broccoli—

I thought it was a kinda cool take on the classic superhero scene introduction, sort of like something out of a real-person fanfic of Harmblaster. I hoped anyone near me who had a mind-reading power enjoyed it. Maybe it wasn't that good. Maybe a Winter Wizard from the People's Democratic Republic of Krasagranatania would have been confused about why a grocery store would have such an ominious name. I heard the fans spinning and hissing.

I was the center of the grocery store, and it wasn't for my many superheroic talents. A lady in a respirator wolf-whistled at me, and I wiggled my ass and tits for her like some kind of booby mousepad.

I saw a lumpy, over-muscled man with a ragged beard that reminded me of Gregarious Guy's post-transition dyed black hair. I wondered what he was doing these days. He was one of those teen heroes, from a super family. That was when I was a kid. We'd both grown up.

I'd kind of had a crush on him, growing up. Beard guy just kind of put his hand on the front of his pants as his eyes were fixed on my rack.

Hex put the right plastic bag of groceries into her shopping cart. I shivered. The amber light sterility of this fortress of plastic and tile made me feel like a popsicle. I felt like a Spongeblob Airpants popsicle, like the kind with those amazing bubblegum marble things for eyes.

"This place is really cold," I said, stating the obvious. I noticed a picture of the founder of the store chain on the wall, an old vulture of a woman labeled as "Henrietta P. Banks". There was a string of text printed over her pantsuit in the photo. "Never think about yourself, always think about other people."

An Asian butch in a Seagull City Seagulls jersey and a respirator was eyeing my ass. "Hey," she said, in a Boston accent.

"Cool respirator!" I said, giving a jittery thumbs-up.

I raised an eyebrow, then looked at how much a pack of broccoli florets cost. I picked it up off of its shelf, wishing I'd gotten someone who wasn't Doctor Cutter to install a self-heating module into me, and checked the price.

I checked the price again. I figured I'd misread it. Twelve dollars?

The street fashion butch and the beard guy both stumbled towards me. Oh, crap, I thought. This was a villain! Oh, and some dude who smelled like a chemical interpretation of wood.

Nuclear Winter's in my grocery store, I thought. Oh, shoot. Oh, frick. Oh, dang.

Winter gave a wink to the other women and men who were coming closer to me, a sea of people I couldn't fully differentiate. "There you go, you dumb fucking bitch," Winter said in her Southie accent. At least, I thought it was Southie. I wasn't really an accentologist.

"Oh, geez, how are you going to afford all these groceries?" I said aloud.

"With my platinum credit—," Hex began. No, this was unacceptable. She noticed the approaching croud of lusty pervs. She was going to be charged an excessive price for broccoli. This was robbery, and as a superheroine stopping robberies was my bread and butter.

Well, I guessed it was my broccoli florets in this case. Everyone from the carrot section to the organic apples and the giant tub of ice that someone had stuck a king crab in had turned to face me. Men, women, people of genders that weren't my business, they peered wolfishly at us. Nuclear Winter spoke with the kind of malice you'd expect on Doctor Cutter or Black Magic's faces. "Nice to see a besuited geek and a nearly-naked slut."

I tried to avoid Winter's tiger-mouth words. "I just don't see any way that you're going to be able to afford these groceries, these necessary foodstuffs that you need to eat," I said. Sure, she was a villain, but forcing starvation on someone wasn't in the handbook of rules, guidelines, and erotic drawings of gay cartoon characters I made for myself when I started this beat.

Winter waved at the crowd. They fell slam-dunk-through-the-hoop-silent. "You don't wanna have some fun? Look at this bimbo ho, she's throwing herself at you normies."

Hex looked at me like I had two heads and one of them was Spec-Tarr the Squid Ghost. She glared at Winter, but didn't possess her yet. Then, there was a burst of insight (one might call it a flash) and I felt Hex's perfectly evil hand on the top of my back, near the base of my neck. "Oh, you're right, strange bikini woman I took grocery shopping with." Their eyes were all on me, Hex's hungry ones most of all. She kept talking. "If only there was some way for me to use this naked bimbo to make money so I could buy all of these hideously marked up groceries, and in doing so make Henrietta P. Banks even more money."

"I know a way!" I said, jabbing a finger in the air in a way that arched my back. I saw a woman rubbing herself through the pockets of her pants, her angular face coated in dark makeup. I bent forward "accidentally", just to make sure she got the perfect view of my spherical globes.

"Oh, I think I've figured it out first," Hex said, the patent leather pumps on her feet shining black like latex. "Anyone with cash, give me five and you can do whatever you want to her."

It turned out that a lot of people came to the Never Think About Yourself Grocery store with cash. Maybe it was for the RettuCorp cigarette machines. You couldn't get cigs at Whole Foods.

I tried to provide my best winning smile as they rushed me, hands, moving across my body. They slipped under my sling bottoms, under the little pieces of fabric over my nipples, and into me. An older man drew his wrinkly cock out from his undersized slacks and started stroking. I did it for him, and I felt pussy against my thigh.

A finger slipped into my mouth, past my thumb-plush lips, and I started sucking on it. In the edge of my vision, I saw dollar bills pile up in Hex's shopping cart, my hips swaying as I twirled. The older guy with the manstink cologne stuffed his pulsating titan into my girlhole, which was a perfectly good name for a pussy.

