The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Call the Master. She is ready.”

Angie and Carmen grinned and wordlessly slinked off the bed, leaving the panting Miss Americana lying on the soft gray pelts. They slipped past Sandra as she rose up between the overwhelmed heroine’s spread knees, caressing her pale legs affectionately. Sandra watched them vanish through the portal into the temple beyond. She had a few moments to prepare.

She climbed onto the bed, and pulled the dazed superheroine up until they were both nestled in the center of the large, fur-covered mattress. Then she cozied herself up against her victim’s trembling, heated body, groaning in desire as their large breasts pressed together. The cupped a hand against Miss Americana’s flushed cheek and gently turned her head until the dark-haired beauty’s red parted lips were scant inches away from her own. It took a moment for Miss Americana’s glazed, hooded eyes to focus on the evil blonde’s cat-like stare.

“There now,” Sandra whispered, running her fingers through thick, dark hair, “That wasn’t so hard, was it? You tasted every bit as delicious as I knew you would.”

Her other hand ran down Miss Americana’s back, enjoying the silky softness of her skin, rounding over her supple ass and sliding over her slender, pale thighs before reversing direction. Miss Americana struggled feebly in the lesbian’s embrace.

“Y-you’re evil...” she murmured, even as Sandra’s deft caresses drew them closer together. The blonde slipped a leg between Miss Americana’s soft thighs, making her gasp when she pressed it against the woman’s hot, wet pussy. Her hand settled on Miss Americana’s hip, holding her close, gently rocking against her defenseless cunt. She grabbed hold of her dark tresses, breathing across her soft lips.

“We just wanted to welcome you to the family,” she said, her breath smelling like sex and cinnamon. “And I think we both know how much you liked what I did...”

Miss Americana weakly shook her head. “N-no...it was wrong...I didn’t want that...”

That’s not a denial, the blonde seductress noted with a grin.

Miss Americana’s head was woozy. The pressure of Sandra’s leg against her clit was making her tingle. The womanly softness of her body was so enticing. She couldn’t muster the strength to pull away.

Sandra smiled at her empathetically, possessively squeezing the soft flesh of her taut ass. “There is no right or wrong here, darling. Only pleasure. And I know how to make you feel so, so good...”

As Miss Americana opened her mouth to protest, Sandra suddenly pulled their lips together, stifling her with a wet, dominating kiss. She slid her tongue into the instantly rigid superheroine’s open mouth, seeking out her own, and entwining with it. Miss Americana struggled against the kiss, but as it wore on, her resistance began to waver. Sandra felt her body sag and melt against her, felt the hot trickle of sticky love juice against her rocking thigh, and gradually, she felt her beautiful captive start to kiss back.

Miss Americana didn’t know what was happening. She shouldn’t be enjoying this, but Sandra’s lips were so soft, her tongue so hot. It had been ages since anyone had kissed her that way. It was so easy to forget where she was, the mortal danger she was in, and just sink into the woman’s wet, crushing kiss. Her eyes drifted shut, and moaned as Sandra’s tongue plundered her mouth mercilessly. Unconsciously, she began rocking harder against the slick, smooth thigh that pressed insistently against her clit.

The sensation of their tits rolling against each other was far too pleasant; devilishly enjoyable. Sandra knew just how much pressure to apply with her thigh, pressing and rubbing against her unprotected sex with experienced skill. And the way her fingers clutched at her hair, holding her still, forcing her to submit to her wild kiss, it was so...aggressive! Miss Americana couldn’t help but respond. Her thighs once again began to part for the dominating lesbian, as her deft sexual attack forced a helpless moan from the captured heroine’s slender throat.

Sandra grinned as she felt Miss Americana swoon. The bitch was totally at her mercy. It would be so easy to kiss her way down to those glorious tits, or that hot, wet pussy, and fuck her again, but she knew the Master wanted her for himself right now. She would enjoy turning this sexy, buxom broad into her eager little fuck toy, but that would have to wait till later.

