Supergirl Captured by the Mob
Part 67E - An Imaginary Incident: The Girls Meet The Street - Part Five
By Dr. Dominator
IMPORTANT NOTE: This chapter was written at the suggestion of a loyal reader. It is an imaginary interlude and is not meant to be seen as a part of the current story or plot line, although it's designed to seem like it would. But Tony Bonano would never actually take the chance of letting both women out of his sight together in public. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this imaginary sequence.
The Supergirl character and name as well as Superman, Wonder Woman and Diana Prince are the property of DC Comics. Tony Bonano and his crew are properties of Dr. Dominator and cannot be used without permission. This story is simply meant as entertainment and should be read only by consenting adults of 18 years or older. Violence and rape are never an answer to any situation.
It's five minutes before 3:00 am on a cloudy Wednesday morning. Wonder Woman isn't aware of the time however. She's not aware of much, in fact. She feels absolutely drained and helpless. Trembling from pain and exhaustion, the Amazon warrior is a beaten, shattered shell of her former self. Her sphincter burns savagely from the vicious ass-reaming by Trixie's brutal manipulation of the wooden croquet mallet. What's more, her vagina is still sore and swollen from that same roughly-used tool. She's also been soundly clubbed with that very mallet, knocked senseless by a garbage can lid, been kicked and beaten, and suffered countless minor injuries that have ultimately drained her of all her strength, her energy and magnificent spirit.
Holding up Diana's upper torso by her hair, Sharla triumphantly shakes the thick clump of black tresses in her fist back and forth. Unknowingly, she has helped to destroy the famous Champion of All Women in a night of catastrophic defeat that Wonder Woman will never forget. Groaning loudly, Diana's body jerks and sways in place. Her limp arms dangle and twitch from side to side, the backs of her hands scraping against the broken tarmac below her. Her upturned face is slack, her eyes unfocused. Her bare pelvis presses flush against the street and her blue costume briefs are pulled down around her thighs. Her ankles are held loosely spread apart, the shiny red boot toes pointing in opposite directions by Chloe as she eyes the naked wide glutes of her captive appreciatively.
I'll say this for the sister; bitch has one well-toned ass! I'll bet she takes as much in that hole as her pussy!
Next to her, Trixie lightly grips the croquet mallet to keep it from falling out of Wonder Woman's asshole. Four inches of the handle remain lodged inside the sagging beauty, a not-so-subtle reminder of her complete subjugation.
"Zharla, I dink you zhould go firzd. Zhe hurd you preddy bad."
"Thanks, Dez. I appreciate that!" She was looking forward to having this stubborn cunt eat out her pussy and give her a great booming orgasm.
Sharla wastes no time. She lets go of Wonder Woman's hair and the dazed princess drops to the pavement with a thud.
"....ohhhhhh...." Diana's muffled moans drift out from twisted lips pressed against the cool tarmac.
Sharla quickly hikes up her blue leather miniskirt and pulls down her blue sheer stockings and then her underpants to her knees. Her soft thatch of black pubic hair gleams in the moonlight. With her crotch now exposed, Sharla reaches down, grabs a handful of the lush mane of this haughty bitch and yanks up on it until the white girl's pretty face is buried in her pussy.
"Lick me, cunt. Lick my clit like an ice cream cone 'til I spray your cheeks, Miss High and Whitey! You're my bitch now, like I promised. Do it or Trixie will jam that pole so far up your butt, I'll see it come out your mouth."
The agonizing jolt of the rod in her ass forces a dazed and depleted Diana to understand that she has no options here whatsoever. She begrudgingly extends her tongue inside Sharla's pussy and tastes the sharp tang of absolute defeat. The pain of being held by her hair forces a woozy Diana to situate herself so she's on her knees between the short whore's spread legs with her palms bracing herself against the woman's muscular thighs. She licks and licks and licks away at the pungent crevice as commanded, swathing her tongue through all its furrows and around its exposed pink bud. Sharla's beaming smile overhead is a triumphant leer and her gyrating hips and grinding pelvis almost smother the Amazon's nose and mouth in thick, musky feminine folds. After an endless six minutes that feels like forty to Wonder Woman, the moaning, panting Sharla grabs Diana's head and forces it harder between her thighs, freezing her helplessly in place. Sharla's body goes rock still and then Wonder Woman's face is doused with a rushing bath of Sharla's joy juice. The oily cum pulses steadily against her, washing her in a skanky glaze of the whore's ultimate satisfaction. Held between Sharla's thighs, Diana is forced to endure the strongly-scented cum-stream being smeared across her cheeks, her nose, her lips. The bitter brew even drips down her throat from not being able to fully close her mouth in the smothering pussy she's been forced to please. Wonder Woman can't think of another time that she's felt so abused and degraded.
Sharla roughly pushes Diana away from her and the Amazon falls onto her side, her face slick with a slimy wetness she would never forget. The words that follow are just bitter frosting on a rancid cake.
"This cunt's got talent. She's obviously no rookie carpet muncher! Line up, girls. She gives a helluva ride!"
In turn, each of the remaining whores enjoy the pleasures of the Themysciran's practiced tongue. Her cheeks are repeatedly doused with musky flushings of total feminine pleasure, her face ground between eager thighs, her tongue forced to delve deeply to satisfy the taller girls, to strain at those who are less sensitive, to nibble and suck again and again at the tender pink berries until they stiffen and give forth the rushing flow of total ecstacy that bathe the helpless Amazon with endless shame. Every halting moment would be met with a sharp jab of the mallet, all hesitations punished by hard words and searing pain. Diana's willpower is ground to a fine powder and her sole reason for existence is but to satisfy each whore in her turn. She performs this as well as she can to speed the process and bring a final end to this hellish degradation.
Occasionally, there would come an unexpected yet exciting nipple twist or sudden heady stroking of Diana's own clit by the whore holding the mallet in order to help intensify the receiving whore's pleasure. This subversive finger play only served to intensify Wonder Woman's guilt and humiliation by the helpless jolts of pleasure she'd feel at the hands of one of the well-practiced whores.
At the end of it, her eyes drifting aimlessly, her tongue slack over her lower lip, her half- face gleaming in the streetlight from the waxy shine of five women's sexual fulfillment, Diana's body lays cheek-down and motionless on the broken pavement of that dark alley. With her famous starred costume panties pulled down and bunched around her thighs, her arms at her sides, her naked breasts squashed against the dirty street and a wood pole still shoved up her butt hole, the famous Wonder Woman's spirit is throughly crushed. A soft mournful sigh of absolute despair and shame exhales from the vanquished woman.