I groaned as fingers and cock pushed into me. I heard Winter drop her baggy track pants, and her cunt fucked my other hand. I felt tongue against my hands, my legs, even someone's head pushing over my navel. People moved, swarmed, and swept across my body. I let out moans, porn-star ones, begging and needing to be taken. Two more fingers forced their way into my asshole, which hurt a little given that there was no lube.

Don't try this at home, unless you're a cyborg you could get seriously injured doing that!

The guy pushed my head down and pre drooled onto my forehead. Maybe I would get injured for this, if I didn't have my powers.

I decided I needed to review my own Adult Sexual Education with Showgirl course materials, before a guy pulled the other person's fingers out and stuck himself in my asshole. I let out a loud, bleating groan, and Hex looked at me with absolute joy. I saw her reach into her own pants, and I saw her fingers move underneath them.

The old man ripped his cock out of me and started to fuck my armpit, letting his spray of semen coat the inside of my laser-hairless crook.

Nuclear Winter, one of the most terrifying women in the world, pulled her mask down to reveal scarred lips, and she started licking my newly-exposed nipple. I looked up at her with a What the frick? expression. She grinned with burn scars.

It was a storm, and I was drenched in juices, cum, sweat, and saliva.

I wasn't sure whether this was a new thing for me or not, and before I could contemplate it two hands grabbed my cunt and tummy. "We've hit our money for the day, let's get moving!" I heard Hex say. "Sorry, the Showgirl is closed!" She rushed me to the dairy section, and I watched the crowd try to cover up their stained everythings.

Me, I couldn't cover up any of the gunk on me. The stares only grew as Hex kept filling out her cart.

Chapter 4: Das Raum der Dichter, Denker, Dominas und Dummköpfe

Summary:

We meet Frau Freiheit, Showgirl gets some more attention, and today's update brings some European class and sophistication, or at least a buff woman domme.

Notes:

The title translates to "The room of poets, thinkers, dommes, and dumbasses", if I have it right. Ich spreche klein Deutsche, aber ich bin eine Schuler.

A woman with more muscle than a Pontiac GTO muscle car had her hands around my hips. She wore a one-piece German flag swimsuit. Good taste. Her strap was lubed-up and pushing into my squeaky-clean little rear hole, and I let out groans as her great hands held onto me. I was bent over Hex's bed, which I'd just made, and the fact that I was previously in a poofy, revealing little maid dress didn't really make me look any less indecent.

Said dress was now on the floor, in the corner of the room, like it was being a voyeur.

Hex, clad in a rather pretty set of purple lace lingerie, sat there across from me, her back against a pillow. She was wearing that orange lipstick that went well with her freckled face, and I realized I was pretty screwed. I caught Stormcharger Saga: Book Two, Forever Legacy of the Neverafter Everstampede. Huh, I guessed Hex read quickly.

Frau Freiheit was tall and blonde, with almond-brown eyes and a statuesque form. I ached, and I let out a shout as she grabbed me with her almost supernatural abilities of holding my hips real good. I wished I'd brought my American flag bikini, but to be honest that probably would've gotten in the way of the big, yellow, plastic thing filling me up.

"You like the speed? The power? The sheer efficiency?" Frau Freiheit asked.

"Yeah, your strap's like the Deutsche Bahn," I said, trying to sound informed.

"No," she said, with seriousness. "It's not like the Deutsche Bahn."

It sucked that you couldn't get fucked in clothes, I thought. Having to choose between looking hot and having a six foot German woman ream you was some real BS (Bull Smoosepucky).

"Is this good?" Frau Freiheit asked, bending forward and stopping with the dicking to lay black lipstick stains down my naked back.

"Please," I whined, my overfilled bimbo lips smacking against each other as her own made their way to the edge of my ear. "Bend me over more..."

Hex checked her phone, feigning disinterest. At least, I hoped she was feigning. If she wasn't, though, that'd be really cool. "You sure have a thing for women fifteen years older than you," she commented, still reading some kind of Princesses and Pegasi tabletop RPG stick figure webcomic. The characters were drawn as circles on top of little boxes, with expressive lines for their arms and legs.

I had a crush on the stick figure succubus, and I wasn't going to apologize for it. "Maybe I have a thing for older women," I said.

Frau Freiheit laughed. Her voice was husky, with a bit of a smoker's gravel. "Yes? You have a thing for older women, but—," she began. Her fingers drew around the edge of my cunt, teasing the outer folds.

Showgirl Suggestion: Make sure you don't go straight to the clit! You have to go for the whole thing first.

I tried to think of a "but" to add in. This was getting to be a pretty awkward situation. "A woman can't admit to a well-endowed European superheroine and her supervillain kidnapper that she's a cougar kitten?" I asked, drool falling out of the corner of my mouth as she dug deeper into my backside. My implant-boosted cheeks slapped against her crotch.

Hex, still reading her webcomic, commented dryly: "So shameful," she said.

"Absolutely pathetic," Frau Freiheit agreed. I wondered if she was like this with Detektiv DDR, her wife who'd been treated really awfully by the Socialist Unity Party. That was from the start of her career. She'd later, knowingly, been used as a token by the reunified government, and I guess pretty logically she'd just gotten intensely cynical about the whole situation.

