I awoke with a start and sat up in bed. “Aw, geez,” I groaned. “Not again!”
My body tingled. My skin was flushed. My cheeks burned red at the memory of the dream. The images lingered in my mind, erotic and sinful, refusing, as these particular images always did, to fade away into nothingness as other, less passionate, dreams seemed more willing to do.
I squeezed my long legs together under the silk sheet, counting on the pressure of my thighs to force back the impending orgasm that burned in my loins. As always, the dream had been one of pure lust, the images of beautiful young men with their shirts stripped away. I bit my lower lip as I recalled the chiseled muscles of masculine arms and chests, dampened with sweat and grime, as they toiled beneath the hot sun. The men strained against the weight of wood and steel, hoisting and hammering and riveting and sawing. Tight blue jeans revealed the line of heavily muscled thighs and tight—
“Oh stop it!” I chided myself. “You are only making it worse!”
I flung the sheet away and moved to the side of the bed. My legs dangled over the edge. The coolness of the hardwood floor against the bottom of my feet did little to push the images of hot, sweaty, construction workers from my mind. With a sigh, I raised my body off the bed and stood in the middle of the room. I lifted the oversized Florida Gators football jersey in which I slept up and over my head and then allowed it to drop to the floor at my feet. I looked toward the full-length mirror mounted on the back of the bedroom door. My cheeks blushed again as I saw the image that was reflected back.
My naked form stood tall and lean. My golden-blonde hair hung loosely about my strong shoulders. The muscles of my arms were feminine yet well defined. My slender waist gave way to rounded, athletic hips. My legs were taught and long. Putting aside humility, I knew that I had a body that most women would kill for. I knew that most men would desire me. I was young. I was strong. I was athletic. I was Ms. Marvelous.
But my cheeks continued to blush. I could not help but notice that my size thirty-four breasts, always firm and perky, were now noticeably larger than usual. My nipples jutted outward like hard marbles, their small cups and pointed buds colored a deep crimson. Nor could I help but notice the sparkling radiance of the early morning sunlight, shining through my bedroom window, reflecting off the moisture which clung to the inside of my powerful thighs. Even still, with the memory of the dream only just starting to fade, my vagina was warm and wet.
I tried to ignore the image of the desperately hot young woman reflected in the mirror as I reached for the doorknob. Like the floor, the knob it felt cool to the touch, though this was probably due more to the raised temperature of my skin than to the any coldness of the metal. It was early summer in Megapolis, after all, and the mornings unusually warm.
And, no doubt, the unusual weather—hot and humid—did little but add to my overheated condition. I had been out of bed for but a few moments and already my lean figure was damp with moisture. The clammy air within the apartment clung to my flesh like dew on a flower, elevating, if it were possible, my impassioned state.
Once again, I thought of sweaty young men working under the hot sun—“Nah nah nah nah!” I shouted aloud. “Not listening!”
But plugging my ears with the tips of my fingers did little to quiet the enticing voice in my head. The voice wanted me to think about the men. It wanted me to give into fantasy and desire. It wanted me to grant my inflamed body the sexual release that it so craved.
I sighed heavily, knowing that the voice must be dismissed. I was not a normal woman, after all. Dreams or no, I could not allow myself to enjoy the physical pleasures that a normal woman might.
The hallway outside my room was not long—Beyond my door lay that of the guest bedroom. As I passed by I could make out the faint breathing of a still snoozing Elle coming from the other side. I wondered for a moment if she might not be having a similar dream, but then discounted the idea. Her breath was regular and soft, surely much different from the panting moans that had no doubt been emanating from my bedroom. A feeling of shame crept over me as I continued on to the bathroom.
I paused to look over the loft and down into the living room. The new furniture was there, just as it had been positioned the day before. A new sofa, a new coffee table. Matching chairs and an entertainment center. An expensive oriental rug that had been purchased at a discount. It was all there, the rewards of a job well done. The rewards of my new life as an independent contractor.
I remembered how it had been, how I had quit my job at the firm to pursue a contract with the government. The opportunity had been unique and worth the risk. The algorithms I designed ran on a super-computer and predicted future weather patterns over much of the world. They had been a huge success. I had made a load of money.
I no longer needed to work a nine-to-five job. I contracted on the side, using my contacts to get the occasional piece of work. I flexed my newly earned reputation as a top-notch computer scientist to the max, billing an appalling hourly rate that the government, in its questionable wisdom, seemed more than willing to pay. It was a better life, not just because of the money, but because it gave me more time to pursue my real job, that of being a super-hero.