"Ogay, lez ged duh blonde bidch ober here ad finizh ub."
An unconscious Supergirl is summarily dragged over by Glenda and tied to a drain pipe bracket with numerous black strips of stinking torn garbage bags. With her torso hanging limply from the steel bracket bolted to the wall, Supergirl's knees are bent together, almost touching the street, her calves splayed apart. A lethargic Diana, severely cautioned to behave by Trixie, is heaved over to the big green dumpster ten feet away, as directed by Desiree. The wooden mallet is roughly yanked out of her rear and Trixie pulls up her blue briefs until they're back in place, albeit somewhat haphazardly. A broken, submissive Diana is then told to sit down with her back against the dumpster, right in a puddle of some slimy brownish liquid. Dazed and pitiful, Wonder Woman readily complies, grimacing as she feels the cold, clammy solution slowly soak into her costume briefs, staining the bottoms a dark brown.
"Stay put, bitch, and don't try nuthin' funny." Trixie barks as she carefully ties Diana's arms over her head to a jutting rivet with a panhead top with yet more strips of torn fetid plastic bags.
Desiree whispers a few instructions into Sharla's ear and the nasty look on the whore's face as she eyes Diana makes the Amazon's blood run cold.
"Okay," nods Sharla. "Chloe, hold that blond cunt's ankles together, very tightly so she can't kick. Glenda, slap her hard and wake the bitch up so she can enjoy our little party game."
Supergirl's head recoils against the cement wall behind her and her eyes flutter open with dull awareness. But then, still out of it, her chin drops and the eyes begin to shut.
"Hit her again, Glen," grins Sharla, enjoying herself.
"Oww! Ohhh! Stop!" Kara is jolted into true awareness now, her cheek bristling with the heat of Glenda's hard, ringing slap. She rears up to her full height, her bound arms uncomfortably pressing against her upper back in her new position.
"You with us now, blondie?"
"Yes, I ....oh Rao! Diana, are you alright?" Kara is shocked to see her compatriot looking so wretchedly docile, so terribly withdrawn.
"...guess zo.." mumbles Wonder Woman with total apathy now.
"What have you done to her?!"
"Taught her where her place is in the food chain, blondie," Sharla crows. "Just below a slug. Ain't that right, blackie?"
With no answer forthcoming from Wonder Woman, Sharla nods at Trixie who bends over the mute woman, pushes the gold fabric eagle on the bustier lower off her massive, exposed breasts and pinches the angry red welt from the clawing she received earlier.
"Aaaahh! Yes! Below a slug..." Diana winces as she gasps out her reply.
Kara's mouth drops open in shock. She didn't know what else they'd done to Diana while she was out cold but her friend was obviously a beaten woman. Kara's never seen her like this in her life. She doesn't think anyone has. Except maybe Sergei.
"You street trash are going to pay for..." The knife blade that suddenly presses at Kara's throat in Sharla's steady hand stops her in mid-sentence.
"Shut your pie hole, blondie, before I give you a new opening to eat out of," Sharla snarls.
Desiree walks over toward Diana kneels down beside her and looks directly at her prey's face. Diana keeps her head bowed, unable or unwilling to look her foe in the eye. Desiree smiles broadly at her heady dominance of her once proud foe. Then she opens a small paper bag she'd found in the dumpster and left near it's wheels earlier. She tosses up four dingy white golf balls at Trixie, one after the other. Scuffed and dented, the used practice balls were tossed out by the sportswear store just around the corner. Trixie pulls the neck of her blue mesh blouse open and tucks two of the balls in her cleavage for safe-keeping, the other two she rolls around in her hand.
"Open your legs, bitch," Chloe calls out to Wonder Woman as she continues her firm grip on Supergirl's ankles.
Diana looks up, her eyes dry, the irises dull. She finally looks toward Desiree kneeling beside her.
"...why...? ...you've won..." Diana asks quietly.
"Juz cauze I wond do!" Desiree snaps, staring defiantly back at Diana. She then stands up and turns to walk toward Supergirl. Suddenly she spins, snatches a clump of Wonder Woman's hair and bangs her head against the steel dumpster.
"UUUGGNNHH!" Wonder Woman bites her tongue in the surprise move and a thin line of blood drips out over her lower lip as her head falls forward to her chest.
"YOU DON'T GED TO QWEZDION BE, BIDGE! Now obed yhur legz or yhur fred dere diez!"
Slowly, a stunned Wonder Woman spreads her legs apart, her boot heels loudly dragging sideways in the now silent alleyway.
"Any funny stuff and I take blondie's head off," Sharla calls out.
Diana looks up from under her eyebrows at Kara, her half-raised lids quivering. The two heroines share an anguished moment: Kara's eyes are swimming with guilt, Diana's seem oddly flinty with a mix of hopelessness and anger. Kara can't be sure it's not directed at her. She's been so unheroic this evening.
Trixie kneels down, puts her finger in the brown puddle, a good measure of which has now soaked into the blue panties high up to an ugly brown stain that clearly shows in Wonder Woman's crotch as she holds her legs wide apart. Trixie sniffs her finger and makes a declaration. "Dirty motor oil. That's no way to dispose of it! Very illegal. But a great lubricant. It's your lucky day, slut." Pulling aside the crotch of Wonder Woman's briefs with one hand, Trixie rolls the golf ball in the puddle with her other, then pushes the thickly-coated nearly two-inch diameter white globe past the slick lips of the bound woman's pussy. Pushing it deeply inside her with steely fingers, Trixie grins as she humiliates the grunting Amazon.
"UUUHHH." Diana feels the width of the dimpled sphere pressed far up her vagina. She's actually thankful for the oil since her loins are still throbbing from the abuse by the wooden mallet.
"That wasn't so bad was it?" Trixie's eyes dance with delight. "Let's do another."
"Don't!" Kara objects loudly. "There's no cause for...GHHUUUNFFF!"
Sharla had pulled her knife back a foot just as Glenda drove a pile driving fist into Supergirl's gut. The blonde heroine jerks forward, stretching the black plastic holding her to the wall bracket. There's enough of it binding her so it doesn't break, even as the wheezing blonde teenager sags forward in gasping helplessness, all protest immediately silenced in her strained whooping for air.
"Nobody gives a fuck what you think, piss pants!" Glenda hisses into her grimacing face. "Keep your cock-gulping hole shut and your opinions to yourself and you may actually live through this night."
The second golf ball gets shoved up Wonder Woman's pussy with a steady thrust until it touches against the first, driving it slightly deeper into her cavity. The heroine's eyes are downcast now, her breathing shallow and regular. She doesn't make a sound.