It was a bit of a downer. I wondered if she'd want an American idiot to suck her pretty little cock. Maybe that'd make her feel better, like a tiny bit, in the moment. I hoped so.

"Besides," Frau Freiheit said, making me think of something other than Detektiv DDR's tightly-sculpted butt. I instead thought of Detektiv DDR and Frau Freiheit double-teaming me, mouth and pussy, which made me smile until Frau Freiheit went in way too hard. "I'm a lot more than fifteen years older than you."

"Ow!" I yelled, as in the word "ow". "What the heck! What was that for?"

Frau Freiheit slowed her movements, and applied a new coat of lube from a bottle. I assumed it was water-based, and we did have a roll of paper towels in case of spills. The paper towels were on the floor, partially-unspooled. "Sorry!" she said, in a thick accent. "It's just that you're such a ravish-able woman, and—," she began.

Wait. She thought I was ravish-able? "You really think that?" I asked. My voice shifted quickly into becoming a lot softer. Even softer than usual, really, and my voice was basically one of those stuffed animals you used to be able to get that were also virtual pets.

She put a hand on my toned stomach, the product of thousands and thousands of sit-ups. "Exactly, doll. You've turned yourself into pornography. As a German, I appreciate the sexualle Kunst of it all: the sexual art. Mein Gott, you're like an anime girl."

"As a German?" Hex teased. "I thought you were Canadian."

"Really?" I asked, her fingers tracing neatly around my nipples and fiddling with the little pointy bits in the middle. "You think I look like a real-live anime girl?" I asked.

Hex looked up from her phone just to roll her eyes. "Fuck me gently with a chainsaw," she commented, making a "yuck" noise with her throat. "I should've known you watched anime."

"Well, I don't watch much, I mostly look at the porn," I said, raising a finger as Frau Freiheit held my wrists behind my back, slapping me like I assumed you were supposed to slap a sausage. Was that a thing? I was pretty sure it was. How else were you supposed to tell if it was safe to eat?

Hex adjusted her bra strap. "So that's why you look like that. You're a porn geek."

"There's much to appreciate in porn," Frau Freiheit said. "Latex, rubber, leather, dominance, submission—," she began.

"Unrealistic representations of sexuality," Hex said, as Frau Freiheit's fingers fucked me furiously into my frighteningly full fagina. I ached out groans and moans of erotic ecstasy, as Frau Freiheit played me like a waldzither.

"What if I'm starting to get aroused at the concept of Germany?" I asked the room. Hex sneered at me, but I thought I saw her trying not to crack a smile.

"Then I would say we should talk more often," Frau Freihei said, her finger in my bellybutton, which got me off even though it probably shouldn't. She pushed into a laying position against the bed, slamming her whole body into me.

I finally noticed the sex toys and cleaning supplies on the floor. Then, I said the words "Oh, yeah!" and she pulled herself into me as I felt myself shudder and ride into orgasm. "Ride", I thought, much like a horse-lord-man.

Frau Freiheit was just like a horse-lord from one of those books, except she was a woman and not a horse, and she was from Ulm instead of the Realm of the Perverse Equinominids. "You are from Ulm, right?" I asked, fact-checking my internal monologue.

Frau Freiheit looked at Hex. Hex looked back at her. They exchanged a knowing glance, my dommy mommy dommes. "She is very unique, isn't she?" Frau Freiheit said, with a deep chuckle.

Hex looked up from what she was reading, her green eyes sparkling at me like seltzer. "Tell me about it."

"I wonder what she's on about?" Frau Freiheit said.

"She's very American," Hex commented, which I chose to take as a compliment. If she thought I was dumb and horny in a cheap way, she could stick her hot dog in my buns anytime.

"Mmhmm," Hex said, looking back at her stupid comic when she should have been looking at my heaving, bulky, powerful, busty, globular, round, full, mighty, superheroic, bulletproof, squishy titties.

"You are also American," Frau Freiheit said to Hex, twisting me around with her powerful body and pinning me against the bed on my back.

"Well, I'm Irish-American," Hex commented. "My family came over in the 1890s."

"Practically European," Frau Freiheit joked, and I felt her fingers move down my hyper-exaggerated hourglass figure. "You might as well speak Gaelic," she said in a tone even I could recognize as sarcastic.

"Hey!" Hex said, her beautifully sharp nails on her perfect hands dancing across her phone's body and screen. "I wasn't saying that, I was just—," she began.

"More, please," I begged and whined, as her touch flattered my form. "I'm yours, babe," I said.

"Oh, I could pick you right up like a human blow-up doll," Frau Freiheit commented. She showed some teeth.

I wiggled in her touch. "You're a really good service domme," I mumbled. "Are you even getting off to this?"

"I just take pride and joy in a job well-done," she said. "And really it's a side trip. I'm really here for Nuclear Winter."

"Oh, yeah, I just banged her!" I said. "She's so hot, right?"

"...I'm here to stop her," Frau Freiheit said, and I realized that her super-strength could snap my spine without much trouble. That made it even hotter, honestly, that she was bending down with her hands on my sides and her tongue approaching my entrance.

"Oh, uh, yeah! Probably a good idea! What's she want to do?" I asked.

