Chapter 3: The heros domination
The world had narrowed to a tunnel of sensation. The rough, sun-warmed pavement against his back. The lingering, stinging impressions from hammer blows and slaps mapping his flesh. The cool air kissing every inch of his nakedness. And the heat. The unbearable, shameful heat centered in his groin, where Electra’s grip still held him upright, a vulgar puppet string.
Max’s chest heaved, each breath hitching. Tears of humiliation blurred the perfect blue sky above, but he couldn’t stop the low, continuous moan vibrating in his throat. His body was a traitor. Every brutal impact, every degrading grope, had only stoked a fire in his core, hardening him further in Electra’s relentless fist.
“Listen to him,” Carla sneered, circling them like a shark. She slapped his inner thigh, a sharp sting that made his whole leg jump and his hips twitch upward. “He’s purring. The great hero, reduced to a whimpering cockstand.”
Electra looked down at him, her expression one of contemptuous wonder. She gave him a slow, twisting pull, her knuckles white. “It’s like steel wrapped in silk. Absolutely useless for anything but this.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping. “You want to come, don’t you? You want to shoot your load all over yourself in front of your city.”
“No,” Max gasped, the word thin and brittle.
“Liar.” She released him abruptly.
He cried out, a sound of pure loss, his hips bucking fruitlessly into the empty air. The sudden absence of touch was its own torture.
Carla knelt by his head. She grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head to the side so he was staring at the crowd’s front row. Faces were flushed, eyes glazed, mouths hung open. Hands moved compulsively in laps and under clothing. “Look at them, Max. They’ve already come in their pants just from watching. They’re still coming. And you’re lying here, empty. Doesn’t seem fair, does it?”
She traced a sparking fingertip from his temple down to his lips. “You should service your public. It’s your duty.” The fingertip pressed against his mouth. A tiny, painful arc of electricity zapped his lip, making him jolt. “Open.”
He clenched his jaw, shaking his head weakly.
From his other side, Electra’s shadow fell over him. She didn’t touch his cock. She placed her boot gently on his sternum, a looming threat. “Open wide, superhero. Or I start breaking ribs. They’ll heal, but it’ll feel… messy.”
A sob escaped him. The conflict was agony. His mind screamed of degradation, but his body, throbbing and neglected, screamed louder. His lips parted, just a fraction.
“Good boy,” Carla cooed. She didn’t put her finger in. Instead, she shifted, swinging a leg over his chest and lowering herself until she was straddling his face, the black material of her costume pressed against his mouth and nose. The scent of her, sweat and ozone and something deeply feminine, filled his senses. “Since you’re so eager.”
He gagged, turning his head, but Electra’s boot pressed down, pinning him. “Uh-uh. You asked for this.” Carla ground herself against his face, the fabric growing damp. “Lick. Show your fans how a fallen hero cleans up.”
Tears streamed from the corners of his eyes into his hairline. His tongue moved, a pathetic, small motion against the oppressive material. A choked, muffled sound of utter defeat rumbled in his chest.
Electra laughed, a rich, dark sound. She moved her boot and knelt between his splayed legs. “Don’t worry, we haven’t forgotten the main event.” She didn’t use her hands. She lowered her head, her fiery red hair falling like a curtain, and took the swollen, flushed head of his cock into her mouth.
Max’s back arched off the ground, a silent scream against Carla’s pelvis. The wet, hot suction was an electric shock to his shattered nervous system. It was not gentle. It was a claiming, a violent act of consumption. Her tongue swirled aggressively, her teeth providing dangerous, thrilling pressure.
She pulled off with a loud, vulgar pop. “See, Carla? Even tastes like vanity. Salty and desperate.”
Carla, rocking slowly against Max’s suffocating face, giggled. “Let me check.” She dismounted, leaving him gasping for air, his mouth and chin wet. She swapped places with Electra, her blue-haired head dipping down. Her approach was different—clinical, curious. She licked a long, slow stripe from base to tip, then took him deep, her cheeks hollowing.