Soon, Sandra promised herself, she would take her again, and she would relish making Miss Americana return the favor, whether she wanted to or not.

But all too soon, she heard the sound of heavy, cloven footfalls drawing closer. Reluctantly she broke the kiss with her dazed victim, noting with satisfaction how the woman’s chest heaved breathlessly. “We’ll have to continue this another time baby,” she said, “It looks like we have company.”

Miss Americana followed the blonde’s gaze to the chamber doorway, and sat up with a jolt, her heart skipping several beats. Framed in the massive archway was the Beast. On either side of him stood Angie and Carmen, a clawed hand resting possessively on their shapely hips. She felt his burning gaze fall upon her naked body and a rush of feelings—anger, shame...and excitement?—began to roil in her belly. She felt his eyes rove along her every curve, settling on her massive, jutting tits, as an almost physical sensation. It made her skin prickle hotly. His penetrating stare fixed her to the bed like a pin through a butterfly as he swaggered to the bed.

“Good evening, my dear,” the Beast said with a leer, “I trust my brides have made you as...comfortable...as possible?”

“Brides? You monster!” Miss Americana snapped, her voice betraying only the slightest quiver. “They told me what you did to them! If you think you’re going to get away with this—”

But he had raised a clawed hand to cut off her tirade. “More empty threats, I grow so tired of them. You speak too freely, woman. I will show you your proper place.”

He gave the two beauties flanking him a final tap on each curvacious behind before saying, “Leave us.” When Sandra lingered, he leveled a steady stare at the beautiful blonde beside Miss Americana. “All of you.”

Sandra gave her reluctant lover’s right breast a final, playful squeeze, nipping at her ear. “Have fun darling,” she breathed, feeling Miss Americana shudder against her, “We’ll...talk...later.”

And in a breath Sandra slipped away, leaving Miss Americana suddenly alone on the massive bed, her nakedness sprawled on the thick pelts, while the Beast, the monster, drew closer. At once the buxom heroine almost yearned for the evil blonde’s aggressive attentions; at least they were human. She saw Sandra glance back at her once more as the blonde reached the door to the chamber. The look in her eyes...Miss Americana couldn’t be sure whether it was jealousy, pity, or perhaps both.

Then Sandra was gone, and she was alone...with him.

The Beast stalked forward. His eyes burned with low, emerald intensity. His total demeanour, his every movement and gesture, bespoke of a predator closing in on its prey. His nostrils would flare as he sought out her scent, tasting her fear. She struggled to rise, but could only manage to sit up. The orgasm Sandra had inflicted on her had left her drained, shaky. Her limbs felt like gelatin. Worse than that though was the low, delectable throb that blonde’s evil embrace had left in her pussy. Her heart was pounding, the flutter in her belly risked making her nauseous, and yet with every passing moment the terror was increasingly intermixed with little flurries of...arousal.

“His pressence makes you weak,” she could hear Sandra’s voice whispering in her ear. Miss Americana didn’t want to believe it, but something was happening to her. She was starting to feel hot. Her cheeks burned like a school girl’s on her first date with the hunky quarterback. She could feel his eyes on her. The look conveyed only contempt, arrogance, and lust. He meant to rape her, to have his way with her like he’d done with the others, and God dammit she shouldn’t be feeling so...so turned on!

“S-stay back,” she stammered, pushing herself back up the bed until she was stopped by the massive, ancient headboard, “Come any closer and I’ll—”

“You’ll...what?” the Beast taunted. He had reached the foot of the bed, and the torchlight behind his hulking frame left Miss Americana cowering in his massive shadow. “There’s nowhere left to run. All that’s left is for you to...submit.” His eyes flickered brightly, inviting her to look into their brilliant green depths...deep into their brilliant depths...to fall....

No. NO! She shook her head, pulling her gaze away before he could snare her again. His eyes made her drowsy, made her want to lay back, to sleep. They would make her helpless...and she couldn’t let that happen!