"Start a nuclear war, probably, like always," Hex commented. "There are two kinds of villains, Showgirl: Suns and Moons. Suns are in it for fun, and we tend to be campier, more playful, more interested in making money and not pissing anyone off. Suns are people like me, a glamorous cybernetic thief like Robot Bunny, an infiltration expert like Leading Man, or a PG-13 rated mob boss like Jackie of Diamonds. We are threats, and we do hurt people, but it's a matter of tone and limits. Then there's Moons, like cannibal butcher Doctor Cutter, spy movie villain Cassandra Rumare, sorceress warlord Princess in the Tower, or alien conquerer Ultimate Commander Eyria. Moons are the kind of people who even villains like me worry about. They don't moderate their threat level, they don't play for fun, they don't have standards. They're willing to get fucked up, basically. They're the kind of people that Vendetta fights. Frau Freiheit mostly fights Moons."

"I mean, I fight Moons, too," I said, not sure why she recapped something we all already knew. "Having sex with Nuclear Winter was just... I mean, look! She was in the grocery store! It was going to happen! And besides! It's not like sex with Moons doesn't happen! Doctor Cutter fucks Willie Jane Savage, Cassandra Rumare and her spy nemesis Riona Cold are practically married already, Princess in the Tower and Knight in Shining Armor are clearly doing a T4T BDSM thing, and Ultimate Commander Eyria has literally done pinups. It happens."

"Well, sure, my love," Frau Freheit began, kissing me down my face and reaching for a sanitary wipe from one of the little packets on the floor. She started to clean off her strap. "It's normal, but that does mean that the next time you sleep with Nuclear Winter ought to be in MAX-CAGE prison."

Hex responded. "It's just not safe. Someone like Nuclear Winter, if she succeeds once everyone dies. You can't take that lightly. Besides, if she goes down, all my stuff gets set on fire too. Like you," she said to me.

My name is Cold. Riona Cold. God she was so fucking cool, and also hot. I needed to sleep with more European super-people. Wait, what were they talking about? Accents were so hot. I needed to masturbate to accent demonstration videos on the internet. I wondered if I could learn to fake an accent, then I could use it while jilling off and get myself off all nice. "Uh, good luck with the whole stopping Nuclear Winter thing," I said.

Frau Freiheit and Hex took me together, Hex's hands on my head and Frau Freiheit finishing up the teasing around my folds. I realized she was going to leave me to work that one out myself, which was good, because it was what I'd asked for.

"Of course," Frau Freiheit said, standing up. "It's just another routine mission." She gave me a little salute, and Hex took control of my body with her power.

Thank heck for clam jamming by sweaty six-foot women. Oh, boy!

Chapter 5: An Emotional Conversation With a Woman in a Slutty Clown Costume

Summary:

Hex and Show discuss sex, sexuality, and the true meaning of kidnapping.

I was wearing a polka-dotted clown outfit, with a cropped jacket, a tiny PVC white polka-dotted skirt in a ton of colors, matching super-high boots, and my tits hanging out for the world to see. We were sitting at an Antarctic Circle burger place, out underneath one of those restaurant umbrella things. I had a red nose on, too, obviously.

Hex, in her civilian guise as Hera O'Malley and in a skirtsuit, dipped a fry into her little paper cup of fry sauce. It was overcast above us. She pinched her lips together, but not before surreptitiously rubbing her legs together. She had a book on her lap, titled The Ultraviolent Ecstasy of Rhea and Penny, which honestly wasn't a great title for a book. It was kind of long. I didn't even know who Rhea and Penny were.

Hera wasn't spending much time reading the book, which had a bloodsoaked cover and some chick in full armor. Instead, she was reading my chest, and the letters she was reading were N-I-P-P-L-E-S. "Are you thinking about something stupid?" she teased, not looking into my eyes.

"No!" I said, thinking about a stupid thing. That nipples line wasn't exactly my A-material, was it? "I was just contemplating justice." I reached for my Teal Goo Icy Fluffcream, licking it like it was a giant, meaty, sexy, long, fantastic, rich, big, wide, girthy, wholesome, incredibly dickable cock.

"Does justice involve giving a blowjob to an ice cream cone?" Hex asked.

"Like you haven't wanted to go down on Freezer Burn," I said. "Mistress," I hastily added. She used her powers to make me smoosh my ice cream into my cheek. "Hey!" I said.

"Miss Chill is really more my speed," Hex said.

"Can we have a serious talk?" I asked, my tongue dangling across my face to lick off the creamy ice.

She blinked a few times. "I'm kidnapping you. I don't know why you think we're dating now, but—," she said.

"No, like. I mean, I'm up for a good BDSM kidnapping see-and-see scenario, but like... You're clearly into me, and I feel like we need to talk."

Showgirl Suggestion: Communication is the bedrock of BDSM. If you aren't communicating effectively, you could be in serious danger!

"...You think we're dating?" Hex asked, taking a long bite of a titanic burger. I meant it, it looked like it was the size of the ship. "We aren't. I'm just holding you captive as my superheroic sex slave." There was ketchup on her nose. Hex put more than the optimal amount of ketchup on her burgers, I realized.

"Maybe I should, uh, say what I think a kidnapping is," I said.

"Sure, pet," Hex said, eating another five fry-sauce-dipped fries saucily.

