Little Miss Laser Ch. 02

CW: hostage scene w/ electroplay, explicit BDSM scene (light restraints, oral), transphobia/transmisogyny and discussions of it, mentions of racism & sexual assault.

Laser was the only thing that mattered, and Glass could only look; at how tired she was, at the uniform-standard makeup twirling down her cheeks, and the curls frizzing from the unceasing, infuriating clawing of Biker Hood, all while she waited again for-- Tzzt.

The Little Miss wretched involuntary against her, filling Glass' ears with a gently nauseous squeal before she was let collapse, the collar clicking with a sickly note of satisfaction.

"Aww-- don't wanna play today?" Hood cooed, prerecorded; should would only dare be so arrogant hiding behind the poorly-compressed ransom note. "Maybe she'll learn to like it."

"She's gettin' it every 30 seconds till you've paid up."

How many times had she felt it? Thousands-- Laser hadn't picked up in days. Thousands more. Glass was gonna murder Biker Hood, maybe it would even be legal, turn her hands to ice and choke her on a cocktail chilled with her own fingers, snapped off one-by-one.

"Also-- if you're planning on the Lil' Miss lasering her way out, on leaving her here--"

The words wound themselves around Glass' neck, as though it were the electroplated chain in Hood's grasp, who knew exactly what little to expect of a Little Miss. If she'd only fallen harder for the copper crap, Glass thought, as Laser was pulled off the raw concrete floor.

"--we've got a demonstration for you. Come on, Doll, I know you like showing off for me."

Magenta-muddied eyes reflected on the glassy helm that covered Hood's face. Trembling lips begged to ask for anything else. Tzzt. "Please, I-I can't do this again," she whined.

"Don't I recall you saying you wanted to be a good girl, for me?" Hood said, squatting down and slipping a leathered finger under her chin. "We can do this, or we'll just have to up that Doll-Resonant Auto-Shocker to every 15 seconds. How long till your friends even see this?"

It was bitter. Friends.

What did she tell you, Hood? Maybe she just knew Laser better than the rest of them, even Glass. Maybe that's how she caught her. Why would you even care?

There was a single tear falling to Laser's heart, where shimmers coiled around the gem buried in her sternum, rainbows flooding her palms before the collar clicked--

TZZZT.

Laser was left so breathless, she didn't even scream. "I worked out the frequency of those little government space-rocks," Hood said, punchably smug. "It's why you've stopped being able to track her, and why the more she tries, the worse it hurts -- no limits."

The collar was scaling with her, Glass surmised, and it would only stop if it -- Tzzt -- or Laser broke. Hood could never know how strong Laser really was, she wouldn't have had the limbs, or atoms, to make her ransom flick otherwise.

How many times had Laser felt that? Glass knew, she'd be terrified of the team seeing this, seeing her like this. It must've already punished her-- over-- and over-- and over again.

Hood took her again, roughly, at the chin; Laser melted into its cruel comfort, barely able to hold herself up anymore. The lower segment of Hood's helmet detached, revealing lips painted in lincoln green, that sowed a kiss on Laser's own with sensuous possessivity.

She owned Laser in that moment, who Glass had almost thought was blushing, before she buckled, sobbing, and was turned like a mannequin -- like she wouldn't soon slice Hood's head into messy subdivisions, with Glass pouring in a few icicles after for good measure.

"So -- America's Sweethearts -- you've got three days. You transfer to the specified accounts and you'll find out where she is after it's untraceable," Hood said.

"I spot anyone looking--" Tzzt. "--and maybe you'll never see her again."

Little Miss Inferno flicked it off, pivoting around the penthouse boardroom, an audible bristle in her aramid-woven bodysuit. "Six-- Million-- Dollars," she breathed, huskily.

"Okay, so-- don't pay it? We don't lose like a million bucks, and if Hood finishes them off it's one less problem. Besides, they could totally laser out -- if they wanted to," Tremor said, her oversized, ironclad boots still pitiful compared to the pentagonal desk that stole the room.

"Babe, please-- as if we need the bitch overcharging again. You remember we're in the city; won't be useless mountains this time, it'll be us," Cyclone said, stroking at her wind-proof blonde bun, before clattering the same tightly-trimmed nails on luxury wood. "We don't even know what this Biker Hood -- god, I can't say it -- will even do if we refuse. I say we make the video public, then the Department has to step in to clean up and--"

"This is not a negotiation." At least Fern had some sense, the least-worst leader after Glass was ruled out as a supposed bad culture fit. "It's more profitable if we suck it up, take the insurance, and stop Laser from damaging our image any more than they already have."