Satisfied that the current arrangement of the new furnishings was adequate, for I had used my super-strength to move the pieces around countless times in the past several days, I turned toward the bathroom. I softly closed the door behind me and activated the light. Once again, I was confronted by my image. Luckily, the mirror over the bathroom vanity was not so large as the one in my bedroom—Other than for the rosy blush of my cheeks, all appeared normal. I removed a brush from the counter and guided it through my hair, slowly working a night’s worth of knots from the golden tresses. I had removed my makeup the evening before. My unadorned face now looked much younger than it normally did. Almost childlike, I thought, and not like that of a twenty-two year old woman. Childlike and innocent.
Too innocent, perhaps, I thought with a frown, for during my stay in Megapolis I had certainly seen and experienced things that would have stolen the innocence from any person.
Yet through it all, I had tried to remain focused, tried to remember that I fought on the side of good in a city that sometimes seemed to know only evil. And, if anything, my experiences had brought the chasm between good and evil into sharper focus. It was possible, I had learned, to draw a clear line in the sand. Principles need not be compromised.
I set the brush aside and reached for the handle to the door of the shower stall. I stepped inside and closed the textured glass panel behind me. I defiantly confronted the showerhead and spun the knobs that extended outward from the wall beneath. The cold spray of water was like a slap in the face, but I endured it, knowing that it would help to cool the fires raging within my body.
I stepped from the twelfth floor balcony and reveled in the sensation of weightlessness. My long hair whipped out behind me as I caught the breeze and sped forward into the open air. Nearly overcome with elation, I laughed aloud and performed a series of pirouettes before rolling onto my back and hurtling myself higher into the clear blue sky.
I never tire of flying. Of all my super-abilities—My tremendous strength, my incredible endurance, my remarkable invincibility—Of all my super-abilities, I enjoy the power of flight the most. It is unbelievably exhilarating to be able to defy gravity and streak through the air. Like a bird—a very fast bird—I am a master of the sky. An eagle. The Queen of World.
The city stretched out beneath me. It seemed that the world really was my oyster. Nothing could touch me. Nothing could disturb my euphoria. My red and black costume reflected brilliantly in the bright sunlight. My lightly tanned skin reveled in the warmth of the early morning sun.
The dream still lingered in the back of my mind, though the images were no longer so vivid. As I propelled myself to a higher altitude, though, my elation was tempered by the knowledge that I would probably suffer the dream again the next night, and again the night after that. The details of the dream might change, as they often did, rotating like daytime soaps on the local television station from one hour long episode to the next. But whether the cast of characters were construction workers or barbarian warriors, brave firemen or valiant knights, the storyline would always be the same-- Young, magnificent, men, with big muscles, tight pants, and no shirts.
“Oh, geez,” I groaned to myself. “Am I really the slut that my enemies so often accuse me of being?”
I had been having the dreams for a long time. All kinds of erotic fantasies tormented me in my sleep, wet dreams that continually brought me to the edge of an unwanted orgasm. Just thinking about it made my pussy begin to tingle.
“So stop thinking about it!” I scolded myself.
But it was hard not to. Because of my nature, I suppose, I am bound to have a lot of pent up sexual desires. My powers were a gift of the Caantonium Serum that had been injected into my body by the scientists back at the Agent-X Program. The serum changed my cell structure and DNA and made me into a super-woman. But with the powers came a dreadful curse—I am terribly vulnerable to erotic sensations. Sexual stimulation robs me of my strength and deprives me of my ability to fly. Worse, it can send me into a state of sensual shock that can eventually lead to my ultimate demise. This condition, referred to by the scientists as the Sartak, rules out the chance of any sexual contact between me and another person.
But this is not the end of my problems. My forced celibacy is even more hideous in nature. For unlike others who voluntarily go without sex, I am unable even to practice the secret art of self-release. Masturbation is almost as devastating to me as copulation—I cannot take part in such an activity no matter how much my body longs for it. Is it any wonder that I am completely oversexed?
So many of the evil villains that I have battled have called me by derisive names—Slut, whore, tramp, skank. Such remarks are usually meaningless to me as I pound these criminals into pulp. But now, as I suffer from the same hormonal urges that do all young, fit, women, I am left to ponder whether they were right. Am I really such a slut? Do I secretly desire the terrible things that they would do to me? Do I subconsciously wish to encounter an opponent that is capable of overcoming my awesome strength and fighting ability so that he might forcefully bring to an end my celibacy?