Max whimpered. His hands scrabbled weakly at the pavement, fingernails scraping. Every muscle in his abdomen was clenched rock-hard, a defined, trembling tableau of ecstatic agony.
Electra stood, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and addressed the crowd, her voice booming. “He’s all show! A fireworks display with one fuse! And you all bought tickets!” She gestured broadly to Max’s prone, quivering form. “Look at him! Is this your protector? Or is he just the city’s communal fuck-toy?”
The crowd roared, a frenzied, orgiastic sound. Their veneer of fandom had fully cracked, revealing the raw, hungry id beneath.
“Maybe you deserve a turn!” Carla shouted, rising up and leaving Max’s shaft glistening under the sun. “He belongs to the city, right? So claim your property!”
For a heartbeat, there was stunned silence. Then, a figure burst from the front row, scrambling over the barricade with shocking agility. Her professional blazer was gone, her hair disheveled, her eyes wild with a new, terrifying possessiveness.
Rachel.
She wasn’t fawning now. There was no pretense of journalism. Her expression was one of fierce, greedy conquest. She strode to Max’s side, looked down at his ruined, beautiful body, and kicked his thigh sharply with the point of her high heel. “You made me wait,” she said, her voice low and dripping with venom. “All that teasing. All that ‘touch me, but don’t’ nonsense.”
Max stared up at her, incomprehension adding a new layer to his horror. “R-Rachel…?”
“Shut up.” She knelt, her hand replacing Carla’s, her grip expert and unforgiving. She squeezed the base of his cock hard enough to make him yelp. “I’ve imagined this. I’ve dreamed about putting the mighty Max in his place. And look at you.” She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear as her fist began to pump him with a brutal, knowing rhythm. “You’re just a thing. A gorgeous, sculpted thing. And things get used.”
Her other hand dug into the hard curve of his pectoral, nails biting. “You liked it when I was shy, didn’t you? You got off on the pretending. Well, no more pretense.” She suddenly wrenched his head up by the hair and spat in his face. The warm spittle slid down his cheekbone.
The crowd went insane, chanting now, a raw, wordless sound of encouragement.
Electra and Carla watched, amused arms crossed over their chests. “She’s a natural,” Electra chuckled.
Rachel released his hair, her hand returning to his shaft. “I’m first,” she declared, not to Max, but to the villains. She moved, hiking her skirt up around her waist, revealing she wore nothing underneath. She positioned herself over his hips, one hand guiding him, the other pressed flat against the trembling, sweat-sheened washboard of his stomach for balance. “This is my exclusive,” she hissed down at him.
And she sank onto him.
Max’s eyes rolled back. A guttural, animal sound was torn from his chest. She was impossibly tight, hot, and consuming. She didn’t wait, didn’t gentle him. She rose and slammed back down, taking him to the hilt, using his body for her own pleasure with a furious, piston-like intensity.
“That’s it,” she grunted, her professional composure utterly gone, replaced by a savage, sweating dominance. “This… this is the story. The hero… is a hole. A slot. A receptacle.” Each word was punctuated by a vicious bounce of her hips. She raked her nails down his chest, leaving bright red trails over the muscle.
He was powerless, overstimulated, his superhuman strength rendered inert by the cascade of violation. His hands rose feebly, but Carla stepped on one wrist, Electra on the other, pinning them to the ground. He was utterly tethered, a sacrifice on the altar of the public’s desire.
Rachel rode him faster, her cries sharp and businesslike, as if completing a ruthless transaction. Her inner muscles clenched around him in a fierce, rhythmic pulse. “You’re mine!” she shrieked, her body going rigid. She convulsed, her release crashing over her, and a flood of warmth drenched him deep inside. She collapsed forward, biting his shoulder hard enough to leave a perfect ring of teeth marks on the defined deltoid, before rolling off to lie panting on the pavement beside him.
Before he could even process her climax, Electra was moving. “My turn.” She shoved Rachel aside with a boot and mounted him in one smooth, powerful motion.
