Sable and The Supers Ch. 04byFalcinator©
This is version 3. I went back once to edit inconsistencies/continuity errors and really embarrassing editing mistakes, and now I've edited it so I don't have to retcon later on. I wrote the first of these purely as a one-off satire, then it grew while I wasn't looking. I've now worked out the rules of the world properly, so here's another edit.
This is what happens when you let characters develop a personality, get together and start making little stories. I never intended the original story to have one sequel, let alone three. Which also means that the backstory just evolves all the time and there may be continuity errors building up. Oh well, characters can get like that.
This took me a long time to write because it took me a long time to tie together three distinct threads, and then decide one of them would wait until another story to be dealt with and resolved.
Ultimately, I resolved it in one of the oldest of writing techniques: Be cruel, brutally so, to your characters.
Now: This is a parody. It is a spoof. It is, not to beat about the bush, written in a spirit of sarcasm, mockery and gleeful parody. It has evolved and become more serious with the passage of time, but anybody who was expecting a conventional superhero story will be disappointed.
It also contains what I hope are some running threads of titillation and some hot sex, with vacuum pumps and electricity and Really Big Things.
I just don't want you thinking I'm being serious about the traditional "super" genre, that's all.
Also: if you haven't read the rest of the series, this probably won't make the slightest sense to you. This really is a serial, not independent stories set in the same universe.
As always—I welcome feedback, positive or constructively negative, in the comments below or anonymously. Also pictures of adoring female fans who want a character based upon them.
Now grab some popcorn and tissues, and enjoy.
After a week, the only thing Sable could complain about was the loneliness.
The flying luxury yacht given to her by the Engineer was working perfectly, and continued to give her perfectly prepared foods and drinks, strong and hot showers, any music she could ask for (it had a remarkably up-to-date catalogue, which bothered her) and any style of massage she had ever heard of.
There were also the two gymnasiums (why two? Did he expect to run back and forth between two captives? Probably best not to know the answer to that) but, frankly, she hadn't felt horny enough yet. The loneliness was dampening her libido.
The computer, although it knew how to be charming, solicitous, flirtatious and downright dirty as well as helpful and efficient, was just no match for human company.
Not, she sometimes thought darkly, that she had met many humans since becoming Sable. One, in fact, and she wasn't quite sure about him.
She had found four more cities in that time. The first one had looked so bright and sappy on the long-range scan she had gone straight past.
The second was grimy, full of hard-bitten men and distrustful, hard women and overworked, bitter Heroes. She had given it a miss as well.
The third had been so paramilitary it was a fort, but the Engineer's handiwork had slipped undetected past its surveillance equipment with ease.
The yacht was now parked outside the fourth city, and she was planning her entrance. It seemed to be average, not overly aggressive or charming, if anything slightly less violent than she had become used to. She had seen a few battles at long range and the range of powers appeared to be interesting and not worrying.
She didn't trust anything, but she had to draw a line somewhere and this would be it.
She dressed with care, not wanting to reveal her uniform but not wanting to leave herself entirely without the option.
She compromised on a cut-down leotard version, still with what she now thought of as her trademark corset, that served as panties (barely) and bra (even more barely) but allowed her to wear a range of normal clothes without revealing her identity.
Tights, an above-the-knee skirt, nearly sensible boots with high heels, a white blouse and a charcoal grey jacket built up the picture of a businesswoman who could walk into offices and demand appointments. She almost wore glasses, but decided that would be overkill.
She found a slim briefcase able to conceal a full version of her costume (a clever trick, that) and some useful accessories. She was almost sorry there were no sedative-dispensing rings or one-shot 9mm pens on board.
She parked as close to the city as she dared, put on a long, waterproof and stain-resistant coat to keep her civvies presentable then, as dawn broke, flew low, skimming the grass, into a train station on the city's outskirts.
She looked slightly out of place among the early-morning commuters, but not enough to be a problem.