She clutched at the headboard, panting, her breasts heaving. She could feel the wetness starting to ooze from her trecherous cunt. Her nipples were rock hard, aching. She had to look somewhere else, anywhere but his mesmerizing eyes. She saw how the fur mantle covered broad, muscled shoulders, how even at rest his arms seemed to pulse with strength. Her gaze travelled naturally down his broad chest, along the chorded muscles of his abdomen...and then Miss Americana made a fatal mistake. A movement caught her eye in the shadows shrouding the beasts’s hips and waist. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim, and what she saw made her gasp.

Something glistened, angry red, slowly emerging from a thickly furred sheath at the monster’s groin. Before Miss Americana’s wide, disbelieving eyes, she watched it lengthen, and swell. The large mushroom-shaped head that crowned his regal shaft was as large as a baseball bat, and throbbed an angry, deeper violet than the redness of the rest of his organ. Behind it the rest of his member continued to grow, monstrously large, easily as long as her forearm and chorded with thick, pulsing veins. The monster’s cock, now fully erect, arched toward her, hanging over the bed and throbbing in time to the beast’s terrible heartbeat.

Oh my god, Miss Americana could only gape, he...he was huge! She’d never seen a penis that...imposing before. A cock like that would rip a woman in two, would tear her apart...and yet...she felt drawn to it. Some primal, primitive part of her was reacting to his crude, flagrant display of his masculinity. Her wide eyes drank in every detail, staring...starting to glaze...the sight of that cock seemed to grow in her vision, eating up her focus, until it became all she was aware of.

If it had occurred to the stunned female to try to look away, she would have found herself incapable of doing so.

She was fascinated.

The Beast grinned as he watched the haughty superheroine become inexorably entranced by the sight of his godhood. Her tense form began to slacken, her body settling back onto the bed. Her legs unconsciously shifted, parted just slightly, offering a glimpse of her glistening pussy to his voracious gaze. He had seen it hundreds of times before, and it never failed to send a throb of anticipation through his engorged shaft. No matter how much they protested, or how vigorously they reviled him, one look at his cock could send any female into a lusty daze. Miss Americana had correctly recognized the hypnotic threat posed by his eyes, knew about the debilitating effects of the mist, but did not understand that of all those were merely meant to set up his prey for his most devastating attribute. The Beast was ancient, a manifestation of fertility and desire, a sex-monster from a world long forgotten. Hunting, bedding, and mastering human women was his entire reason for existence. Now, it was time to fuck this particular female into total sexual servitude.

He began slowly moving around the bed, closing in on the quivering female braced against the headboard. The movement made her jump. “N-no! K-keep that thing a-away from me...!” Miss Americana stammered, but her wide, shining eyes remained helplessly fixed on the throbbing cock as it drew closer...closer. A moment later and he was beside her at the head of the bed, towering over her. His cock was now dangerously close, so close that she could easily reach out, could touch it...

The Beast said nothing, content to watch her struggle against the maelstrom of desires he knew were bubbling up inside her. Her breathing was labored, her breasts taut, her nipples rigid. Her long legs shifted back and forth on the thick pelts covering the bed, scissoring open, closed. She squirmed. She knew she should get up, should try to run. The door was open, unguarded. She should roll away from him, dash for the door, try to find a way to escape this wretched den of hedonism...and yet she couldn’t. He was so close. She felt intense...attraction to this beast! More than she’d ever felt towards any normal man!

She felt naked, vulnerable...and hopelessly turned on. Wicked thoughts raced through her fevered mind, unbidden, uncontrollable, the longer she stared at his massive member. Lurid visions and fantasies swam in and out of focus in her mind’s eye. She imagined being back in that great chamber, kneeling between his legs as he sat on his great throne. She imagined taking that massive head in her mouth, sucking on it, worshiping him with her tongue and lips. She imagined him forcing himself on top of her, plunging that great shaft between her tits and fucking her until he spewed all over her chest, neck, and face. How much would he cum? But she knew the answer to that already; Carmen had told her. He would come endlessly, covering her with his seed, and still there would be more.