“That’s ridicules,” I stated angrily to myself. “The dreams are never about being raped. Pure, unabated, lust and animal sex, perhaps, but never about rape.”
Still, I had to admit that the men in my dreams were usually aggressive. I never possessed my powers in my dreams, or if I did, I never used them. Instead, I usually allowed the man—sometimes more than one-- to wrap me in his arms and carry me off to some secluded location. The man did all the work. I was nothing more but his plaything. It was not rape. After all, the dream me never said “no”. I wanted it to happen.
In any case, I had long since concluded that I could not control the erotic content of my dreams. My subconscious would do as it would and there was nothing that I could do about it. But the real world, the waking world, was a different matter altogether. I could control my urges. I could go without sex. I could lead, I decided, a perfectly normal life.
But what qualified as normal, I wondered? Having a boyfriend is out of the question. It is a sacrifice that sometimes pains me deeply, a loneliness that often clutches at my heart like a cold vise. The fact that I cannot take a lover is endurable, but the emptiness that results from not having the close personal bond of a soul mate is less so. Still, I know that my sacrifice is not in vain. I am doing good. People count on me to protect them. I am a champion of justice.
And when I am in the openness of the sky, flying among the clouds, I feel the sacrifice less. The fact that I cannot have a mate or experience an orgasm seems less important, even to the point of being frivolous. I am alone, but I have countless friends. I am a shining light for the good people of Megapolis. I am Ms. Marvelous.
Keeping this reassuring thought in mind, I extended my left arm in front of me and accelerated toward the downtown business district. My right fist took its customary place at my side, cocked and ready for action. My right leg extended straight behind me as I flew parallel to the earth, while my left was bent at the knee and positioned nearer to my body. I soon reached my top speed, an eighty-mile an hour streak that glimmered with red and black radiance as it raced across the cloudless sky.
I set down lightly on the roof of the Megapolis Gazette and looked around. A figure emerged from the shadow of a utility cabinet and walked toward me.
“Hi, Joel. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”
The reporter shook his head and tried to smile. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Ms. Marvelous. I have some information that I think you will find worth the trip.”
I smiled back and noticed that the bruises on the man’s face had nearly disappeared. But a metal brace, held in place with gauze and surgical tape, still covered his shattered nose. It was a stark reminder of our joint encounter with Joey Malokovich some weeks before. Joel had saved me on that night, I remembered, but at great cost to himself.
“I always have time for our meetings, though I believe this is the first time we have ever met here, on the roof of your office building.”
Joel shrugged. “It seemed as good a place as any. The way I figure it, everyone pretty much knows about our relationship now, anyway. If they see us together then it’s no big deal.”
I followed the motion of his hand as it waved toward the surrounding skyscrapers. Although a tall building itself, the Gazette Tower was a mere stub when compared to its larger neighbors. Indeed, any number of people might gaze out from their office windows and take note of the scantly clad super- heroine that had set down on the roof of the building next door.
“I fear that our friendship will put you in danger, Joel. It has in the past, after all, and--”
The reporter interrupted me. “Don’t sweat it, Ms. M. During my years as a beat reporter I have made lots of enemies. If anything, having you around might scare them off. You know, let them know not to mess with me because I have powerful friends and all.”
“Never the less...”
“Forget it. I do what I do, just like you. Maybe I don’t confront the criminals directly, as you do, but I make a difference in my own way. I expose them for what they are, you see? And I have the paper behind me. The Gazette is a powerful force in this town. Criminals like to remain anonymous, after all. The last thing they want is an expose about them in the Sunday edition. The deal with Joey Malokovich was a chance occurrence. He was too stupid to know better. Most of these thugs are not so dumb. Most are smart enough to stay away from me.”
“I hope so,” I replied. “But just the same, you should be careful.”
The reporter almost laughed. “I always am. Believe me, I always am.”
We walked to the edge of the building and peered over the side. The city of Megapolis was laid
out before us with all its sights, sounds, smells, and evil. Looking at it now, in the daylight hours, with the people bustling from place to place on the streets below, it did not seem so bad. But I knew better. The work of a super-heroine would never be done in this place. Once one criminal was defeated, another would rise to take his place. There was seemingly no end to the corruption, no end to the sins.