The route she had chosen took her through residential suburbs, shopping malls and parkland before getting into the business district—areas not likely to be either targets or headquarters. She wanted to get a feel for the place first.
A busy café opposite the train station provided a decent croissant and promising coffee and she hadn't been harassed, propositioned or pan handled once yet.
A brisk walk through the central park gave her no causes for concern or niggling feelings of wrongness, so the obvious thing would be to go into a big and frequently robbed bank and find some reason to justify her presence and linger.
There were queues everywhere, which was handy, so she found a bench along the wall, pulled some notes out of her briefcase and began appearing to scan them while scanning the bank out of the corner of her eye.
Part of her brain was giving it a thorough tactical assessment (doors there, there and there, vault through there, security cameras there, there, ...) While part was scanning for social cues and hints of anything unusual or likely to trip her up.
She appeared to be the only one wearing grey, which bothered her slightly—most women in similar outfits chose tans or pastels. But nobody had looked at her askance or even obliquely, so...
"Can I help you, madam?"
Ah. That would be the officious security guard.
She folded her papers with a brisk snap, looked him straight in the eye and said "I hope so. I wish to make enquiries regarding your bank's investment products."
The guard pointed with all his fingers held flat, indicating somewhere on the other side of the cavernous building. "If madam wishes to go..."
And then the doors exploded inwards, which was excellent timing.
She screamed and hit the ground, trying to hide under the bench. She wanted to avoid revealing her hand until she knew who all the other players were.
The bank filled with a billowing cloud of dust and grit, ricocheting pieces of masonry and wood splinters and a crackling, jagged bolt of blue lightning that struck the security guard in the act of drawing and aiming, throwing him five metres backwards into a pillar.
Two came in, one high and one low, the woman up high dressed in a suit of black and electric dark blue, the design so jagged it was difficult for the eye to work out what her limbs were doing or even which end was her head.
The man down low was solid, his hands slightly too large and clenched into fists, his costume black with streaks of yellow, a Spartan helmet covering the top and sides of his head.
He moved at a run as the woman soared up, striking two more security guards with her bolts and then exploding the door into the vault.
Neither said anything amid the screams of terror and pain from the bank customers and employees. The man went straight through the counters, tellers scattering in front of him like sheep, and straight through a dividing wall into the back. He was accelerating as he approached where the vault should be, and Sable didn't expect the door to be up to the challenge.
Her senses and instincts were screaming at her to help the wounded and stop the criminals, and she had to curl her fingers into the floor, splintering the slate tiles, to stop herself.
Any minute ...
A window up high shattered, a bolt of pure white streaked towards the woman in blue, who dodged wildly, the bolt exploding a pillar with an actinic flair but no apparent debris.
That would be the cavalry, then.
The woman in blue dived low, heading at first for a side door but, at the last minute, dodging another white bolt before following her compatriot towards the vault.
Sable expected them to be making their own way out the back. A distant booming/crashing noise seemed to confirm that theory.
A crashing sound heralded the arrival of a Hero through the remains of the front door, and a sparkle of light announced a Heroine through an ex-window. Sable could see a pattern developing.
With the Villains gone and the Heroes arrived, order began to be re-established quickly.
Sable got up quietly, avoiding notice, grabbed her briefcase (which had survived apparently unscathed, she was pleased to note) and made a show of stumbling, coughing and shaking, out the door.
A policewoman hurrying in saw her, changed direction and then the growing look of professional concern on her face changed to horror as she recoiled.
Startled, Sable followed the officer's eyes to her midriff. Her jacket was open, her blouse had been torn and the ribbed black corset midriff of her leotard costume was showing.
"Ah," she said, brightly, "the thing is..."
The officer pulled her gun and began shouting for help.
Sable had too much experience by now to try and reason with her. Hoping her civvies would be enough to hide her identity when she officially came out, and berating herself for not wearing those glasses, she launched herself sideways, around the building, heading for alleyways and less crowded areas.