"Number three going in," chimes Trixie merrily as she retrieves the two spheres from her cleavage. One she puts on the ground, the other gets rolled in the dark brown puddle and quickly forced up Diana's slippery hole. Firm, insistent fingers push hard and the third golf ball pushes against the other two now, driving them uncomfortably deep within her channel.
"Getting a little crowded in there, huh, cunty?" Trixie announces this with glee. "Gotta be almost eight inches deep in you now, I'd say. But that's not much deeper than the slightly better endowed men's cocks you take up there so regularly. Right, sugar slut? I said RIGHT, SLUT?"
"...yes...yes, you're right..." Diana replies, her breathing now coming in shorter pants.
"Right about what, street trash?" Trixie asks with suddenly cold vehemence.
"...right about....about taking...long cocks up there....regularly..."
"I thought as much," snaps back Trixie, haughtily. "You look like the type who takes the biggest swinging dicks without blinking an eye. Probably like 'em huge, right?"
"...yes..." mumbles Wonder Woman.
"The bigger the better is your motto I'm guessing. Probably should get your thighs tattooed. 'Wide Loads Gratefully Accepted' just to make it clear to your johns what to expect."
Trixie reaches down and clasps her palm around Wonder Woman's throat, squeezing down firmly. Diana's eyes dart up in shock. "Think a tattoo like that is a good idea, trash?"
"...yes..." Diana croaks. "..Wide Loads...'Cepted. ..s'clever..."
"I thought you'd think so. Here's lucky ball number four, bitch!" Holding aside the crotch of her panties for the final ball with one hand as she throttles Diana's throat with her other, Trixie deftly maneuvers the oiled white sphere into the opening in Wonder Woman's crotch and forces it deeply into the channel with a hard slap of her palm, pushing the three other golf balls so deeply inside her that the front one brushes against her cervix.
"GHAAAHHH!" The Amazon warrior, strains forward, eyes wide, yelping in pain at this brutal mistreatment.
Across the way, a teary Supergirl watches in horror as her friend and ally is roughly abused. And she is helpless to prevent it. Any move she'd try to make would be dangerous and stupid. She's tightly bound by her wrists behind her back and Sharla's knife at her throat is not two inches above the glowing kryptonite collar that makes her feel so puny, so weak, so pathetic. She'd never forgive Tony for this, and probably not herself either.
Diana's chin nods against her upper chest. Her panting is loud. Her body is trembling as she deals with the sting of the four golf balls slammed deep into her vagina. Using her inner muscles, she squeezes down to force them lower within her cavity, away from where they crush against her cervix. This she is able to do and the pain eases somewhat. She looks up dully to see Desiree coming at her, sauntering slowly with something behind her back that Diana can't see.
"Ged yhur zegund widd, ghirly?"
"Whuz behind your back?" Diana's slurring speech indicates the amount of pain she's absorbed tonight. But it's not quite over yet.
"Juzd a liddle fidal goodbye gesdure."
"DIANA! CLOSE YOUR LEGS! SHE'S GOT A....HHUUUUNNNFFFFF!"
Once again, Supergirl's voice is stopped with Glenda's devastating punch to her stomach. She rocks forward in a silent scream with no air whatsoever to give it voice. Diana starts to bring her legs together but she's too befuddled and tired to do it quickly enough. Desiree does a quick quarter turn and, using a plastic wiffleball bat like a golf club, swings hard and low at the blue crotch with the dark, oily brown stain. She connects hard with the fat of the bat, driving the balls that Diana had pushed to the opening of her pussy back up the channel with a sickening sound that reverberates around the alley..
"AAAIIIEEEYAAGGGHHHH!" Diana screams in the night and her body folds forward as much as the plastic bonds around her wrists allow. Her eyes bulge wide, her mouth opens and she spews a thin jet of greenish vomit all over naked breast. Then she collapses limply in place with retching wheezing that matches Supergirl's high-pitched wheezes across the alley. Desiree is very pleased at the stereo effect. Then she nods at Trixie to hold up the costumed heroine's head and the obliging whore does so. Diana's face is ashen, her mouth gaping, her eyes bulging in their sockets in horrific pain. Desiree simply tees up and swings for the fences.
SMAAAACK! Wonder Woman's left cheek compresses from the force of the bat as her head snaps sideways. Droplets of blood spray from her mouth and nose. Then the neck loses all rigidity and Diana's face and body slump low to the right.
"Agaid," is all the whore leader says and Trixie takes hold of Wonder Woman's hair and twists her body so it faces forward, along with her battered visage. There's very little intelligence left in Wonder Woman's eyes. Only animal fear. Trixie holds her face steady and the stunned and disabled heroine can do nothing as the hard plastic bat slams into the other side of her face.
WHAAACK! Letting go the instant Desiree connects, Trixie backs off to avoid the second shower of blood that arcs out from the nose and mouth. Once again, the body collapses into itself and now Desiree is the one to bend down and grab Diana's hair, yanking her body up and her face forward.
Lolling on a rubber neck, Wonder Woman's head has to be held upright by the stern-faced whore leader. There's a shred of consciousness left but precious little capacity for much thought. Still, Desiree's final instructions are pretty basic.
"Don'd eber cub back here, cund! EBER!"
Dropping the bat and taking the brass knuckles out of the pocket of her rabbit fur jacket, Desiree cooly slips them on her right hand and clocks Diana a hard shot to the temple she hadn't hit before. Her face snaps to the side and Wonder Woman sags in place, completely oblivious to the world.
Walking over to a weeping Supergirl, Desiree looks her over with scorn. "You. You're jusd piddiful!" She unloads a roundhouse hook to Supergirl's jaw and the girl who could once lift battleships collapses into blackness, slumping heavily against the concrete wall.
Fifteen minutes later, the whores finally depart the alley laughing and joking with each other after manhandling and abusing the two inert figures in ways that will cause them maximum discomfort and a world of embarrassment when they finally crawl their way back to a state of consciousness.
Desiree knows there will be hell to pay from Dooley her pimp. Checking her watch, she is shocked to see it's quarter to four in the morning. She's lost about five hours of time she could have been making money on her back or her knees. She's pretty sure Dooley will be smacking her around later. But he's done that before and she's come through it fine. All the girls have been bitch-slapped by their pimps: Glenda and Trixie by Dooley as well; Chloe by her pimp, Ramone; and Sharla by some animal from 125thStreet named Boxer who was known to use his fist on his girls. Even the hard-edged Sharla feared Boxer. He'd put her in the hospital once. Desiree hoped that wouldn't happen again. Still, it had been one of the most interesting evenings of her life and she wouldn't have traded it for anything. She and her girls had held their turf. Dooley should be pleased about that. Maybe he wouldn't beat on her so bad if she explained she'd been doing his job for him. She'd have to play it just right. Maybe if she gave him a handjob while explaining herself. That might work.