Scheming bitch. If the ransom was in cash I'd shove every last rolled wad up your--

"And what am I supposed to do when this third-rate dipshit turns up with six-mill in that resonance tech; bury her in downtown?" Tremor spat, knowing full-well she could handle it.

Glass' water had turned solid in her hand -- and she shattered it, crystal decanter and all, into pieces. No one would give her notice if didn't she stand out, leaned into it even, with the snow-white hair -- but anything else, that which could be considered 'culturally specific,' had to be American, and she was thoroughly aware they would never consider her that.

"We're paying the ransom-- and getting her-- out of there," she howled, a blizzard beating at unbattened hatches. "The hell is wrong with you, all of you. We pay it for her sake, for how much it would hurt her if this got out. Should never let any of you attend Pride ever again."

Cyclone immediately whipped up a double-down, grasping at Tremor's hand, "Excuse me? We're-- They're not one of us, remember? They're only here because the gem is stuck--"

Tremor, for her sake, at least looked at Glass with some guilt -- gold star for effort -- a degree she was definitely annoyed for feeling, "It's just a joke, I wasn't really suggesting--"

Fern dove a knuckled fist into the table, burning a fire-break into their squabbling.

"Trem, check storage. Laser's duty uniform hasn't been checked out in three weeks, so either Hood made a very convincing fake or someone's bypassed our security-- oh don't give me that look, this is the easy job," she said. "Cyk, I need you on the flight deck. If there's an incident I need you to contain it before press gets there."

Cyclone squinted at Glass through amber-tinted goggles. Tremor didn't even look.

"Now go, both of you."

Their hands began to unwillfully untwine, and once they'd pouted off in different directions Fern looked right at Glass, "I do what's right for the team -- not any one of us."

"Yeah-- cos what's right for the team is keeping in-check the murderous little sunbeam you need for cover-up work, right?" Glass shot back.

Fern was an obedient, government girl; she knew when to hold her tongue, and Glass knew this was the actual reason. Laser wouldn't be so useful if every villain ran at the sight of her; if every civilian started getting in the way, hoping to film something bloody and mistaken.

"Glacier-- Do whatever the hell you want. I don't care. I'll arrange the damn payment."

Fern picked up the hotline receiver, the incumbent Secretary of Supers leering down from his gaudily-framed, overbearing portrait. She paused, inputting the code for someone low-down and easy-to-silence, before side-eyeing Glass.

"Why did she even send it to you?" Fern asked, waiting on either response.

"Because I was calling Laser to check-in on her, Fern. People do that, you know -- make sure their friends are okay," she said, before Fern turned, wincing into the receiver.

She had been as clear as spring water. You don't have friends, Fern. Not here, not in me, not anymore. But Laser is my friend, and I'll do everything it takes to get her back. Her prints turned to ice as she left, crunching deeper as she thought about how tired Laser must be.

Oh, habibti-- how did you get yourself into this mess?

"AHHHhhh-- Eek! Hood, p-please-- I can't take it anymore."

Thwack.

"That's Ms Hood to you-- Little Miss," Milly drawled.

She was distant lightning on her Doll's thigh -- its flash and its thunder, but gentle, with none of its sting. Laser trembled in her bindings; cold-steel police cuffs, borrowed, leashed to a bed-frame squeaking more than she did. The smallest bite to pair with her pleasure.

"Does that mean you're ready to yield now, Doll?"

Her lips had loosened for only a moment and already Laser was canting an oil-slickened clit back into her, cat-lapping -- needily so -- at the blood-red furls of its underside, her tongue curling around its half-throbbed head before pulling her back in.

Oh-- God, Babe, of course! That'd never be too much to ask; your body, your clit.

"Ahh-- Never!" she pleaded, in an overacted, pitched-up soprano, "I'll never yield to your villainous scheme." It was new, at least, to Milly -- turned her into a puppy, squeak-toy in slobbering jaws, pressed with a primordial urge to tear the screeching bunny to shreds.