A shield thrown up behind her by sheer reflex absorbed the impact of several bullets as she jinked wildly around the corner, tucked up like a skydiver and still accelerating, as a crash far above her telegraphed the female Hero joining the fight.
She threw a shield above her, hoping it would make her difficult to spot as well as hit, and was nearly driven into the ground when it absorbed the impact of an actinic bolt.
The end of the alleyway came onto a deserted street filled with rubble from the Villain's escape. She headed away from the rubble, throwing a second shield far behind her, trying to offer the Hero a choice of two to follow.
By sheer good luck the ruse worked and she slipped to ground behind a rubbish bin as she let her shield dissipate, keeping the other one going as long as she could.
"Quick, in here!"
She nearly jumped to the top of the building opposite.
The female Villain in eye-smarting blue and black, a complete bodysuit including gloves and covering her up to her neck over her regulation massive bust, was poking her head out of a nondescript doorway, gesturing frantically.
Well, that was a turn-up for the books.
Silently muttering "What the hell, why not?" to herself, Sable slipped inside and had the door pulled close behind.
A lantern clicked on, showing the hulking figure of the tank-like Villain behind it.
He stuck out a meaty paw. "New in town?" he growled. "I'm Growler. That's Quicksilver. Come on, we'll take you to meet the Guild."
Sable shook hands weakly, then found her voice. "You have a Super Villain's Guild?"
Growler was walking rapidly towards the back of the low-ceilinged room they were in. Quicksilver hurried Sable after him as she replied, the alignment-uncertain Hero shrugging off what was left of her increasingly useless disguise.
"Oh yes, we're very organised. We all have our own hideouts, of course, but we thought there was no reason to get in each other's way. We're all just trying to make a living. The Heroes have been very understanding."
"Oh yes," Quicksilver said blithely. "They don't try and interfere with Guild activities, and in return we don't conduct any activities near their headquarters.
"Watch your head, this is wide but the ceiling's low."
They were heading down a steeply sloping corridor. A section of wall slid noiselessly shut behind them. Sable determined to find out who had built it, and to keep a very close eye on them.
"Just one thing," she said, as they reached the level and jogged along a brick-lined tunnel that looked like an old sewer but better made, "how did you know I was a Villain?"
Quicksilver gave her a puzzled look, and pointed to her corset. "You're wearing black," she said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Sable had found the first catch.
When they introduced her to the rest of the Villains, they were indeed all wearing black in some way. They were also all very polite, and showed no inclination to get her unconscious and naked.
She was very quickly beginning to wonder what the fuck was wrong with them. The lack of attempts to pervert her will was refreshing, but also more than a little disturbing.
It was like finding a polite, understanding tax collector who told you not to worry about the cash-in-hand-work you just got caught doing.
She was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
They didn't want to know where her headquarters were, thought her disguise in the bank was clever, but in a very polite way that suggested they really didn't at all approve of it but didn't want to make her feel bad, and when she explained it wasn't her real costume they said that was alright, they weren't used to using the wardrobe to produce different costumes, but didn't see why not.
Her head was beginning to drown in treacle.
And these were the fucking Super Villains? The ones who had just rampaged through a bank causing frankly fairly awesome amounts of destruction and more than a little death and suffering?
She pinned Quicksilver down on that one.
"Well we are Villains, civilian casualties is just part of what we do," she said breezily. It was all looking horribly familiar to Sable.
Even worse, the men and women all looked not just familiar, but identical. The men were hulking, the women were all the same apparent age and had the same hair in different shades of black, and in silhouette couldn't be told apart. Even the slim, wasp-waisted and beach ball-titted Supers Sable was used to weren't all that much alike.
Plus, she forced herself to admit in the face of the memory of the dim-witted and single-sided Sunburst Girl, she was used to more personality, as well.
When night fell she made her excuses, thanked them all for welcoming her, was admonished to stay in touch, and fled.
Habitual caution saw her heading west for a while before dropping below building height and fleeing south to exit the city and curve around to where the ship was waiting for her to the south-east.