"Okay, so, when I was kidnapped by Doctor Cutter, she had one of her creepy spider drones crawl through my window and inject me with sedatives. It carried me to a basement, where Doctor Cutter started covering me in seasoning. I was hit with a cricket bat a lot, I got tons of bruises, I had a gun pointed at my head, and she was going to fuse me into some kind of walking assassin exoskeleton and then eat my limbs barbecued. I mean, I got out of it, I always do, with a kiss on her cheek and my ass far, far, far away," I explained. "But still. I mean, sure, it was hot, but, like, that's a non-dating kidnapping. This feels like some kind of...dating kidnapping," I said.

Hex's eyes widened a little, and she awkwardly ate six fries in one hand while she processed that. "I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry you have to deal with that stuff. Fucking Moons. Look, so I'm not Doctor Cutter. That doesn't mean this is romantic. It doesn't mean we're gay little lesbians."

Oh, no. "You're homophobic?" I asked, horror in my tone.

"No! I mean that I'm in my late forties and you're, what, twenty-nine? I have a whole career behind me and you're..." She waved a barbecue-sauce covered hand. "You look like that. You could be a plus-size model."

"Oh, my kidnapper's worried about an age gap?" I asked. "I happen to like cougars. Aren't you a supervillain?"

Age gaps can also be really dangerous, and I definitely don't endorse them.

"Honestly, Showgirl? I'm a musician who lost her mind," she said, and it hit me like the proverbial Deutsche Bahn train. Wait, no. Frau Freiheit had mentioned it to me. I'd need to find a different train to compare this revelation to. My boobies bounced as I sipped from my hummingbird-sweet 128 ounce cup of Magic Materia Patriotism-flavored soda. This seemed like a steam train situation.

I would have put my hand on her thigh, but I didn't want to get ketchup on her nice suit. She must have had a lot of suits, if she was taking them to Antarctic Circle for burgers. Supervillainy seemed pretty nice, as a gig. "You don't want to be a supervillain?"

"I mean, it's not that crazy. You develop Nashton Syndrome, and you become obsessively into a supervillainous gimmick, and then you can't do your job anymore, and your musical scions have to drop you," Hex began.

"You just wanted true love and respect, all this time?" I asked. So romantic!

"Secondarily, pet, I guess. I wanted money. Obscene amounts of money, which I'm making hand over fist. First to make ends meet, to buy...overpriced broccoli, but now? I like this. Okay? I like being Hex, and if that means you're going to be my mind-controlled kidnappee girlfriend whether you like it or not..."

Oh my gosh, I thought, gleefully bouncing in my seat. "I have my own stalker!" I smiled wide. I loved stalkers. They were always so hot, doing things like finding out where you hung out, or harassing you online as brutally as they could, or buying your used panties and filming themselves cumming in them, or demanding you have sex with them, or leaving turds on the Showcycle.

Every superhero ought to have a motorcycle, I thought. Thems was just the rules. Anyway, yeah, stalkers were great.

"Stalker is a strong word," Hex said. "I'll just say that, if you could perform, I kind of wish I could have had you as a client instead of as a hero."

"Oh, I can sing," I said, before singing.

She made a throat-cutting gesture. "You're incorrect about that." She took a breath. "So I guess I'm proposing that our kidnappee-kidnapper relationship becomes a consistent, explicitly—," she began.

"You wanna be girlfriends?" I blushed, my whole face growing pink. "Okay, first of all, we've got to get you a hotter outfit. I love your witchy looks and suits, but I bet a sling bikini or a corset and stuff would—," I said.

"No. No sexy outfits. Not for me," she said, like a hammer claw straight to my girlflower. It was so good. I could have cum just there.

"Oh," I said. "Why's that?" I asked, immediately before realizing she probably had some kind of tragic, outfit-related backstory.

"Before we were Shadow Stalker, I was a backup singer for Kieran Stillons."

"You were a backup singer for Gregarious Guy?" I asked, shocked and amazed.

"He was just a former Bennett Channel child star, then, right before he transitioned and got his powers." Hera said. "I had to wear a lot of dumb shit."

"Is Gregarious Guy a dick?" I wondered aloud. It reminded me of that TV series Those Girls, the one where all the superheroes are evil corporate jerks. If Gregarious Guy was like that, that'd be totally disappointing.

"He was getting screwed too. It was a whole system. Not his fault," Hera said, her eyes darting to my rolling landspheres. I wasn't even wearing a bra, which was kinda the nice part of having really, really fake tits.

Some of my stalkers called them "bolt-ons", which was really good. There was like one or two guys who talked about me who really hated women, which was fine when they were saying it to me, but I had to help all their other victims get safe and get justice more often than anything. I really did wish I could just find an insanely misogynist loser and just be at his mercy, though, assuming it was just me. If only we could socially legitimize misogyny, but directed only at me personally.

That was a good idea, I thought. That would probably create a feminist utopia. My legs brushed up against one another and an embarrassing expression came onto my face. Me as the ultimate misogyny scapegoat would be such a good, progressive idea for helping all women.

"Showgirl?" Hex asked, laughter bursting out. "You're thinking about something goofy, aren't you? Classic Showgirl. That really made my day, it absolutely just broke me out of that line of thinking."

"I was, um, thinking about how I wanted all sexists to be awful to me personally so they wouldn't bug other women and stuff," I said, sheepishly. "I'm sorry! I feel really bad, now, I don't want you to think I don't care about your life, or your issues, but..."