She swallowed hard. How would he taste...?

The images shifted again. This time she was in a forest clearing, the moon shining down through the canopy overhead. He lay on the ground, she astride him, riding him. She arched her back, moaning up at the clear sky as he took her breasts in his terrible hands and pleasured them mercilessly. He would make her explode around him. How could she not? Filled with so much male flesh, pierced to the depths of her core, how could any woman resist coming like that?

It was awful. Seductive. Overwhelming.

“Touch it,” he whispered to her, his voice low, compelling.

Every shred of her heroic morality, her pledge to defend the innocent and avenge the weak, the very heart of who she was as Miss Americana, struggled against the hot, sexy malaise creeping up from her overheated pussy. Her clit seemed to throb in time to the pulsing of his cock, as if it were already dancing to the puppet strings of his sexual control. She fought the urge to take his dreadful penis in her trembling hand...and lost.

“No...I can’t...musn’t...I...” her voice trailed off as she watched her hand close on his turrid shaft. The heat was amazing, searing. He was rock hard, and so wide around that she was nowhere close to being able to close her fingers together. Then she saw a second hand join the first, holding just behind his wide head...and realized with a start that it was her own, that she now held him in both of her small, trembling hands. As if they had a mind of their own, she saw them slowly beginning to stroke up and down his shaft, marvelling at his length. feeling the ridges and bumps made by hammering, thick veins. Almost immediately, a thick droplet of pearly white formed at the tip of his cock before dripping heavily onto the bed. Long strands of sticky fluid followed it back to the swollen glans, which was now oozing precum as her hands slowly but steadily pumped his shaft.

She shook her head in awestruck denial, even as her hands continued to stroke him, even as her panting breaths drew in the hot, heady scent of his masculinity, the seaside saltiness of his dripping semen, making her head swim. Smoothly, silently, the beast swung itself onto the great bed, stradling Miss Americana’s prone body so that she was sitting against the headboard, his throbbing cock aimed directly at her flushed face. She never stopped stroking him.

“Your hands move with a will of their own,” the Beast smirked, “Or could it be that you enjoy serving me this way?”

Miss Americana groaned as a fresh stream of precum spilled onto her pale, flat belly. It felt almost like warm honey as it pooled and oozed down her smooth flesh. She felt herself lean forward, felt her lips part, as if moving to catch the dripping fluid in her wet, sucking mouth...and the wantoness of the act made her pause. She flushed with shame, and with supreme effort managed to slow down her shifting hands, forced them to stop jacking that beautiful shaft of male muscle, until they were still, shaking. She felt him throbbing in her grip, urging her to resume her pleasuring, and it was all she could do to keep her trecherous hands holding fast to him. She could not bring herself to let him go.

“What have you...done to me...?” Miss Americana whimpered, her eyes closing as she tried to banish the lurid fantasies, the erotic visions of submission, that danced across the black canvas of her mind. “This is wrong. Why...why do I feel so...hot...?”

“I have only awakened you to your true desires,” he answered her soothingly, “Your body trembles in need. Your mind is confused, consumed with worries that no female should have to concern herself with...”

The lull of his voice cascaded over her overworked nerves like a balm, a sigh passing unbidden from her lips as tension seemed to ease away. She was confused. So confused. She should be angry, resisting, yet she was getting more turned on by the moment. The rigid pole in her hands felt so stable, so strong, whereas all her own strength was seeping into the bed. “I...I don’t understand...it’s so hard to focus...think...”

“Your position. Your responsibilities. They are a burden to you, are they not?”

It’s like he can see into my soul, Miss Americana thought dully. Being Brenda Wade was hard enough, and being Miss Americana was harder still. She never felt like she could rest. Every moment was a crisis, every day another person to rescue, another villain to defeat. She was so...tired. Deep inside, part of her wished for normalcy, for the blissful ignorance of the evils of the world and the responsibility of stopping it. It was so lonely being Miss Americana. She could never get close to anyone, could never let her guard down, lest they be hurt by her enemies. It was this seed of doubt, this wisp of longing, that the Beast could sense in her. He would draw it out.