Her weight was different, heavier, more controlling. She didn’t ride him; she dominated him. She planted her hands on his chest, fingers splayed over his pecs, and used her formidable thigh muscles to lift and drop herself with devastating force. Each impact drove the air from his lungs, each descent sheathed him in a crushing, muscular vise.
“This is what you are for!” Electra roared, her head thrown back. “This is your purpose! Say it!”
He couldn’t speak. He could only gasp, his body a instrument played with ruthless skill.
Carla, growing impatient, crouched by his head. “Don’t forget this mouth. It talks too much nonsense.” She positioned herself over his face again, lowering herself until he was forced to service her, his tongue moving on autopilot, licking and probing through the soaked fabric as she moaned above him.
He was split, occupied, utterly consumed. Electra’s powerful hips hammered into him from below, a brutal, pleasurable punishment. The sensations mounted, a terrifying wave he could no longer resist. His abs corded, his legs trembled. A broken, continuous whine seeped from around Carla’s body.
A broken, continuous whine seeped from around Carla’s body.
Electra’s movements became jagged, stuttering. “That’s it, you pretty little power outlet,” she grunted, her voice raw and losing its vicious cadence. Her powerful thighs clenched like vices around his hips, her back arching as her internal rhythm fractured into frantic, clenching spasms. She ground down hard, a final, crushing rotation, and let out a sharp cry that was almost a sob.
Her release was a hot, sudden flood inside him, a drenching pulse that seemed to go on and on, coating his straining length. She shuddered, her muscles standing out in sharp relief across her abdomen before she slumped forward, her sweat-slicked torso heaving against his.
Above his face, Carla’s moans escalated into short, sharp shrieks. “Yes, yes, lick it, you worthless—!” Her words dissolved as her body seized. A different warmth, copious and fluid, soaked through the thin material of her costume and rained down over Max’s mouth, nose, and cheeks.
It was a drowning, salty deluge that filled his nostrils and blurred his vision. He sputtered, choking, turning his head to gasp for air but only managing to smear the mess across his face. Carla rode out the convulsions against his mouth before finally, bonelessly, rolling off to lie panting on the stage beside Electra.
Silence, save for the crowd’s hungry panting and Max’s own ragged, wet breaths. The two villainesses lay spent. He was pinned between them, drenched in their releases, his body screaming. His cock, rock-hard and glistening with Electra’s climax, twitched violently in the open air, a neglected instrument still begging to play its final note.
A wave of painful tension coiled at the base of his spine, an unbearable pressure demanding relief. His hips gave an involuntary, desperate jerk.
“Ah-ah,” Electra slurred, lazily reaching out and wrapping her fingers around him once more. Her grip was firm, a shackle at the very root. She squeezed, not moving, just applying punishing pressure. “Did you think you got an invitation to that party?”
The climax that had been rushing up slammed into an immovable wall inside him. He cried out, a sound of pure, bewildered agony, his entire superhuman frame locking up. The sensation receded, leaving a throbbing, frantic emptiness worse than any pain.
“No one said you could finish,” Carla added, wiping her face and propping herself up on an elbow to watch. “The show’s for us, remember? You’re just the set piece.”
The pressure in his groin was a second heartbeat, frantic and swollen. A fine tremor ran through his quadriceps, danced along the tight cords of his abdomen. He could feel every drop of fluid they’d spilled on him cooling in the sun, a sticky map of his disgrace, but it was the unbearable fullness within him that commanded all focus.
He could feel every drop of fluid they’d spilled on him cooling in the sun, a sticky map of his disgrace, but it was the unbearable fullness within him that commanded all focus.
“Look at his eyes,” Carla said, her voice thick with lazy amusement. She nudged Electra’s shoulder. “He’s floating. Completely vacant.” She traced a sparking blue fingertip from his navel down to the base of his shaft, making the whole muscle jump and twitch. “Except for this. This is very, very present.”
Electra chuckled, a low rumble. She hadn’t released him. Her fist remained a tight, unmoving collar around the root of his cock, a dam holding back a lake of fire. She gave a single, cruel squeeze. “What’s the matter, Maximus? You look uncomfortable.”