I turned back to Joel and caught him eyeing my body. He looked away quickly and coughed self- consciously, unsure if I had noticed his transgression. As always, I decided to let it pass without comment. I had to put up with such things, I knew, even from friends like Joel. My tight-fitting costume revealed a lot of skin, after all, and men, even the good ones, were basically pigs.
“So what’s up?” I asked. “Why did you want to see me? Do you have some information on the rapist?”
Joel shook his head. “You mean the Blue Boy? No, nothing new to report about that. As we discussed last week, all that we really know is that he impersonates a police officer to gain the trust of his victim before chloroforming and abducting them. He’s got the uniform, the badge, and even a cruiser with lights and a siren and all.”
“I heard that he struck again four nights ago.”
“That’s right. Pulled a lady over on the Interstate and took her into custody, so to speak. Didn’t let her go until the following day.”
“And the cops still don’t have a clue as to his identity?”
Joel smirked. “The cops are incompetent. Either that or they are covering something up.” “What do you mean?”
“Let’s just say that certain pieces of evidence do not add up with the official story we are getting
from the police. It’s something I am working on for a future piece. But you can read all about it when it
hits the papers. What I really want to talk to you about is the recent armored car robbery that took place down in the financial district.”
I raised my left eyebrow in interest. “I heard they got away with some bonds or something.”
“Not just any bonds,” the reporter confirmed. “Xenotech series three bearer bonds, worth over five hundred million dollars.”
“Xenotech? Aren’t they into developing high tech weapons and such?”
“That’s right. They’re the big multinational corporation that acquired Camtronics after everything went to hell over there. They used the deal to tap into some pretty advanced technology. Body armors and lasers, cybernetics-- all kinds of futuristic stuff.”
Camtronics was already familiar to me. Its leading scientist, a genius named Howard Bilken, had been caught up in a scandal involving the sell of weapons to terrorist groups. Although he had always proclaimed his innocence, the loss of his company and reputation had driven him insane. In the depths of madness, he had taken on the guise of a super-powered villain called The Smasher and gone on a rampage through downtown until I stopped him.
“Five hundred million dollars is a lot of money.”
“Yeah, but only if they can cash in the bonds,” Joel replied. “And that will not be easy to do. There are only a handful of fences in the entire world that can handle that kind of merchandise, and only one that operates here in Megapolis.”
I grimaced. “Let me guess--”
“That’s right,” the reporter stated flatly. “Our old friend, Don Refrain.”
“I assume that you have some good news concerning this matter?”
Joel almost smiled, but then remembered that it would hurt his nose to do so. “My contacts in
the Dark Water really came through for me, this time. It turns out that the driver of the armored car was in on the heist. No real surprise, there, since he disappeared with the loot. But he had two accomplices, a brother and sister duo called the Hills.”
“The Hills? I don’t think I have heard of them, before.”
“They are not from around here. I did some leg work—Didn’t come up with much, but was able to find out a little about them. Larceny, murder, blackmail—They are into all kinds of stuff. They made some big scores out west and were doing well until last year.”
“What happened last year?”
“From what I understand, they stole from the Mob. The gangsters came after them with bad intentions, but the funny thing is, the Hill’s somehow came out on top. They must know how to handle themselves, that’s for sure. But you know the Mob—they are nothing if not persistent. Eventually, the heat must have gotten to great because the Hills decided that a change of local might do them some good. They made a deal with the gangsters. They agreed to leave the West Coast and the Mob agreed not to come after them. In any case, the twins have survived this long, so you should consider them highly dangerous. Oh, and one other thing--”
“Yes?”
“The Hills have a reputation for roughing up super-heroines. From what I hear, they gave some of your counterparts out in Los Angeles a hard time.”
“I will keep that in mind,” I said with a frown. “And maybe I can dish out some payback. But at least we know the parties involved. And it’s a safe bet that the Hills will have to hook up with Refrain soon so that they can cover their expenses and get out of town before the authorities track them down.”
“Yes, but you have not yet heard the best part. Not only did my contacts get me the identities of the robbers, but also their location. They are holed up in a little rat house of a motel down by the docks. I wrote down the address on this piece of paper. I figure that all you have to do is--”
“Is go down and pay them a little visit?”
“Seems like your style.”
I took the slip of paper from his hand. “Do the police know any of this?” I asked.
“Not yet. I figure that a slice of five hundred million dollars could tempt even the best cops to
look the other way, so I thought it best to bring you in on it, first. I know that you will deliver justice.” “And deliver a nice story for you.”
“That’s the deal.”