He reached down and grabbed hold of her shoulders, and before she could utter a word of protest, lifted her up so that he could spin them both round. Now it was the Beast who sat against the headboard, with his beautiful captive’s back pressed against his furred chest. Her legs had spread, and her ass was perched on the furry sheath at the base of his cock. It jutted out obscenely between her legs, long and throbbing. She struggled vainly against him. “W-what are you doing? Let me go!”

His hands let go of her shoulders and came up beneath her arms, and Miss Americana let out a startled gasp as he took possession of her enormous tits in his rough hands.

“I can sense your suffering, beautiful one,” the Beast breathed in her ear, making her body flush anew in unwanted arousal. He held her tits, feeling their impressive weight, as he pulled her tighly against him. “You carry a heavy burden. You deny yourself, don’t you? You have no one to share your bed at night. No one to satisfy you. When was the last time you had a man inside your pussy?”

His words were mesmerizing, cutting through the fog of self-doubt and conjuring her deepest insecurities. How long HAD it been? She couldn’t remember...but her body clearly knew, and the hot, throbbing thing between her legs was making her drip with need. His hands began to gently massage her tits, rolling them, squeezing them, drawing a low, sweet moan of pleasure from the battered heroine. Miss Americana felt herself melting against him, and as she slid back, his cock rose up until the hot length of him throbbed between her legs...right against her slick pussy lips.

“OH. No...please...I can’t...” she whimpered, as his fingers found her jutting nipples and began to assault them mercilessly. Sharp talons grazed against her turrid nubs, drawing slow, endless spirals around her sensitive areola. She whimpered as her breasts began to tingle, then moaned, much too sweetly, as he began to rake and twist her aching nipples, pulling her heavy breasts up and away from her torso. He continued to milk her with practiced experience, while her useless hands flailed against his groping arms.

He ignored her pleas, marauding her breasts, feeling her start to rock and unwillingly grind her pussy against his rigid sex. He spoke in low, sonorous tones, the words filling her brain with a mental mist every bit as debilitating as the heady fog that had battered her in the caves. “Your body grows weaker by the moment. Your pussy is aching, empty. I can fill you, satisfy you as no man ever has. Submit to your need, to your desire, and be free of your burdens...forever.”

The underlying threat of his last statement barely registered to the overwhelmed Miss Americana. She was panting, her pussy dripping. The way he played with her breasts made her moan helplessly. She was like putty in his hands. She felt so utterly controlled, so purely...female, as she rested against him. She didn’t need to hold herself up, he supported her weight. Her hands raised over her head, grabbing handfuls of the thick fur pelt that mantled his shoulders and upper chest, raising her breasts so that he could more freely manipulate them. Her mind opened to his words and she felt all urges to resist, her very sense of self, oozing out of her to spill from her dripping pussy and onto the hot shaft of his cock. As she fell further and further into a sexual trance, the only thing that seemed to matter was the delicious agony of her breasts, the slippery longing in her pussy, and the hot, thick slab of manmeat that sawed between her legs.

The Beast watched as her head fell back against him, her heavy eyelids falling lower...lower. She was panting against him, her ruby lips glistening in the firelight. she was so close now. Slowly, tantilizingly, he dragged his cock through her slick labia, sliding his monstrous, leaking cockhead inch by torturous inch closer towards her spasming opening.

She groaned as he let go of her swollen udders to grab her behind the knees. He raised her up, lifting her the final few inches until his bloated cockhead finally pressed insistently against her slick labia. He held her there, grinding her opening against his massive tool, taunting her, teasing her until her panting turned to moans, and her moans into gasps of need. He could feel her struggling in his grip, but whether it was to escape him, to escape his taming cock, or to try and grind her pussy even harder against him he couldn’t tell. Not that it mattered. She was in his control now, and only one thing would get her what she so desperately wanted.