A pathetic sound, something between a whimper and a groan, leaked from his lips. His head thrashed side to side on the gritty stage. The denial was a physical ache, a cramp deep in his core that radiated out to his trembling fingertips. “Please,” he rasped, the word torn and raw.
“Please what?” Carla asked, feigning innocence. She leaned over him, her blue hair brushing his chest. “Use your words, hero. What does the unbreakable man need?”
He swallowed, his throat clicking. The confession was a defeat worse than any hammer blow. “I need… I need to…” He couldn’t say it.
“To come,” Electra finished for him, her voice dripping with mockery. “He needs to come. The great defender of Sunlit Plaza, brought low by his own dick.” She shifted her grip, began a slow, tormenting stroke that was pure agony. “All that power, all that virtue, and you’re just a biological mess waiting to happen.”
“It’s all he is,” Carla agreed, joining in. She didn’t touch his cock. Instead, she palmed and squeezed his heavy balls, a rolling, possessive pressure that drew another sharp cry from him. “A hypocrite in a vanished costume. A sex doll with a punch.”
“Pathetic,” Electra hissed, speeding her hand just a fraction. The friction was exquisite, devastating. His hips stuttered, trying to meet the motion, but she stopped dead. “You want it so bad? Go earn it. This is a democracy, right?” She released him suddenly and pointed a commanding finger toward the roaring crowd. “Go find one of your adoring fans. Crawl over there and beg one of them for permission. Maybe a nice girl will take pity on the fuck-toy.”
The order cut through the haze of pleasure-pain. Crawl. Beg. Before them all. His mind recoiled, but the throbbing demand in his groin pushed him onto his elbows. His muscles, so defined and powerful, shook with the effort of simple movement.
“Now,” Carla said, punctuating the word with a small, sharp arc of lightning that zapped his inner thigh.
He flinched, scrambling backward, then onto his hands and knees. The concrete was rough against his palms and knees. The view was of boots, legs, the lower half of the crowd. A low, collective laugh rose as he began to move, his body a pale, dirtied sculpture forced to locomote. The strain between his legs swung heavily, obscenely, with each clumsy shift forward.
He reached the edge of the stage, the barricade just beyond. Three young women in the front row clutched each other, their eyes wide, lips parted. He looked up, his vision swimming. “Please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “I can’t… I need… please let me.”
The first girl, a blonde in a tight tank top, stared with rapt fascination. “Oh my god,” she breathed, not to him but to her friends. “It’s so much bigger up close. Look at the veins.” She bit her lip. “And his abs are, like, carved. Even now.”
She leaned over the barricade, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper the microphones still caught. “You can cum, Max… if you bark for me first. Like a little dog. Three times.”
A fresh wave of humiliation, hot and sour, washed over him. He dropped his head, his shoulders slumping. The pressure in his loins pulsed. “Woof,” he whispered, the sound barely audible.
“Louder!” the blonde squealed, clapping her hands.
“Woof! Woof!” he cried out, the words ripping from him. It was enough. She grinned, a flash of white teeth, and hopped the barricade with ease. She knelt before him on the stage, her hands immediately closing around him. Her touch was frenzied, greedy, no skill, just frantic pulling and twisting. “I’m touching it, I’m touching Max’s cock,” she chanted, while her other hand shoved down the front of her own shorts, her fingers working frantically against herself as she stared at his body.
She came in less than a minute, a shuddering, squeaking climax, her grip on him tightening painfully as she rode it out. The moment her own pleasure ebbed, she shoved him away, wiping her hand on her shorts. “Ew, no way,” she said, her voice regaining a nasal, dismissive tone. “You don’t get to finish on me. You’re all sweaty and used. Gross.” She vaulted back over the barricade, giggling with her friends.
Electra’s laughter boomed from the center stage. “One down, slut. Two to go. She used you like a vibrator and threw you in the trash.”