Supergirl is the first of the two heroines to come to her senses. The pain cuts through to stir her from a black hole of oblivion into a gray cloud of dull awareness. There's the strong smell of sour lemons, and then she slowly begins to emerge from her nothingness, conscious primarily of the catalog of hurts she is experiencing. So many places: her swollen jaw, her burning vagina, her sore shoulder, her tender forehead, her cramped thighs, even her grating coccyx bone. Why would that be? And beneath it all, Kara suddenly realizes how desperately she needs her crack. It's been far too many hours. She's sick for it!
Opening her eyes, Kara discovers she's can't see much but the familiar rank smell overriding the scent of musty lemons tells her that she's still stuck in this nightmarish alley. A strong breeze carrying the promise of rain suddenly blows. It cools her slick-feeling face and hands and brushes through her boots while leaving the rest of her untouched. It's right then that she realizes she's been stuffed ass-deep into a round steel garbage can. Just the top of her head, hands and boots protrude from the container. Her tail bone rests against the hard surface of the bottom of the can. She squirms and struggles and there is a squishing sensation and the smell of baked beans for some reason, but she cannot tip the can over. She can only rock the can slightly. Unbeknownst to her, the whores have used plastic bag strips to secure one of the garbage can's handles to a steel drain pipe running up the wall. Frustrated and sore, Supergirl calls out, "Diana. Are you there? Diana?" Talking makes the lemon scent fill her nose and there's the sudden sour taste of them on her tongue when she licks her lips.
"Di. Wake up. Come help me get out of this."
"Diana. Help me. I'm stuck!"
"...i...I can't...Kara...I'm tied up. Ohhh...Hera, I hurt all over....and...and...I'm filthy!"
"Damn those whores!" Supergirl yells. "If I ever cross their path with my powers intact..."
"Can you tip that can over?" Diana calls across the ten feet between her dumpster and Kara's can.
"No, it only rocks a little bit," whines Kara. "There's no way to create enough momentum."
"Oh," says Diana sadly.
"How about you?"
"They've tied my hands so tightly with all this plastic and one of my legs is tucked under me with that ankle bound to the wheel of this container.
"Oh," Kara replies with despair. After a moment, she asks, "What do you mean you're filthy?"
"I mean they've completely covered my uniform with somebody's dinner! My top is smeared with what smells like spaghetti sauce. It's all over my tits - inside and out! My bottoms are slippery from all the motor oil and I don't know what. Feels like some kind of slimy paste inside my briefs. Oh, it's so revolting!"
"Tell me about it. I think they smashed my face and chest with a moldy lemon meringue pie. They've spread it all through my hair, and around my breasts and all over my top. And it smells like, what, baked beans in my underpants! And there's something sticking up my pussy, too, now! God, those bitches!"
"If I could get these golf balls out of my vagina, I wouldn't mind that in the least either. Oh, Kara, what are we going to do?"
"Yell for help, I guess."
"Oh, Hera, no. I would rather die. The shame of all this!"
"Well, I don't feel like dying today, Diana. Do you have a better idea?"
"You sure you can't tip over that can. Try again, please!"
"I have been. I can't turn my head. Can you see from there. They must have tied it down somehow."
"I can't see anything but there's a pipe running up the wall directly behind the can. They must have tied the can to that."
"BITCHES! HAIRY MOTHERFUCKING CUNTS!"
"Kara! Your language!"
"Excuse me, Princess. But I'm not feeling very ladylike at the moment!"
The sound of two men singing in the distance freezes both ladies blood. Wonder Woman with dread at being discovered like this but with a tinge of hope that the ordeal will come to an end. Supergirl is frozen in surprise. It feels like dawn is a couple of hours away. Why would anyone be out at this hour. Still, with the pain in her tailbone and the crack making its heavy demands, the Maid of Steel calls out loudly, "Over here! Come over here! We need help! HELP!"
Kara's shouting ultimately overrides Wonder Woman's shame with her own need to be freed. Her body is starting to tremble slightly with its own need for her heroin. She joins Kara in the call for aid.
"HELP! Help us, please! We're in the alley," Diana howls. "Come find us!"
The ladies hear the singing stop and murmurs traded. And the murmuring is getting closer. They're going to be saved!
Tony Bonano is deep into a dream where he's facing Gino Lupenzo through a plate glass window of a restaurant in Little Italy. He's holding a handgun and pulling the trigger but the bullets aren't breaking through the glass. They're just bouncing off the window and dropping to the street as, inside at the table with his crew, Gino twirls the spaghetti around his fork, points at Tony through the window with it and laughs before stuffing his face with pasta. A ringing cell phone in his dream shows a text coming in from the Supergirl Glassworks Company. It reads: "Test is complete. Bulletproof Kryptonian glass as ordered for Il Pesce Restaurant has been installed. Glad to be of service." Tony looks up at the restaurant sign and reads Il Pesce. My damn luck he says. And then the phone rings a second time and he looks at the screen to see the call is coming from Carmine. Waking up now as the phone rings a third time, Tony awkwardly reaches for it on his bedside table, turns on the lamp and mumbles into it, "What do you want, Carmine?"
"How'd you know it was me?" Carmine asks, surprised.
"The cell phone told me."
"I...uh...was dreaming. Your call worked its way into my subconscious. What's up?"
"Well, I've checked upstairs to see if the girls have come back yet and they haven't. Then I called the night clerk at The Uptowner Hotel and he tells me neither of the girls has used the room all night. Not one tricks worth. I'm gonna go out and see if I can find 'em. I don't like this. Doesn't feel right to me. It's quarter to four in the morning, for crissake! I know you're trying to punish them, Ton, but this smells fishy."
"You're right Carmine. You going to take anyone with you? How 'bout Mario?"
"Yeah, I may roust him and drag him along. I'll check in as soon as I spot 'em."
"Alright. Be careful. Take a piece with you."
"Not me. But I'll tell Mario to bring one. I don't need the trouble."
"You also don't need to be dead, Carmine. You don't know what could be going on. And with Gino gunning for us, I think you should take a bazooka. Failing that, bring a fucking gun, you stubborn wop."
"Fine, Ton. You're right. I ain't thinking straight. Talk to you later."