“You are the best, Joel.”
“Yeah, I am. But do me a favor, will you?
“What’s that?”
“Be careful.”
My eyes narrowed in determination. “You can count on it. Where Don Refrain is involved, I am
always careful.”
The Bluemoon Motel was a rundown dive frequented by hookers and dope dealers. It had once been painted in pastel blue and pink, though years of neglect had reduced the exterior to near ruin. What paint did remain now peeled from the crumbling wood walls in large flakes. It lay in small piles atop the cracking cement surface of the sidewalk before being carried off with the wind to litter some other part of the city.
Garbage was strewn about the courtyard of the motel as if to add some bit of character to an otherwise bland and colorless square. Patches of sun-baked dirt checkered the courtyard, though it was impossible to know if anything living had ever been planted there. A heavy metal security door, propped open for ventilation on this sweltering day, led into a small foyer. The lobby measured little more than ten feet by ten. A counter stood at one end of the small room. On its surface was a guest book that had been accumulating dust for years and a small black and white screen television. A man sat a few feet away, a cigar in his mouth and his eyes focused on the screen.
“I’m looking for the Hills,” I stated with steel in my voice. “In which room are they staying?”
The man snarled in displeasure at having been interrupted. But as he looked up at me, his eyes opened widened in surprise. He tried to speak before coughing violently and hacking up a wad of phlegm. Finally, he was able to get out the words. “Ms. Marvelous! What the fuck--”
“The Hills,” I insisted again. “I am looking for the Hills. I have been informed that they are staying in your motel.”
The man stood and faced me. A massive gut rolled over his belt and hung toward the floor. His once white tee shirt possessed a yellowish tint and I could tell by the tomato paste stains that he liked to eat pasta. His curly black hair was matted and slick. His unshaven face was round and his three chins quivered as he spoke.
“What do you want with the Hills?” he responded before hesitating. “I mean, there aren’t any Hills, here. You must have got the wrong motel. Yeah, that’s it. You’re in the wrong place. Go away.”
“Which room?” I insisted more urgently.
The man sucked on his cigar and eyed my slender frame from across the counter. Removing the stogie from his mouth, he puckered his lips and blew a cloud of smoke into my face. “Like I already said, Beautiful, there isn’t anybody named Hill, here. Take your sweet little ass and get lost.”
The manner in which the man was ogling my body made my skin crawl. My patience was quickly running out. “I am here on important business. The people for whom I am looking are criminals. It is your duty as a citizen of Megapolis to tell me their whereabouts.”
“Oh!” he replied mockingly. “My duty! Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
“Yes,” I repeated, “your duty.”
The man continued to eye my athletic form. It was difficult to tell, but I think his blubbery face
was twisting into a leer. Finally, he seemed to make a decision. “Alright, I can tell you where they are. But I should get something in return, right? I mean, it would be worth something to you, right?”
“What do you have in mind?” I asked reluctantly.
“I might know where the Hills are,” he replied with a sinister grin. “But if I rub your back then you should rub mine. I mean literally...”
It was impossible not to catch his meaning. “You are disgusting!”
“A blow-job--That’s all I ask. One little blow-job from your sweet as hell little lips and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“Never!”
The man seemed genuinely upset that I had declined his offer. “Then I’m not telling squat, you little tramp. Get the hell out of my motel and don’t come back until you’re ready to suck.”
I looked the obnoxious cretin square in the eyes and tried to control my temper. He blew some more smoke at me. It was the wrong thing to do. My left hand shot across the counter like a bullet and grabbed a fistful of his tee shirt just under the collar. A look of astonishment crossed his face as I easily lifted his three hundred pound bulk onto and over the counter.
I held the frightened man in front of me for several seconds before giving him an ultimatum. “Tell me the room number or I will fix it so that you have nothing to suck on, you fat, wretched excuse for a human being!”
The man’s eyes rolled downward as he considered his family’s jewels and the threat that had been made against them. Sweat beaded on his brow. The cigar fell from his hand. The sound of the fabric of his stained tee shirt ripping beneath his armpits seemed to decide the matter.
“Ok, ok! Geez, you don’t have to get so rough. I’m a reasonable man, after all. Eighteen. Yeah, that’s it. Room eighteen. You’ll find those frickin twins in there.”
“Eighteen?” I confirmed with a shake of his blubbery body. “Are you sure? You are not lying to me, are you?”