She chuckled some more. "That's why you're mine. You make me laugh." We both sat in silence for a second. "Also, those honkers are like blimps."

"Do you like doing the doll thing?" I asked. "Is that the only time you feel safe with sex?" Dang it! I'd brought us back to the depressing stuff!

She nodded. "I think I see where that literary history degree is coming in. You're smart when you aren't dumb. The truth is, Showgirl, I envy how much of a slut you are. I... I don't like to lose control, ever. The music industry is not a fun place. Besides, you make such a perfect bimbo clown doll. Smoke?" She drew a pack from her pocket.

"Smoking isn't cool," I said, trying to make the point to the nobody that was here at a burger place at 8:30 AM. "Cigarette smoke contains ammonia, lead, acetone, nicotine, tar, and arsenic, and causes cancer."

She drew a Shadow Stalker merch metal lighter and lit her cig anyway. "More for me," she said.

"Are we dating?" I asked. "I feel like I'm getting a lot of mixed frequencies, and, like, I don't do great with ambiguity, because I'm someone who really appreciates—," I said.

She took a stylish drag off of her suicide stick. "I couldn't date you, Show. I couldn't match your level."

Then, I had a realization, like the realization that I was having a heartfelt conversation in a pointy clown hat. "Are you on the asexual spectrum?" I asked, in my best sex ed voice (which I used for actual adult sex ed, of course).

Hex thought about it. "Haven't we had a lot of sex?"

"Well, asexuals are able to have sex just fine, it's just that they don't have a sex drive. If you're fucking me for power, or connection, or something like that, even if you are getting off if you don't have a libido then you could definitely count as ace," I said. "But, I mean, I'm not saying asexuals can't wear skimpy stuff, or that discomfort with sex makes you asexual! That is not true, so please don't think I said that, because I'm saying the exact opposite of that thing!"

Hex nodded. "Honestly, the sex mostly feels like it's for our sake. I'm not... I don't know what you get out of it, but I'm not getting it. I... Oh my god. Am I not allowed to have sex, now?"

"I mean, I'm a lesbian who's constantly taking dick."

"...Are we really doing this? Are... Are you explaining this to me?" Hex asked.

"I'm a trained, professional sex educator!" I said.

"You talk like a sex educator, pet." She shook her head. "It's embarrassing, honestly. I... I like you, you're a fun person, but you're always talking about consent and communication, and, you know what, that's great and all, but it's book knowledge."

Book knowledge? I thought, indignant. "Look. I mean, you can do whatever. It's not that people can't do stuff, it's that they don't typically want to, according to the social constructs that we call sexuality that ultimately exist to explain ourselves and our own unique identities." She didn't roll her eyes, which I appreciated. "But sexuality's a whole spectrum, right? It's complicated. People can feel whatever, and that's real because it's theirs," I said, the cold wind brushing against my exposed areolae.

Hex took another drag off of a cigarette. "I'm not saying it isn't helping, but you sound like an Oh No Dildo comic. You know what? You're doing this thing where you're trying to give input, but you don't know me and you sound like a Sesame Street muppet, but yeah. A lot to think about. You might not be totally wrong here.." She inhaled a lot of deadly smoke. "Maybe you and I should... You could show me how to learn this stuff, find what I'm into, see if this what's going on. Am I allowed to do kink?

"It's not an allowed thing. You can do whatever. Tons of ace people like kink. That might be what's getting you off, right?" I asked. "The power, the dominance. The sex is just the biological process or whatever, maybe? Does that sound right?" I asked.

Hera O'Malley gave me a hot-cocoa-warm glance. "Can I just have some space? The questionnaire isn't helping. Besides, I find it kind of hard to imagine you're an expert on asexuality, with your whole thing." she said.

"I'm really good at being a slutty, fuckable, cum-hungry, wet dream, lusty set of holes," I said.

She walked up to me, wiped her hands off on my napkin, reached under my skirt, and stuck them into me. "Yep. It's the power over people that I'm getting, there. I think. I'll have to look into it. You know, Show, ravishment is my lifeblood."

Showgirl Suggestion: Question your sexuality before you go kidnapping bimbos! It's wrong and unethical!

Gosh, I leaned into her tense, tender touch. Kidnapping was awesome.

Chapter 6: We Had a Schedule!

Summary:

Unfortunately, Hex and Showgirl have to put up with Silicon Allie, the biggest, sluttiest failgirl in Seagull City.

"Alright, Showgirl," Hex said, the roll of duct tape in her hands. She stretched out a length of the stuff. We were in her backyard, and frankly I had to note that it was a little privileged that she was a homeowner with a backyard and a front lawn. I felt like I'd have to go and get kidnapped by some of my villains who weren't so economically lucky. I was bound to a lawn chair, and she was wearing a massively delicious black latex catsuit. Me, I was in the world's most overly strappy bikini, which when you really thought about it was kind of the point of this whole thing. "Any last words before I shut you up?" The sunlight reflected off of her beautiful red hair.

"You think you've got the upper hand now, villain, but—," I began, staring into her pretty eyes.

Then, I heard the sound of jet engines. This jerk in a jetpack slammed down to the ground, next to Hex's pool. She wore goggles and a swimsuit-looking leotard. No! Not her! Not now! Come on! I thought.