“Submit to your desire, woman” he hissed into her ear, “Your body betrays you. You can deny yourself no longer. Submit. Beg for your release.”

“Oh please...please...I can’t take any more...” the gasping female begged, all thought, all resistance, burned away the the throbbing ache from her weeping, empty pussy, and the heart-stopping offer of relief promised by the monstrous organ bullying apart her labia and crushing her clit. She clawed at his fur, grasped for his thick neck.

“Then say it,” he gloated, feeling her opening to his cock, “Tell me, what are you?”

Then she realized what she needed to do. What he wanted from her. Her heart sank, but she could deny him no longer. Her eyes rolled back, fluttered closed, her head lolling against his chest as her ruby lips parted in a soft, submissive whisper...

“Slut. I’m...your...slut!”

He grabbed her firmly.

“That’s a good little slave. Now...you belong to me.”

With that, the Beast began to slowly pull the unresisting female down onto his monstrous penis. Miss Americana’a pussy gave one last, desperate attempt at resistance, but her juices had so thoroughly coated his swollen head that it took only a moment before she yielded, spreading wide as that bulbous member forced its way into her tight passage. She cried out as she was penetrated, the sweet notes of her submission echoing in the firelit temple.

“AAgh! Oh, oh god, it’s...it’s so big...so...oooOOOH!!”

He pulled her down further, sinking in a few more inches, before pulling her back up and slowly repeating the motion. Her toes curled, her fingers clawed at his chest, and her enormous tits quivered with her ragged pants. Little by little, inch by terrible, blissful inch, the Beast impaled her on his rigid cock. Her pussy clung to him, hot, tight, almost sucking on his cock as he plowed into her. When she felt his fat head press demandingly against her cervix, she let out a warbled, helpless moan.

“D-deep....so deep...! I c-can’t breathe...it’s s-soOhh....gooooood....!”

He chuckled as she squirmed on his cock, her body taut, helplessly wrapped around his irresistable woman tamer. Her pretty blue eyes were glazed with lust, her cheeks flushed. Her heart was hammering. She had never felt so full before, so utterly stuffed with...cock! He stretched her to her limit, and she could feel every bump and ridge, every thick, throbbing vein against the tight walls of her spasming cunt. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before, and all he had done was come inside! Oh dear god, what would happen when he finally...started...

As if reading her mind, the Beast raised her up, eliciting a groan as he slid out of her, before driving her back down. In slow, deep, foot-long strokes he began to fuck her with his cock. Miss Americana whimpered, gasping, shaking her head in mute, awestruck denial as each penetration drove her closer and closer to momentous release. Back and forth. In and out. Relentless, unstoppable, he reached parts of her no man had ever touched. Her aching clitoris slid against him on every pass, making her belly spasm, her heart race. She couldn’t stop it. She couldn’t fight it anymore. All it took was one more thrust, one more crushing caress against her battered cervix, and Miss Americana exploded.

“Yes! Oh YES! I’m cumming, I’m cumming! OH!! Oh...my...GOD!!” she screamed, gushing around him, her hot fluids streaming down his massive tool as he sent her over the edge. So good! So hellishly good! He held her against him, her weight forcing her down onto his penetrating member, as waves of mind-numbing ecstacy cascaded through her, branding her. One time on his godcock was all it ever took; Miss Americana would be hopelessly addicted to him now, her submission sealed into her soul by the consuming ecstacy of her own orgasm.

She trembled, her spasms slowing, subsiding, until all that was left was the aching throb of her pussy around his swollen cock. She whimpered, panting, her body so sensitive after her orgasm. She moaned as she felt his hot, long tongue snake out to taste the soft flesh of her shoulder. She closed her eyes, bending her head away and offering him more of her slender, pale neck. She sighed as it ran along her delicate collarbone, sweeping up the side of her neck, before a taloned hand turned her head toward him and his tongue slid demandingly between her parted lips.