“Fucking hell! Room eighteen. You’ll find them there. They never leave. Checked in three days ago and never fucking leave. What do I care if you bust them? Those two are frickin weird, I’m telling you. Brother and sister—Twins! Sharing a room and all. And not just them—There are also those two gorillas they got guarding the door and scaring away my regular customers. Shit! I’ll be better off with them gone!”
Satisfied, I released the man’s collar and allowed his body to slump against the counter. I turned and walked away without a second look. But as I left the sweltering heat of the foyer, I turned my head and stated a warning over my shoulder.
“You might want to stay away from room eighteen for a while. Call the police, if you like, but don’t come too near yourself. The Hills are wanted criminals and may be dangerous. They may have guns and you would not want to get caught in the crossfire.”
Room eighteen was a short walk across the parking lot. An old Buick sedan sat nearby, its coat of primer paint as gray as the walls of the beaten-down motel. As the manager had suggested, I found two large thugs sitting on either side of the door, guarding it. The plastic patio chairs in which they were seated could barely support the weight of the muscle-bound men. It did not matter to me. I had faced off with equally large men in the past and come out on top.
I strode confidently across the parking lot toward the door. The men, having been left to swelter in the summer heat, were in a foul mood. The one on the left raised his head and saw me as I approached. He slapped his buddy on the shoulder and they rose from the chairs as one.
“Check it out!” the first one exclaimed. “I haven’t seen this ho before.”
“She is fucking hot!” the second answered. “And she’s coming our way! That’s right, baby, strut that stuff!”
“That fucking swimming suit is too much, man! Where’s the swimming pool? Let’s go for a dip!” “Never mind the pool! Baby, come over here and give your daddy a lap dance!”
I stopped ten feet away and smirked. It was rare to encounter criminals that did not know about
Ms. Marvelous. But I supposed that they, like the Hills, were from out of town. “I am not a hooker and I am not in any way interested in giving you a lap dance, you dunderhead! I am Ms. Marvelous and I am here to take the Hills into custody.”
A look of disappointment came over their faces, though the lust reflected in their eyes remained. “Ms. Marvelous, huh? Yeah, we heard of you. You’re one of those super-heroines or something. Yeah, we had some super-heroines back in Los Angeles, but the bosses took care of them all.”
“The bosses?” I asked. “Do you mean the Hills?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” the second man answered. “It was kind of fun watching the bosses beat the crap out of them super-chicks. If you know what’s good for you, super-ho, you will beat it while you have the chance and never come back.”
I smiled confidently. “Why don’t you just tell your bosses that I am here so we can get down to business. It would be best if you all surrendered peacefully, but one way or the other, I am taking you in.”
The men laughed. “You don’t look so tough. I think that Ox and me can handle you ourselves.”
“Yeah,” Ox agreed, “the bosses don’t like to be disturbed with minor nuisances. Bull and I can show you a good time ourselves.”
I sized up the men and prepared myself for action. “Very well. If this is the way that you want it.”
Ox came at me first, stepping forward almost casually and wearing a stupid grin on his face. “Ok, super-ho, come here and give me that lap dance--”
The sound of my fist smashing into the big man’s gut reverberated across the parking lot. The thug doubled over and fell to his knees. He groaned in pain. I thought that he might lose his lunch.
“Damn you, bitch! You will pay for that--”
I lifted my right leg and side-snapped a kick into his face. The powerful blow lifted Ox off of his knees and sent him sprawling backward across the pavement. He rose, bloodied and angry.
I have to admit that I was surprised by the man’s ability to take punishment. Although I had held back while pummeling him, the blows had never the less been meant to finish the fight. What Ox may have lacked in fighting skills, he more than made up for with endurance.
“You should stay down,” I cautioned. “I only used a fraction of my strength with those two blows.”
Ox hesitated, but his anger got the better of his judgment. He charged me like a wild beast and let loose with a series of wild, swinging, punches. I dodged them all easily and then delivered one of my own, a sharp, chopping, knife-edged strike to his lower throat. Ox grabbed at his injured larynx and bellowed as if he had been skewed. A knee to his exposed groin dropped him like a stone and finished the brief battle.
I turned to face off with Bull and discovered him immediately before me. His ham fist smashed into my jaw with tremendous force and knocked me off of my feet. He was on me before I could recover, lifting me up by my hair and ramming a second hard blow into my abdominals. Running his right arm between my legs, he easily turned and hoisted my one hundred and thirty pound body up to shoulder level. He body slammed me against the hard asphalt with every ounce of strength he could muster.