"Showgirl!" she said, pointing at me and Hex. "My name is Silicon Allie, and I'm going to kick your ass!"

"Where was this on the shared schedule?" Hex said, throwing up her arms.

There's a schedule? I thought.

"The schedule? You're complaining about the schedule? Who's been hogging her?" Silicon Allie said, leveling her death ray at Hex. "Let some other girls have a turn!"

"Actually, I kind of did get boinked by Nuclear Winter and Frau Freiheit," I said. I would have raised a finger, but, you know, bound.

"They don't count!" Silicon Allie said. "Frau Freiheit is German!"

"Why does it matter that she's German?" Hex asked, on the verge of rolling her eyes so far that they bounced out.

"Because everyone is into Germans! It's like a universal pass thing! If you're with someone and you get the chance to bang a German, that's totally normal! Everyone knows they're great in the sack!" Silicon Allie began.

Hex's tone was so dry it could have cosplayed as the Sahara. "Alright. German universal pass. What about Nuclear Winter?"

"Nuclear Winter is a vile, monstrous, horrible, disgusting, perverted, depraved, stupid, moronic, foolish, dumb, moronic, dumb, foolish, perverted, dumb, evil, vile, monstrous, demon incarnate, beast of America!" Silicon Allie yelled.

Hex looked at me with an expression of complete dead-inside frustration. "Really? You're judging someone for wanting to start a nuclear war?" she asked. "Didn't you try to enslave all of Belgium with a mind-melting cyber-virus?"

"Who cares about cyber-viruses or nuclear war? That skunkbag showed me up at my bat mitzvah!" Silicon Allie yelled. "So how dare you sleep with that low-life, sports-fan pseudo-nerd who brought a remote-controlled helicopter to my synagogue?" I kinda had to admit, Silicon Allie had really great legs, and her black lipstick was super hot and added kind of a goth edge to her vibe. The fact that she had to have been shorter than five feet, had boobs that were almost my size, and was wearing pigtails only made her cuter. "A helicopter! A car, maybe I could live with that, but a helicopter?"

"That's great, but I marked this pool thing on the group chat schedule," Hex said, taking some deep breaths in the kind of way you only did if you wanted people to know you were pissed off but too good to just say it.

"It's been like three weeks! None of us have gotten any action with her!" Silicon Allie said. "I've had to spend all this time masturbating to The Stormcharger Saga: Book Four: The Lusty Boudoir of the Sensual Maiden Clydesdale! And if this keeps up, I'm going to have to go on Library for Friendly Fanfic — you know, LF3 — and find smut to read!"

Hex exhaled again. "Your jetpack is burning my flowerbed." Silicon Allie was, in fact, standing in Hex's flowerbed.

"What do I have to do, Hex? You can't just have her all the time!" Silicon Allie said.

Hex bent her fingers upright. Silicon Allie fell on her knees. Hex shifted them to the left, and Silicon Allie shut her jetpack's burners off. "Actually, I can."

"Yeah? By what right does Miss BiTunes Killed the CD Star get to just fucking monopolize our pet bimbo?"

Pet bimbo? I thought, my whole face turning red as I ground my bound legs together. Oh my gosh, that's really hot.

Hex made Silicon Allie prostrate herself, putting her head down against the flowerbed and ruining it further. "The right of finder's-keepers-losers-weepers." She started to walk towards the other girl. "Maybe if you followed the group chat you'd get a turn. Nuclear Winter sure does."

"You can't do this! I'm hotter and younger than you!" Silicon Allie said.

"No one thinks that," Hex said, forcing Allie to stand up. "Oh, and by the way, the RC helicopter sounds fucking dope. I think I have a maid dress in your size."

"No!" Allie yelled, probably annoying Hex's neighbors. Allie really didn't seem that uncomfortable. There were a few telltale signs, like the slight pigment in her cheeks, the way that her eyes darted around like she was embarrassed, the hidden squeaks she was making, and the fact that there was a gushing river of Lightning Dew lemon-lime soda coming out under her swimsuit from between her legs. Dang, that was pretty cool, I realized. She probably had, like, an eternal soda supply. "You'll never get away with this, you has-been!"

Hex made Allie walk over to me and pick up the safety scissors, cutting me out of my tapey bonds. Allie looked at me, unable to do much else but stare at my tits. "Man, I love your boobs," I said. "Who's your surgeon?"

"Nisha Ramakrishnan," Silicon Allie said. "You probably couldn't afford her. She costs, like, Robot Bunny money."

"Oh, nice, I've heard Dr. Ramakrishnan's good," I said. "Mine's Lina Cutter."

Allie's expression bent into a silly mask as Hex made her pull my extremely convoluted bikini down and off of me. "Your surgeon is Doctor Cutter?" she asked.

"I thought you were a Moon," I said. "Aren't you guys used to dark stuff?"

"I'm a Moon, Show, that doesn't mean I'm like Doctor Cutter! I like to think I bring a charming, Sun-style ethos of fun and lightness to my Moon-tone crimes! I don't eat people!" Allie said.

I kind of zoned out there, because her giant fake boobies were bouncing underneath her swimsuit and it was mega distracting.

"I'm altering the schedule. Pray that I don't scrap the whole thing," Hex said, putting her rubber-clad hand on Allie's back.