"Okay. I'll be here. I'll put up some coffee."
"Great. See you soon."
Putting the handset back in its charger unit, Tony lies back on his pillow and stares at the ceiling with a scowl. What the fuck's gone wrong now?
Sean MacArthur, or simply Mac to his friends of whom he had precious few left, was very drunk and very happy. And he was about to put happy in his rear window on the way to ecstatic. But right now, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with his friend Chester, he was still overjoyed at the big score they'd made panhandling at Yankee Stadium earlier in the evening.
It was a surprise late-inning turnaround win in a playoff game for the Yankees against the Detroit Tigers. Outside the famous arena, the streaming horde of happy baseball fans had shown their largess at Mac's meager harmonica work and Chester's even less accomplished twanging on a Jews harp to the tune of "Camptown Races" with a take of $74.22. The crowd had even joined in on the 'doo-dahs' with a raucous furor, many of them drunk on outrageously-priced stadium beer.
This allowed the duo to buy three fifths of cheap scotch, a large McDonald's happy meal for each of them and still have enough leftover for a good breakfast at a sit-down diner in the late morning when they woke up. That was if the diner would even allow them to sit down. Out of work for over five years now, the often penniless bums were filthy, scraggly, overly-fragrant examples of what happens when one falls through society's so-called "safety net." Mac's once neatly-trimmed blonde beard had grown long and uneven, with bits of food lodged in its depths. Chester's dark brown beard was equally unkempt.
Mac had once been an insurance adjuster who was good at his job. So good that he knew about the loopholes and kickbacks he could garner from repair shops and all-too-willing insurance claimants who would fund him with some of the differences that were worked out so the faceless insurance company would overpay and the fraudulent players would be all the better off. It worked well up to the day it didn't and Mac had been fingered by the insurance company's investigator. He'd been carted away by the cops and had done two years at an upstate New York prison.
Once released, he couldn't get hired to save his life and so his life had spiraled down to a struggling existence on the street. His balding, beefy 6-foot friend Chester had been kicked out of his job as assistant manager at the body shop where Mac had arranged the fraudulent paperwork. Chester, charged as a co-conspirator, had done ten months at the same prison. And now they were each other's closet friend. Other street people would mix with them but no one on the street got very close to one another despite their shared troubles.
The two gentlemen of the street had broken the seal on the first of the three bottles as soon as they sat down on the curb in front of the liquor store. They had passed it back and forth several times, taking long swigs each. Finally they stood up and began an aimless wandering throughout the South Bronx over the course of several hours. That empty first bottle had been heaved over a tall wire fence by Chester into an empty parking lot with a satisfying explosion of glass against concrete. You took life's small pleasures where you could find them in this duo's hard-earned philosophy.
Each man now carries his own bottle in one hand as they prop each other up with arms thrown over each other's shoulder while making their unsteady way down the street. Singing Gilbert O'Sullivan's single hit, "Alone Again, Naturally," off-key and with badly-mangled lyrics, the two bums are at the end of an alley when Chester hears a shout.
"Wait. What zat?" Chester stops suddenly in place, nearly throwing the lighter, unstable Mac to the ground. A gripping hand by Chester on the lapel of Mac's heavily-stained brown tweed sport jacket prevents this.
"Whuz what?" Mac asks, straightening himself and brushing off Chester's hand to show he's in control of his faculties and doesn't need any help.
"Heard sumpthin' I thought."
"HELP! Help us, please! We're in the alley."
"They're in the alley," Chester says.
"Hooz in the alley?" Mac slurs.
"Don't know," shrugs Chester
"Wanna go in?" Mac suggests
"Guess so." Chester shrugs.
The two bums head down the long dark 10-foot-wide passage.
"Iz dark." Mac says, leading the way
"Dark," agrees the tipsy Chester.
Mac makes unsteady progress along the wall, feeling his way with his hand on the concrete surface. The moon has ducked behind a thick cloud and a breeze has come up. A roll of distant thunder is heard.
As they progress, they get closer to the one working light in the alley. A weak spotlight situated on the parapet of a three-story building. It's broad expanse of concrete is the left wall of the alley.
"Hooz there?" Mac calls out. His vision is compromised by poor lighting and hard liquor. He squints and sees a figure next to a dumpster. And something across from that... no, that can't be right.
"Thank goodness you're here. We've been attacked and tied up," the voice by the dumpster calls.
"..'tacked? By who?"
"A gang of whores," says a second voice.
Startled, Mac takes a sudden step back and Chester steps on his heel.
"Oww! Chester quit that," Mac turns around and slaps on the big man's chest. Back up!"
"Sorry," Chester replies sullenly. "But it's your fault. You backed up too sudden."
"I wuz jes surprised by the talking garbage can."
"I can unnerstand that, I guess," Chester nods thoughtfully.
"Can you two help us, please," Kara pleads, aching all over.
"It talked again," Mac says. "The can. It talked."
"I'm not a talking can. I'm Supergirl. Come over here please and get me out of this!"
"Think we got the DTs already?" Chester asks Mac.
"Too soon. An' 'sides that, we're not nearly 'nuff drunk."
"I'm not sure I would agree with that," the slightly deeper female voice by the dumpster says. "But we would be in your debt, gentlemen, if you came forward and untied us."
"Debt." Chester hones in on his keyword.
"Tied." Mac's face tilts a bit with a glimmer in his eye showing in the weak light.
The two bums move forward a bit quicker now with better light and solid motivations. When they finally make it to the dumpster, they look down to see the most lovely face and body either man has ever laid eyes on. Even with the two angry wounds at the temples, the scraped cheek and slightly swollen nose and eyes, the red and gold blouse heavily-coated with spaghetti sauce, the woman tied up at their feet seems like a vision to the two drunks.
Chester even asks aloud, in hushed awe, "Are you real?"
"Very much so," replies Diana. "And I'd be grateful if you would untie my ankle first. The cramp in my thigh is quite painful." Looking at the naked flexed thigh, it's quivering muscle and the incredible figure of this beautiful, helpless female posed like perfection at his feet, Chester licks his lips and thinks hard.
Diana looks into the face of her white knight in shining armor and doesn't appreciate his expression at all. "My ankle?" Her prodding tone snaps Chester out of his whirling jumble of drunken aspirations, focusing it to a pinpoint need.
"Whaz innit for me?"
"Excuse me?" Diana replies, exasperated.
"Whaddoo I get for untying you?"
"Yeah, why should I do it. You got to give me sumptin' back."
"For heaven's sake, what about the simple act of charity? Of helping another being in distress. That should be its own reward."
"It ain't. And times is tough."