“I’ll teach you to mess with us!” he threatened while standing above my prone form. “I’ll teach you a lesson that you will never forget!”
Once again, the big man grabbed me by the hair and lifted me up. Three times he rammed his fist into my face. Spinning me around, he slammed me back first against the side of the Buick. Pain stabbed through my spine and I crumpled to the ground like a wilted flower. I lay there atop the hot blacktop, gasping for air, my skin moist with perspiration, unmoving except for my heaving chest,
But the heat was getting to Bull, as well. Rather than follow up on his advantage, he hesitated long enough to catch his breath. It was only a few seconds, but when he finally pulled me up onto my feet it was too late.
“Ok,” I said coldly while snatching his wrists into my powerful hands, “you had your chance. Now, it’s my turn!”
A knee-lift to the brute’s midsection made him grunt. A double-handed ax-handle strike to the shoulder dropped him to his knees. Grabbing a fistful of his hair so that he could see what it felt like, I raised my free hand and formed a fist in front of his face. Bull’s eyes widened in fear as he realized what was to come. The knuckles drilled him between the eyes and knocked him cold.
The man had been reduced to nothing more than a sack of potatoes. I released his hair and allowed the dead weight of his body to fall onto its side. I looked down on him, hoping that he was not too badly injured.
“Don’t worry,” I said as if to reassure us both. “I was still holding back.”
I turned away from my fallen opponents and strode toward the motel room door. The plastic numbers one and eight had been glued to its surface at eye level. I did not bother to test the lock. Instead, I raised my right foot and kicked.
The door splintered and fell inward. I took a step inside. “Anyone home?”
My eyes quickly adjusted to the dimly lit interior of the room. The shades had been pulled to keep out the sun, but it seemed even warmer, if it were possible, inside the room than it had been out. “My god,” I thought, “Is there no ventilation in this place?”
The room was as shoddy as the exterior of the motel. The featureless walls were gray and unadorned, their flat, chipping, surfaces interrupted only by the window, which itself was covered by a set of black draperies. The only light in the room came from a tacky looking lamp set atop an equally tacky nightstand. An old television occupied the opposite corner and nearly blocked a doorway leading into the small bathroom.
A single, king-size bed dominated almost half the room. The sheets and bedspread had been carelessly thrown across it as if the maker of the bed had been in a great hurry. Stretched across the bed almost as casually as the sheets and apparently unconcerned by my forced entrance was a young woman. She was slender and strikingly beautiful. To my surprise, and despite the almost unbearable heat within the room, she was not only fully dressed but wearing a tight-fitting pair of black pants and a black turtleneck sweater that covered her completely. It seemed to me that the woman’s apparel might be more appropriate for a stay in a winter resort rather than this damnably hot motel. My surprise was furthered when I noticed that she was wearing gloves.
“Are you one of the Hills?” I demanded to know.
The woman in black propped herself up on an elbow and stared at me. Apparently, she liked the sight of my slender form silhouetted against the brightly lit doorway, for she licked her lips and smiled up at me in the most wicked way. I had battled with lesbian opponents before, but somehow the lustful glare I saw in her eyes cut me to my core. My cheeks were soon burning with a red blush.
“Where is your brother? I have come to take the two of you into custody. You shall regret the day that you committed a crime in Megapolis!”
The intensity of the woman’s stare seemed to increase. “I am Jill Hill,” she confirmed. “My brother is there, in the doorway to the bathroom.”
I directed my eyes back to the doorway. A door may once have hung there, but now it was nothing but an empty portal. Leaning against the frame, though, was a young man.
“Jack Hill, at your service,” he said with a mischievous grin. “And you must be the great Ms. Marvelous that we have heard so much about.”
I stared at the man for several seconds. He was dressed in a fashion identical to that of his sister. And to be sure, he looked very much like her. Slender of build, his hair long and dark, his lips pouting and red, his features pretty, the same hungry gaze—Indeed, he could only be described as effeminate.
“Hmm...” I mused aloud. “You two are hardly what I expected. Not dangerous looking at all.”
The twins continued to stare at my body lustfully. It made me uncomfortable, the way they scanned my athletic build up and down, focusing momentarily on my breasts, then my waist, then my hips, and then my legs. It would have been one thing had they merely been sizing me up, but it was becoming clearer by the moment that they had other things on their minds.
“So you two took on the Mob in LA, huh? And beat up the super-heroines, there? And stole the armored car with the Xenotech bearer bonds? It all seems highly unlikely. I take it you had a lot of help?”