She mewled around the thick, muscular organ as it plundered her mouth, her throat, sliding in and out as if it were another cock. Her mind reeled, penetrated on both ends, and she began to suck on him as he held her in his corrupting embrace. He left her gasping when he finally relented, his sharp claws tracing languid circles on the swell in her belly where his cock was pushed inside her. She began to pant.

“Who do you belong to, slut?” he asked her, flexing his cock, feeling her shudder around him as her pleasure, her arousal, began to climb again.

Her hands, as if with a mind of their own, grabbed hold of her own tits, squeezing, rolling, caressing herself as he began resumed a slow, easy fucking. “MMmm....to you...Oh yes...I-I belong to...you....” she sighed dreamily. The claw that rested on her chin traced up across her red lips, along her cheekbone, and began to move along the edge of her mask.

“You won’t be needing this anymore,” he chuckled as he peeled away her disguise. Miss Americana moaned, but did not move to stop him. She barely noticed she had been demasked. His cock was moving in her again, making her moan, making it impossible to think. He tossed it away, once more turning her head so that her hooded, wet eyes were forced to look into his. The glowed hellishly, captivating her, drawing her helplessly into their emerald depths. She had no will left to resist him. Instantly, the buxom beauty was entranced.

“Tell me your name, slave.” The Beast commanded, thrusting into her eager, sucking pussy, relishing the hot folds that surrounded his cock.

Her eyes were glassy, drooping. “Brenda...” she breathed, “Brenda...Wade...”

“Do you want me to stop, Brenda?” the Beast taunted, fucking her faster, making her gasp.

“OOH...noo...” she begged, “Please don’t stop...don’t ever...stop...!”

He squeezed her breasts possessively, her inch-long nipples digging into his palms. “Tell me what you want. Beg me for it...”

“Please...fuck me...fuck me again...I want you again...” she whined, rolling her hips, meeting his thrusts and pressing her soft ass back against his furred hips. “Please...master...!”

He pressed her forward until she was on her knees, her ass high the air, her breasts and face pressed into the soft mattress. She moaned uncontrollably as his talons sank into the sumptuous curves of her ass and hips, pulling her back and forth onto his rock hard cock. In mere moments she was on the verge of another orgasm, babbling incoherently, clinging desperately to the thick fur covering the bed. “OH YES! More! Please...don’t stop! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck...MEEEEEE!!”

The Beast showed her no mercy that night. Again and again, he took his helpless captive, filling her with his corrupting cock, crushing her will and binding her into sexual servitude. When at last he’d reached his limit, filling her abused pussy with load after load of his thick seed, it was too much for her. A final, choked scream as cum flooded her pussy was the last sound the vanquished superhoine made before blissful, black oblivion claimed her.

Days passed. Just before the rumors of Brenda Wade’s sudden disappearance could spill out of the tabloids and into the mainstream media, the mysterious socialite reappared long enough to direct her holding company to purchase a large tract of land amidst the rolling Whitestone Hills. The purchase did not come cheap, and had required extensive negotiations with the local residents, who claimed the land was cursed. The goodwill Wade Enterprises had amassed over the years helped grease the wheels though, and soon enough, the strange acquisition became old news.

More troubling though was the sudden disappearance of the city’s most famous superheroine, Miss Americana. No one had seen her for weeks. Other heroes in the city were growing concerned, but the rash of crime that sprung up as word of her disappearance spread through the underworld made it impossible to focus a search party.

Little did anyone know, deep beneath the mist-shrouded hills, an old evil was lying in wait. Biding its time. Gathering its strength.

Night after night, from the dark, labyrinthine caves, there came an ancient liturgy, a pagan tribute to a god long-forgotten. Prayers made with gasps, cries, and moans of ecstacy. Peans of female submission to a rioting monster of lust and desire.

And Brenda Wade, Miss Americana, was its all-too willing slave.