Milly was stripping off well-stained leather, pouring herself then into Laser's generous folds, fingers slipping into the softened haunches at her ass, which the slutty, knock-off uniform had temptuously struggled to cover. She wrenched Laser -- squirming in desperation as her faux-captor's cheeks popped with spittle, and precum -- back into the straddle, plush thighs sitting nervously at the sides of Milly's upturned face, curt and bleached blonde hair pooling around her; never once letting go, with suckling mouth or strapping grasp.

"Aww-- will you really?" Milly teased, "You've been holding on for hours now, and it's still just you-- and me." She had seen Laser be properly hard once, before bursting into tears. So, instead, Milly made sure to torment her with a thorough and deliberate delicateness.

"Your so-called friends really take their time when it comes to rescuing you."

The barb was accompanied with a tremulous semi-retreat, pulling back to Laser's head and letting the little limpness slack in the air, before sucking even tighter, tongue against its tip.

"Oh-- Fuck," Laser said, stomach collapsing into itself, "Fuck. Fuck-fuck-fuck-- FUCK."

"Shh-- shhh--" Milly soothed, trying to guide Laser back to her own adorable script, keeping them on track for the finale, feeling the intoxicating shiver that rocked through Laser's thighs into the sheets. I'm gonna need to use these for pillows, but, for now-- "You're gonna have to keep it down, Doll. Or, maybe, everyone will have to find you, just-- like-- this."

"No, wait I-- I didn't tell anyone I'd be here, Ms Hood."

There was the rose-pained truth, breaking her beautifully, the shadow of a dark-hearted desire she was forced to hide -- if acted, perhaps, with more ham to it than her ass.

"No one is coming to rescue me -- it is just you."

Laser was stiffening out of her comfort-zone, and Milly loosened to let their short-of-breath, mutual arousal settle. Suddenly, Laser slipped; fallen to the side and strung-up awkwardly on the leash. Milly rushed to catch her, lithe-wire arms making Laser giggle out-of-character.

She pulled her into a cradle, up, from scrunched-up pillows, and reached for the wand that waited, eager and plugged-in, on the nightstand and drew it the perfect spot -- the one the pair had once spent a meticulous evening making sure Milly could find the finicky thing.

"Please, Ms Hood-- please," Laser begged, quivering an ever-worse contortionist act on her face as Milly didn't yet switch it on. "Just-- be gentle. I'll be such a good Little Miss for you."

Milly ran a tongue over her lips, looking far into Laser's eyes as she pulled the Doll's mess into her mouth. "Then yield for me, Doll," she asked, flicking it on at last. "Maybe I'll let you feel like this -- instead of something worse."

Goodness, Babe, how you love to pretend I would ever hurt you -- that I even could.

"Y-yes, Ms Hood."

She let Laser fall into her -- brown curls unfurling in her face, shoulder brushing at her chest -- taking the spare hand to hold Laser's clit and kiss it, firmly, against the wand.

"Come on then-- aren't you gonna?"

It was notched higher, and then higher again, tussling at Laser's compos mentis, retching her with unrestrained delight. "Please-- I am, I am, I am."

"Don't you wanna?"

"I do, I do, I promise, I--" When the words had finally formed she couldn't stop saying them. "Fuck I-- Ms Hood. I YIELD-- I yield-I-yield-I-yield-I-yield-I--"

Milly withdrew it, gently, spotting the tell-tale sign, the emotional fever-pitch that Laser so thoroughly thrived over, as she whined one final, delirious request-- "Just don't hurt me."

"Deal."

She rolled forward, drove herself onto Laser's clit, bobbing back-and-forth as she continued to stare into her, making sure Laser knew-- This toy belongs to me. And with one last squeak-- she came, bucking into Milly and knocking her back with a hushed choke.

So Milly braced on the velvet throw, shaking her head for morsels of dignity as spit-watered cum dripped down the corner of her mouth, catching herself as she rubbed it with an open palm and taking a teardrop on her pinkie-tip; she brought it, chin-tilted, to a concavely curved tongue and waited a pensive and heavily-breathed moment before she tasted it.

This is so bad, Doll. You're lucky you make me wanna make it look delicious.

"Such a fool," she mocked. "Enjoy this-- it's the only mercy you'll know, now that you're mine. Wonder what I should call you? Little Miss Laser is far too decent for a thing like you."

"Oh-- anything, Ms Hood. I'll be anything you want; anything for your mercy."

"Hmm. How about, Little Miss--" Keugh. Heugh. Milly had missed a bit in the back of her throat, and now her oesophagus was furiously rejecting its entry. "Ahh. Fuck. Laz?"