"Was your day constructive?" The computer asked her as the hatch hissed closed behind her.
"I have no fucking idea," she snarled as she stalked towards the galley and its supply of synthesised but accurate whiskeys.
Her initial plans to redesign her costume and meet the Heroes had evaporated in the face of a big Why Bother?
This city was worse on every level than the one she had left in ruins. It would drive her insane within a week, and from the looks of it the Heroes had even less sex—not even kidnapped-and-molested sex. It was one-dimensional and weird and she almost felt homesick for the perverted, infuriating city she had landed in first.
That did it: she needed to let off steam. She wasn't feeling horny, but fuck was she feeling frustrated.
"Warm up the gymnasium," she snarled, as she began peeling off her cut-down costume.
"What would you like, Sable?"
"Fit to be tied."
It was code she had learned through the extraordinary step of reading the manual.
The computer paused, a duration she knew was programmed but which still sounded like surprise.
"Are you sure, Sable?"
The digital uncertainty was no surprise—it was a command you gave to be used on other people.
She was naked when she stepped through the door into the gymnasium. She knew there were various chairs and benches that could occupy the space, but it was empty save for what looked like a chin-up bar suspended from the ceiling at about the right height for Sable to jump and grab it without super legs. She raised her eyebrows at that. She knew what the code meant, but not what it did.
The Engineer had programmed his equipment from a wide set of the BDSM playbook, including some of the more extreme parts. She hadn't originally been planning to sample those particular delights.
The jolt from an amplified Tazer in her lower back sent her flying across the room to skid underneath the bar.
"SON OF A BITCH."
One thing she had learned quite early was that a severe electrical shock didn't just hurt and stun a Super, it rendered them completely helpless for a good 30 seconds.
She was lying on her tits (which had appreciated the landing as much as her nose had), trying to scrabble weakly and furiously at the floor, when robot arms seized her wrists and ankles and pulled, lifting her off the ground in a stretched starfish.
"Hey! What the fu..."
She didn't see the arm that reached between her legs from behind, but she felt it when the pincers at its tip seized her clitoris for five seconds.
Her anger was burned away in the unstoppable lust reaction left from the Engineer piercing her clitoris, leaving her drained and limp but still angry.
The arms holding her moved, coming together front and back so she hung beneath them, the savagery of forced arousal on top of the electrocution making her human-weak so her back bowed downwards until she gasped in pain from spine and shoulders.
She was lifted, sharply enough to shock another stab of pain from her back, until her back met the cold metal of the bar.
The arms kept lifting, bending her until she screamed, not sure whether her shoulders or spine hurt more.
She was allowed to relax, to a dull strain just a little this side of agony but enough to debilitate her as a Super and keep her helpless.
Cold, slimy metal pressed against her arse. She had just enough time to feel, barely enough time to realise what was happening, before a too-thick plug pushed smoothly inside her, giving her another jolt of agony before the plug tapered, trapped securely inside her and promising more pain when it was removed.
Instantly, the pincers closed upon her clit again, making her outburst twist into a wail of pure lust once more, her stretched body vibrating like a bowstring.
She struggled to recover, gasping, head spinning, the position making it difficult for her to breathe.
Every muscle, every joint, every piece of flesh in her body was either stretched, twisted or squeezed except for her breasts, which hung full, heavy and pendulous from her chest and quivered as she tried to draw a deeper breath against her lungs being squeezed by her ribs.
A second cold lump bumped against her stretched and dripping wet pussy lips.
"Don't you fucking..." she began gasping before the pincers again seized her clit and she screamed as the dildo, monstrously fat, pushed inside her with barely any resistance beyond the spasming clench of her walls around it.
She moaned, desperately, taking longer to recover as the plug in her arse, the brutal thickness in her cunt and the position she was in combined to draw out the irresistible response from her clit. She couldn't move, could barely even wriggle her fingers, and her breasts were beginning to ache sweetly.
She was trying to grasp something, something that seemed important.
As the jaws withdrew from her throbbing clit, she realised.