"No, you don't understand! We need the schedule! The consequences of abandoning the schedule would be catastrophic!" Silicon Allie said.

"And why's that?" Hex asked, making Allie become even shorter via falling on her knees again.

"Universe Jazz is still in play! The dark heroes of that universe are going to commit deeds of such total malevolence as to threaten our domains here on Universe Pop! No one is safe!" Allie threw up her arms, as Hex made her slither out of her swimsuit. There was a lot of cum underneath there, I saw, more cum than skin. Gosh, that's cute, I thought.

"Show, get her the maid dress," Hex commended.

I gave a lazy pinup-girl salute. "Yes, ma'am!"

***

AND NOW: Somegirl vs. the Mistress of Robots!

I sometimes wished I had a bit of a curvier body. Now, that was due to a variety of factors, but at the moment the main thing inspiring that thought was right in front of me. Here, right in front of me with Hax's morning coffee, my boss was jerking her robo-cock to a picture of Showgirl on the wall. Showgirl was my alternate self, an ultra-plastic bimbo princess known as much for her holes as her heroism.

"Didn't you just get back from Universe Pop?" I asked Hax. "Do you really have to keep sleeping with Silicon Allie's celebrity crushes?"

Hax had a goofy, needy grin on her face. "Oh my Josh, Ms. Gannon," she said, stroking herself. Her eyes darted from the pinup of Showgirl to my bespectacled face. "Let me tell you. When it comes to you and Showgirl, you're both so flarping hot. You're like the coolest, hottest, best person ever, and I need your heels on my dick so bad. Also yes, obviously, it's for the scrapbook we're going to send to her." She kept rubbing her girlcock, grinding her hand against it.

So we were doing this again. It was one thing for the hottest heroine on the Universe Jazz Corporate Leaderboards to be masturbating to my face, but it was quite another for her to do so before 10:30 AM. "Hax, please, we have a number of crimes to fabricate," I said, dryly. "I promise after a bit of work I'll be more than happy with you masturbating to the thought of my pumps on your body."

"No, but, like, imagine if you had your face and glasses but Showgirl's tits, but your domineering coldness? Wouldn't that just flarping rule?" Hax asked, covered in motor oil and cheap online lube.

I raised an eyebrow. "I'd like to think I've cultivated my intelligence rather than becoming an airheaded bimbo like my trans-universal equivalent," I said, handing her the mug of coffee. It said "World's Second Okayest Lesbian" on it, and she eagerly grabbed it. "Or, for that matter, an airheaded bimbo like Silicon Allie."

"You know, Showgirl has a PhD," Hax said, putting her dick in a wrench for some reason I could not comprehend. "Fair enough on Silicon Allie, though."

"Well, Showgirl can't be that smart if she went to grad school, Miss," I said. "Besides, she refuses to falsify crime stories, which seems kind of overly-naive."

Hax shrugged, and I noticed that the ace pride flag behind her didn't have the required orange stripe on it. It must have been a trans-universal collectible. "I have a PhD," she said.

"Yours is in STEM!" I exclaimed.

"Yeah, and I need your STEM in me," she said, in a way she seemed to think was sly.

"Well, regardless," I said, as I watched her sip. "Please cum to the bimbo version of me already so we can discuss office politics."

"But I don't wanna," Hax whined. Given that she was twenty years older than me or so, it was a rather baffling sight.

My gaze was leaden. I said nothing.

Inexplicably, she had managed to masturbate with a metal wrench. At least, I thought, it wasn't an allen wrench. "It's Often Nut October!"

I pushed up my glasses, respectable, rectangular frames they were, and only felt mildly as though I wanted to pin Showgirl down and facefuck her. Yes, indeed, I was a self-controlled citizen of the world. "Is it Often Nut October or Always Nut October?" I asked.

"Look, I've only nutted once today, flarping give me a break," Hax said. "And besides, didn't I just save the world from Ultimate Commander Eyria with Showgirl and Hax from Universe Pop? I think I deserve a little fun time."

Hax, of course, enjoyed the submission in sex. That was what made her seek it out. Beyond that, it was largely foreign to her. Hence why she was gooning to my tightly-fitted blazer. "Are you a blazer fetishist?" I asked.

She must have found it an interesting question, perhaps even a compelling one. So, she coughed extremely loudly. The word "hacked" could have seen use here, in this context. "What?"

"You're staring at my blazer," I said, with a minimum of hostility.

"Do you wanna do something about it?" she asked me.

"Eagerly," I said. "Take your hands off your cock and pray for Mommy."

***

"What did the Universe Jazz versions of ourselves do to you, anyway?" Hex asked to Silicon Allie, who was now in towering platform heels and a very frilly maid dress.

Silicon Allie, very much against her will, started to dust the bookshelves. "Dark deeds beyond your comprehension, merely telling you would melt your brains," she began.

"Speaking of Universe Jazz, I heard that Hax from there is friends-with-benefits with celebrity director Kendra Oswald," I said, helpfully infodumping.

"Oh, that's nice," Hex said, watching Allie — or, more accurately, her basketball ass cheeks — work.

"Oh, interesting tastes in literature," Silicon Allie said, drawing from the shelf a book. "The Darkblood Dragon-Seductress of Bondage Keep. Was that written by China Mieville or Murakami?"