"Yeah, Hood?"

"Ouch." Milly knocked at her chest-- Thump. Thump. "What-- was my line? I forgot," she asked, twisting a neatly-split brow more than sheepishly.

"Oh-- um. Little Miss-- well. Ahhh." Laser was blushing at her own naughtiness, pressing cheek into shoulder. Seeing her instinctive attempt to hide was making Milly blush all on her ownsome. "I'm getting out of it now, so I think saying it's gonna feel so silly."

There was no way for her to do it, arms pulled above well-squeezed, widely-set tits -- those Milly had figured out she preferred push-ups to manage, when she wasn't having to hide the ever-present purple glow that spilled out her sternum -- and legs spread by Milly's own muscled presence. It just brought even more attention to her self-mortifying predicament.

"Shit, sorry Babe," Milly said.

"Nah-- it's okay, there's always--"

Brrrrrrt. Brrrrrrt. Brrrrrrt.

Laser's phone was ringing-- again. Milly was surprised to see something so plain from her, still bracing for a poorly-ripped version of the theme from the Department-funded show, Lil' Misses Save America. But maybe that risked getting her clocked, if it blasted off in public.

"Heya! AHh-- Ahk," she sputtered, voice broken into clattered splinters as she tried to answer, pitching herself back to a relaxed, private tone. "Oh-my-gosh. I'm so sorry, Glass."

Milly had been presaged, though it was always pleasant, into baby-sitting her niece when she'd figured it out. Hey, Babe-- why does your submissive voice sound like your cartoon?

"How you doin' Chilly?"

That TV found itself immediately unplugged, with Milly left a muttering mess to the overly sharp, superheroine-obsessed 8-year-old -- working overtime to keep her satisfied.

She was, at least, well-armed; an entire, accessory-packed doll set, that her niece knew was precious, smart enough to know it wasn't released yet, hushed-up on Milly's less-than-legal secrets, and to never believe it was a real Little Miss who'd procured it for her.

"Oh-- yeah, I'm good. Just allergies -- I'm at the shelter right now."

It was an idealised version of herself, maybe that's why Laser liked it so much. It was never going to slip -- like she needed to; it was always going to fit in -- like she didn't. She was the one who cared about the contractually-obligated consulting; script feedback, coaching the actresses, hiding the truth. Five times the amount, in-fact, to cover for all the rest of them.

"What d'ya mean you're not tracking it?" Laser pulled a worried brow at Milly, hastened her to spoof Laser's signal for Glass to see. "Yeah, I promise. I'll get it looked at soon."

Maybe she needed the reminder, who Little Miss Laser could be -- who she could be. That she was only able to pretend to be with Milly, who Laser made sure knew she was helping. It was sweet, but still weird. And somehow, hopefully, it was reconciled with all the rest of her.

"Hey, Glass-- Can I call you later? I'm kinda, uhm-- with a girl."

Milly had cried when Laser unwrapped the boxed dolls, telling her seventeen times she didn't have to. She wasn't even her niece's favourite Lil' Miss. And it didn't matter at all.

"Thanks Chilly. Love you-- bye!" Laser sighed with relief. She did love that girl, but not when she was trying to have fun. "Where were we?"

Maybe it was the weirdness that made it so sweet.

Brrrrrrt. Brrrrrrt. Brrrrrrt.

Laser had twisted the leash around her, checking on the nightstand, giving the rumbling phone a painful wince before Milly could clamber up to liberate the exhausted captive.

"I think it's Glass again."

"You're gonna have to answer at some point," Milly said, folding the cuffs into a drawer, next to a dozen naughtier items. The signal jamming is worrying her Babe, more and more.

"Couldn't she wait till morning?" Laser wrapped tightly around Milly, beginning to trail a finger -- one of the ones she trimmed with particular, beloved ruthlessness -- between her abs. "We saved the world like-- three weeks ago," she whined.

Milly hadn't spoken and Laser cautiously tried to fill the space, "You know, cos we're not due for another asshole like that for, like, at least another few--"

"Till morning?"

She felt Laser's hands pulling at the trap she'd stepped into, at something she hadn't been ready to ask in the increasing proportion of time she was spending in the hideout, especially in recent weeks. In another moment she'd retreated the rest of the way -- a few filthied pillows put between them -- and was squeezing her fingers as she did when really, properly, self-conscious. As though it were possible to press her own power back into herself.