"This is bullshit!" Kara fumes across the way.
"Shaddup, can," Mac admonishes, taking several steps over toward the steel cannister with the arms and legs poking out.
"I'm not a damn can! Focus for a second, you filthy bum or when I get out of this, I will make you one sorry derelict."
Mac stands over the steel can, swaying slightly as he looks down into it at the upturned face of the tightly-packed blonde stuffed ass-first into the refuse bin.
"I know you. Yurr Supergirl."
"And we have a winner!" Kara's scorn is palpable.
"You shaved me once. Uhh..saved me. Bus I was in almost went off a canyon road down a cliff. One second I'm dead, next minute I'm shakin' yhur hand as we all filed out onto the road to thank you personally."
"Then when you let me out of this damn can we can be even. How about it, sport?"
"Wellllll... I guess iz only fair. C'mon Chezder. Whaddaya say, lez help 'em out."
"NO, MAC! No. Not unless they give us sumpthin'. Wonder Woman never saved me. I jez want whuz fair."
"Hera help me. Like what? What do you want, Chester?" Diana grits her teeth in frustration at all this. Her thigh aches as does most of her body and she is starting to shake more from heroin withdrawal.
"Sex." His answer is instantaneous.
"Yeah, that's not happening, big boy," Kara calls out. "I'm a talking garbage can and even I know that's just not in the cards for you."
"Could be," replies Chester, childishly.
"No, it can't be, Chester," Diana says softly, trying to appeal to his softer nature.
"Look," Mac pipes in, "Why don't you ladies agree to share a drink with us and then we'll help you out."
"I really don't drink," Wonder Woman says. "It's not something I enjoy."
"Oh, come on, Diana," Kara says testily. "Loosen up this once, please. I ache all over and I just want to get out of here and back to Tony's. Agree to drink with these men and let's be done with it!"
"Okay, Kara. You're right, of course. Yes, we'll agree to drink with you if you promise to untie us."
"Deal!" Calls out Mac.
"I don't know..." Chester hesitates, looking down at the incredible body posed before him, tantalizing him, making him hard for the first time in weeks. He's only 44 years old but he feels like 60 with the life he's led the past six years.
"Would you serve me that drink now, Chester," Diana says, batting her eyes, trying to seal the deal.
"Fine! Open your mouth."
"What?" Diana scowls darkly at this.
"You see any cups around here you'd like to drink out of, lady?"
Diana looks around the garbage strewn alley, comes to the same gloomy conclusion and shakes her head. "No."
"So. Open up."
"You, too, Supergirl," Mac talks down at the can.
Both men look at each other and there's a slight nod between them as the ladies open their mouths wide like baby birds. Both men hold the women's faces in the palms of one hand as they tip the bottles and pour out the scotch into the waiting throats. Both men pour generous 4-shot portions down the heroine's gullets, holding their faces in place as the women's eyes widen and they swallow as much as they can before sputtering and spitting out spumes of the misty final remnants of the dousing measures of alcohol poured down their throats. The majority of the dosage of heady liquor has been ingested by each heroine, with mere drippings being choked on as each gags and coughs in dizzy reflex. The two bums take generous swigs themselves and smile at each other. So clever they are.
"Kaaaccgkkk! Huugghhh! Wrellggkk! Oohhhh. That wasn't a drink," Supergirl gasps out with a thin reedy voice from the scorching scotch, "that was a damn waterfall, you sneaky bastard."
Diana's face is wide-eyed and red as she chokes and gasps noisily against the dumpster. Her throat is on fire, unused to alcohol in the first place and then being inundated with a near-drowning amount of the vile liquid. When she finally gets her wind back, she merely glares up at Chester with a show of malice that has the big man taking a step back, realizing he may have overplayed his hand here. But it was early. He'd see what happened after the girls bodies started reacting to all that scotch.
"Okay," rasps Kara. "We've had your damn drink, now untie us both."
"Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast," replies Mac. "A drink means socializing together. Let's talk a bit. Get to know each other."
"Why would I want to get to know you? You don't seem like a very nice person. Especially for one I've saved from a fiery death.
"Well, you may not be cashing me on my best day. Or best year," slurs Mac.
"You don't seem like you get many best days, if I may be blunt, Mac."
"Aktually, this is (hic) one of my best days, now that I think 'bout it."
"You come here often?" Chester asks Wonder Woman, the only pickup line he can remember right now.
"By Zuess' chariot, are you insane?" Wonder Woman blurts out.
And with a mix of meaningless babble by the bums and fuming scorn from the heroines, several minutes pass with rejoinders and conversational banter that would sound perfectly normal in any Marx brothers movie.
After about six minutes, Diana's eyes begin to lose their luster, her speech begins to slur and her facial muscles slacken noticeably.
"...zo, haf we sozialized 'nuff with yoo now..." She asks Chester who has sat down beside her in the meantime, staying clear of the thick brown puddle in which Wonder Woman still sits. "Can you untie uz... fina...ly?"
"Sure," Chester nods grandly. "I'll get that ankle undone fur you fhirst..."
"...I...thank...you..." a drunken Wonder Woman nods heavily back at him.
"Guess you want out of there now, too, huh, Shupergirl?"
"Yezz, please," answers the inebriated teen, her head resting against the inner bend of the trash can, her expression stupefied.
"How 'bout another eensie teensie drinkie poo first?"
"Jest a little one, for the..roe...road..." Mac burps.
"...whatthehell...shure...whynot..." The Maid of Steel says, all judgement shot to hell.
She opens wide but with surprising graciousness, Mac tips the bottle very studiously and only pours in a shot and a half's worth of scotch which Supergirl swallows without any trouble at all. Still, that totals five and half shots of straight scotch in under ten minutes. It's more than enough to compromise Supergirl's reasoning abilities for a couple of hours. Those are the very abilities she'll later sincerely wish she could have been able to summon at the time. Diana's complete unfamiliarity with liquor virtually guarantees the four shots worth of scotch she's ingested will impair her logical assessments just as much as Kara's.
Just before he goes to untie Wonder Woman's ankle, Chester leans against the famous Princess of Themyscira, one hand lingering on her shoulder, the other on her hip. He inhales her intoxicating scent, which, thanks to all the sweat she's exuded through her evening's constant fights, he's still able to capture, even through the smell of spaghetti sauce, motor oil and rancid gravy. A plastered Wonder Woman just sits there in a dizzy funk with one leg pointed out and the other tucked back underneath her. Chester's hand quickly slides off her hip and down into the valley of her inner thighs until his palm presses against the wide brown-stained crotch and he gives it a firm, quick squeeze.