Max trembled, the edges of his vision spotting. The stimulation had been rough, overwhelming, and the denial was a shard of ice in his gut. He crawled to the left, toward a brunette with fierce eyes who was already licking her lips.
“Please,” he sobbed, his forehead nearly touching the ground at her feet. “I’m begging you. I’ll do anything. Just say I can.”
The brunette stepped over the barricade with a predator’s grace. She crouched, her fingers not touching his cock but tracing the deep lines of his v-cut, digging into the firm muscle of his hips. “Your body is insane,” she murmured, almost to herself. “A work of art. It should be in a museum. Or a brothel.” Her eyes met his, glowing with a dark idea. “Lick my boots clean. Every bit of stage dirt. Then we’ll talk.”
He stared at her black leather boots, flecked with grime and confetti. A new low. He bent forward, his tongue extending, and began the long, slow, degrading work. The taste of dirt, rubber, and salt filled his mouth. The crowd cooed and laughed.
Satisfied, the brunette pushed him onto his back with a foot to his shoulder. “Good pet.” She straddled his thighs, not taking him inside her. Instead, she rubbed the soaked, swollen head of his cock against her clothed clit, rocking back and forth with a slow, grinding intensity. The friction through the fabric was maddening, constant, and indirect. She moaned, her head falling back, one hand pinching and twisting his nipple hard while the other worked between her own legs, her movements growing frantic.
“You feel that, hero?” she gasped, riding the denim seam against his sensitive tip. “You’re my little silicon toy. Perfect shape. Perfect size.” Her climax built quickly, her thighs clamping on his hips, her whole body shuddering as she soaked her jeans with a sharp cry. She collapsed forward, breathing heavily, her lips against his ear. “You made me cum.” She bit his earlobe. “You don’t get to. Not ever.” She slapped his cheek, a casual, dismissive sting, and left him there.
“A human sextoy!” Carla yelled, applauding sarcastically. “That’s all! No mind, no will, just a pretty body and a built-in attachment!”
Max was delirious. The world pulsed in time with the desperate throbbing in his groin. He crawled, a broken machine, toward a third fan, a redhead who watched with cool, analytical hunger.
“Please,” he wept, his voice a shattered thing. “I can’t think. I can’t… please give me permission. I’ll be your toy forever. Just let me.”
The redhead smiled. She didn’t hurry. She stepped over the barricade, knelt, and took his face in her hands, turning it side to side. “The angles on his jawline are perfect,” she observed clinically. “And the tear tracks are a nice touch.” Her hands slid down his neck, over the mounds of his shoulders, down the carved channels of his arms. “Excellent musculature. Peak physical form. And so… responsive.”
Her demand was simple. “Hold perfectly still. Don’t move a single muscle. If you flinch, you fail.”
She then proceeded to use him with terrifying, creative focus. She settled over him, taking him deep inside with a sigh, but she didn’t bounce. She contracted her internal muscles around him in intricate, rolling patterns, a masterful, internal massage that ripped continuous, soft sobs from his chest. At the same time, she explored his body with her hands and mouth—sucking bruises onto his pectorals, licking the hollow of his throat, tracing each individual ridge of his abdominal muscles as they quivered with the effort of absolute stillness.
She took her time, bringing herself to a slow, rolling, powerful orgasm that squeezed him like a fist, her eyes locked on his the entire time. When she finished, she dismounted, leaving him achingly empty.
She leaned down, kissed his trembling lips softly, and whispered, “No.”
The word was a final hammer blow. His mind shattered. A continuous, low moan issued from him. His cock, an angry, purpled pillar against his stomach, jerked and leaked. Every nerve was aflame, every thought burned away, leaving only a white-hot need and the echoing taunts.
“Look at him!” Electra crowed, walking over to stand above his head. “The perfect, virtuous superhero. A delirious, desperate slut. His only superpower now is how badly he needs to ejaculate.”
Carla stood at his feet, shaking her head with faux sympathy. “Pathetic. A fuck-toy the whole city had a turn with. A hypocrite who pretended he was above this.” She aimed a finger at his tortured cock. “And that is all that’s left of him.”