"...hey...cut dat out..." Diana says, coming to her senses at this gross familiarity.
"Sorry, I ...uh...slipped. Let me get that ankle untied." Chester smirks as he turns and starts to work at the plastic bag strips under the dumpster's lower corner. After a few minutes of drunken fumbling at the knotted plastic that binds Wonder Woman's ankle to the wheel of the dumpster, Chester is finally able to free her leg. The grimacing beauty pulls her leg forward and the cramp tightens mercilessly in the new position.
"Aaaghhh," she winces at the hot spearing muscle in her thigh. Chester immediately turns back around and begins to rub Wonder Woman's thigh with his two powerful hands, kneading the muscle and working on it with a combination of smooth firms strokes and pinching palms to ease the pain. It works magic in less than 20 seconds and a sighing Wonder Woman settles back against the dumpster and sighs with relief.
"Shank you, Chesder. That helped a lot."
"My pleasure, Wonder Woman." He means it sincerely.
"Can you do my hands now, please."
"Massage your handz?"
"No, silly. Untie them."
"Right. Uh...shure. Shure!"
"Let's see how I can getchu outta thish can, blondie," Mac says, getting into the spirit of helping.
"Prob'lee haf to tip me over. Gotta cut or untie the plashtic around the handle firsht."
"Yeah," nods Mac. "Yhur right. Got a knife or sumthin'"
"Nope," the drunk Supergirl answers immediately.
"Lotta plashtic here," Mac says, surveying his task.
"Maybe I can rip it, uh, shtrip by shtrip."
"Could try that," Kara mumbles.
He does. It takes a few minutes for him to succeed but he finally does free the handle of all the plastic.
"Tipping you now."
"..'kay..." Kara nods. Mac tips the can forward and then, with her heels now touching the street and the awkwardly positioned heroine facing down with her hands sticking straight out, the blonde beauty moans at this painful new orientation. Mac tries pulling on her hands alone but that doesn't work, even with Kara trying to edge her legs forward out of the can.
"Damn. Pull harder, ish not whurking," whines Supergirl.
"Gonna half to pull yhur legs and arms at the same time," says Mac. "Hold on."
Sitting down in front of the can with his legs bent and his feet placed against the lip of the can's top edge, Mac takes hold of Supergirl's hands and legs by holding them bunched together in a group against his chest and pushing out with his legs. Slowly, inch by inch, the doubled up Maid of Steel's body is pulled out of the constraining cylinder with much grunting and straining from both parties. With a final push, the blonde teenager is freed at last from the garbage can and her body unwinds in the street like a dying python. She uncurls her hips, stretches out her legs, reaches over her head with both arms and stretches wide and then collapses to limp inertia in a sigh of absolute relief. Her lower lip flutters in a ridiculous drunken sputtering of a very unladylike quality.
"Ohhh, Rao, that feels sooooo good! Finally!"
Licking his fingers, sticky with lemon glaze, Mac smiles.
"Tastes pretty good, too." He's too drunk to taste the sour underpinning of a pie gone slightly bad.
Across the way, Wonder Woman has finally had her hands untied from the dumpster by Chester and she now just sits in place, her head nodding slightly in a drunken swoon, her arms limp at her side, her exhaustion from the evening's activities catching up with her. Beside her, Chester puts his arm around Wonder Woman's shoulder, then his hand slides down surreptitiously and palms Wonder Woman's breast, capturing a thick dollop of spaghetti sauce as he does so.
"...not...nice..." Wonder Woman murmurs.
"Sorry, my hand slipped," Chester answers. It worked before without getting slapped. It works again.
After two minutes of just resting in place, the two heroines stir almost at the same time with a flash of lightning in the distance and a much closer roll of thunder. The storm that had been threatening all night after one early sudden shower at the beginning of Tuesday evening, now seems intent on carrying out its promise in the next quarter hour or less, judging by the nearness of the thunderclap after the lightning display.
Both heroines seem to have the same sensation simultaneously. Both rise to their feet as one, standing across from each other looking into each other's face.
"What the hell did those whores put in my panties?" They say together.
Both heroines pull open the waistbands of their bikini briefs and stare in horror at the sight there. Supergirl is staring at a thick reddish brown mass of smashed, moldy baked beans. Wonder Woman sees a pasty yellowish puddle of thick chicken gravy.
"Ohhh, gross!" Supergirl cries.
"Disgusting!" Wonder Woman growls.
Without a thought about the propriety of their behavior, both heroines reach down into their skivvies and scoop out heaping handfuls of the vile contents of their underwear and shake them into the street with faces twisted in horrified disgust. Wonder Woman has no easy time of it, her yellowish paste being far more of a liquid than Supergirl's beans. But Kara's forced to scrape and finger herself to get individual bean pods out of the deepest recesses of her ass and pussy. Wonder Woman is able to cull all the paste out with a stiff forefinger but even she is forced to finger her anus and vagina to scrape them clear of the thick yellow gravy. Neither woman stops into they're both scraping the silken insides of the fronts of their costume pants with the edges of their palms until they're as clean as possible. Standing beside them, the two bums are shaking their heads and grinning like idiots.
And then the first pattering of raindrops hit. Followed by countless others in a staccato beat that turns into a booming drum solo of thunder and wind as the heavens open up overhead in a downpour of almost religious intensity.
The drunken heroines not only don't care about the rain, they're absolutely delighted by it. They dance in circles and howl into the wind like pagan worshippers. Looking at each other, then at the bums, the two besotted beauties shrug at the same time with the same thought and, crossing their hands over their heads, proceed to strip off their tops. To the complete rapture of the two wide-eyed bums, breasts are bouncing everywhere all at once as Supergirl and Wonder Woman cavort in the rain. They rub each other down, skimming off all the gross thick spaghetti sauce, lemon meringue pie, baked beans and chicken gravy they've been marinating in for the past hour. Helping hands grope breasts and asses and twats and cracks until all the colors of the foods collect in puddles in the alleyways broken potholes and depressions.
Even the bums join in, shirking off jackets and shirts, pants and socks until the foursome is completely bare-ass naked, standing in place with their faces upturned into the heavenly shower. After a moment, spotting a drainpipe that has a torrent of water splashing out, the girls rush over to it and rinse out their garments underneath the cascade: panties, tops, Supergirl's cape, both sets of boots, even Wonder woman's remaining tin bracelet, phony power belt and cheap plastic tiara are rinsed. The men do the same with all their clothes. The first good rinsing they've had in months. If there were soap, the bums would be good to go for another month before they'd need a bath again by their reckoning.
The howling wind begins to abate after ten minutes and the now quick-moving storm rushes off to the east to soak Queens and ultimately, Long Island before heading out into the Atlantic. Behind it, the alley glistens with fresh tiny lakes in the moonlight. The nakedness of all is suddenly fully realized in the aftermath and the two heroines hurry to dress themselves in their costumes, however the drenched material leaves little to the imagination. Nipples are clearly evident, camel toes equally pronounced, buttocks enhanced by clinging fabric that accents every nook and cranny. Everything makes the feminine form the enrapturing presence that fills the art of the great masters is highlighted by the clinging material plastered to the two voluptuous women wavering drunkenly in the alley before the aroused bums. The men quickly turn and dress to hide their obvious sexual interest in the two now smirking beauties.
"I think we should toast to cleanliness," Mac says, picking his bottle up and unscrewing it. He gulps a double shot, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and hands the bottle to Supergirl. If she had any judgment left after the cleansing rain, it was thin and watery and it ran off her frontal lobe like an oil slick down a waterfall. A flash of color one isn't even sure was there.
"To cleanliness," she says, and tips her head back and the bottle as well, taking a solid gulp of the cheap fiery elixir of the damned.
"To cleanliness," repeats Chester, drinking up and handing the hefty bottle to Wonder Woman.
"To cleanliness," she parrots, controlled by mob behavior and bad processing of her alcohol-soaked reasoning center. Already tipsy, she pushes her center of gravity hard with a two-shot gulp of the raw-tasting scotch.
Walking over to the steel garbage can, Mac turns it over so he can sit down on it. But before he does, he overturns three others and places them in a circle and invites his companions to join him, which they all do.
"So whaz all thish about being attacked by whores? What happened to your shuper powers, ladies?" Showing genuine interest if not a firm grasp of diction, Mac engages the exhausted females in another conversation in order to get the booze to do its work. With the full shock of the evening's events taking its toll on both Supergirl and Wonder Woman, they wearily recount all the horrors of the evening's debacle to Mac and Chester. And by the time the story's completed, with each girl elaborating on the other's impressions of the events, both woman are once again deeply drunk from the vast amount of liquor consumed in such a short time.
Displaying a sickening whitewash of sympathy, both men offer gossamer thin platitudes over their hidden motives that, in their right minds, both heroines would have seen through instantly. Being drunk, they both missed the obvious signals and were drawn easily across the sticky web of male deceit into a trap of dangerous sexual compromise.
Even now, Mac is rubbing Supergirl's bicep with smooth repetitive motions that relax her as he commiserates with her about the horrible treatment from the nasty whores. In truth, Mac had once fucked Trixie if he wasn't mistaken about Supergirl's description of her. Chester is thinking, as he strokes the back of Wonder Woman's hair with calming caresses, that he might have had Glenda once when he was flush from a panhandling session after a Knicks win around Madison Square Garden and had come back to the South Bronx loaded for bear and coming across the willowy, willing redhead. He had the cash. She had the time. Business as usual.
"That all sounds jush horrible," Mac says after the heroines bring the evening's story up to the present. "I can't believe they got away with it. You girls deserve so much better than that."
Mac stands up and circles around to Supergirl's back. Putting his hands on her shoulders he leans over and kisses her neck. With some sort of sixth sense, Mac hits just the spot that makes the blonde teen quiver and softly moan with pleasure. He repeatedly kisses there and then licks and Supergirl sighs and leans back into him, luxuriating in the softness of someone who cares for a change instead of someone out to hurt her or take something from her or control her. She'd had so much of that over the past months. With the liquor subduing her body's need for crack while impairing all her faculties, the mighty Maid of Steel is an easy patsy for Mac's attentive behavior. Next to her, Wonder Woman, wavering on the unended steel trash can, is too drunk and much too exhausted by the evening's heavy toll on her to complain or resist against Chester's own sexual advances. He is rubbing her neck with his strong hands, and her heading is nodding dully in the rhythm of his massage, breathing deeply.
Both men take the next move, again without resistance from either woman, as the hands move over the shoulders and down the front of the two heroine's costumes until the palms wrap around the front of their breasts and fondle them openly. Mac squeezes softly on the breasts behind the famous red and yellow "S" insignia, molding them and rubbing them within his palms to his utter delight and to Supergirl's drunken, sighing satisfaction. Chester's hands slide beneath the golden eagle, form firm cupping vessels for the large naked fullness of Wonder Woman's generous endowments. He squeezes them firmly and the Amazon's eyes droop lower with an expression of confused pleasure that includes a heavy sigh of her own.
Sitting in their drunken daze on the garbage cans in the alley in the South Bronx, neither super hero puts up a shred of resistance as they are blatantly fondled, caressed and mauled for a good three minutes until their breathing gets much more rapid and their sexual energies begin to spark. Both women turn around to look up at their respective bums and with the illogical clarity of the drunken mind, are able to see past the scraggly beards and unkempt clothes to the sincere gentlemen within. The man needing rescue that is their stock in trade.
With the rain having washed away much of their filth, even the bodies of the two men do not raise any scented alarm within the besotted beauties. And when both men whisper lewd suggestions into the ears of the mighty champions of justice, they both nod slowly and get to their knees before the bums. Flies are unzipped. The outline of nice-sized stiff penises bulging against damp underwear are assessed and approved. The eager cocks are pulled out of their soggy confines by the willing hands of the two paragons of virtue. Famous mouths are filled with the salty taste of what men are, even as lips and tongues go to work with feverish enthusiasm that hard liquor in quantity can engender. The two men look at each other with huge smiles on their faces, great beaming grins of having hit the lottery at last. That their ship has come in.
On the street, on their knees, Supergirl and Wonder Woman give away their virtue and dignity without a thought, eagerly sucking on the hard shafts of two street bums in unison, their heads bobbing, their hands stroking, their lips compressing, as they work the penises like the professionals they've become under Tony Bonano's direction.
Were Desiree and her band to return to this alley, they'd see their competition, would appreciate the consummate skill involved and would kill the two heroines in a second for practicing their trade on their turf regardless of the fact that the bums had paid nothing for the blowjobs except the minimal cost of the booze.
At the same time, Mac and Chester put their palms on the top of the girls' heads and tell them to stop. Beg them to stop. They're both more than ready for the final act of this seedy play. The question is, are the two girls? Are they drunk enough, psychologically battered enough and horny enough to engage in all the hot groping sex acts that are spinning through the heads of the eagerly fantasizing bums?
Or are they not?
End of Chapter 67-E
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