The woman rolled off the far side of the bed and walked toward her brother. He met her in the center of the room and they embraced. They stood cheek-to-cheek and continued to stare at me.
“Someone has been doing her homework,” Jill said coolly to her brother. “She thinks that she knows all about us.”
“Yes, she is very impressive,” Jack agreed. “But clearly, she does not know everything.”
“And we know something about you, as well,” the sister continued. “Don Refrain has told us about your weaknesses. He anticipated that we might encounter you and has told us what we must do to beat you. A delightful task that is set before us, don’t you agree, Brother?”
“Yes, very delightful, my sister. He warned us that she was beautiful, but I never imagined... Um, yes, I can almost taste her now.”
My eyes opened wide in revulsion as the two siblings pressed their bodies more tightly together. “Don Refrain and I are old enemies. He has tried many times to--”
The twins released their perverted hold on one another and stepped toward me, side by side. A chill went up my spine. I felt like I was being stalked by two hungry predators. There was clearly more to these two than met the eye. I knew that I had to be careful.
Jill was the more aggressive of the two. She stood an inch taller than my own five foot nine inch height, though this was due in large part to the boots and three-inch stiletto heels she was wearing. She approached me like a cat on the prowl, her lithe, silky smooth movements matched only by her sultry, down-turned glare. Her jet black hair hung across her shoulders in waves. In the relative dimness of the room, it was difficult to follow the motions of her black-clad arms and legs. Before I knew it, she was on top of me.
Her left hand darted toward my chest and stabbed at me with surprising power. Her right hand raised into the air and chopped down at an angle onto the base of my neck. I cringed in pain and tried to react, but her next blow was already on the way. The kick landed on the inside of my right thigh and forced my leg outward. She followed up with a kick to my inner left thigh that produced a similar result. I now stood before her, stunned by the power and ferocity of her attack, my arms at my sides and my legs spread out at angles from my body. A third, final, kick arched upward from the floor and landed with full force against my exposed crotch. I gasped as a jolt of agonizing pain exploded through my body.
I would have fallen backward, back out through the exterior doorway and onto the sidewalk, had she not clasped me about the shoulders and held me upright. Shooting me a quick, wicked, smile, Jill flung me into the interior of the room with surprising ease. My body bounced off the far side of the bed and slammed into the wall before crumbling to the floor like a broken rag-doll.
Jack looked at his sister lovingly before turning and approaching my fallen form. He stood over me for a moment before reaching down and taking me by the scruff of the neck. The pressure of his fingers made me wince in pain as he lifted me off the floor. With little effort, he held my body suspended in front of him.
“In answer to your earlier question,” he said coyly, “Jill and I have never needed anyone’s help. We have each other, and that is more than enough.”
The fist of his free hand slammed into my stomach with a sadistic force. He did it twice more before releasing his hold on the back of my neck and bitch slapping me face first down onto the bed. He straddled me from behind, his thighs pressing against my ribs and his butt on the small of my back. His hands wrapped around my throat and clasped me under the chin. He pulled my head upward and played my spine like a bow.
The aging bed could not support the titanic struggle being waged atop it. Its small legs gave way and the box springs and mattress collapsed to the floor. I groaned in pain as my back was nearly wrenched in two. My fingers grabbed at his, but to no avail. Slowly, gradually, I could feel myself slipping away. My hands fell back to the surface of the bed. I no longer struggled. This fight, it seemed, was over almost before it had begun.
Jack held me in the firm death grip for another sixty seconds. My body went limp. Finally, he released the hold on my chin. I fell forward and lay still. Waves of pain traveled the length of my injured spine.
“Well,” he said while getting off of me. “That was much too easy. We did not get the chance to exploit her weakness to sensual attacks at all.”
“Yes,” the sister agreed. “I expected much more out her. Don Refrain’s descriptions of this Ms. Marvelous made it seem that she was nearly unbeatable. But I suppose that we can give her some time to recover and then try again. Perhaps the next time we should attack her weakness immediately and hope for a more entertaining result.”
“Just as we planned, my dear sister? Oh, yes, I do so agree. It should be every bit as enjoyable as the fun we had with the super-heroines back in LA.”
“Perhaps more so,” Jill said excitedly. “I mean, just look at her. She is simply gorgeous. Her smooth skin, her tight butt, her incredibly long legs—I just want to eat her up!”
“Patience, my dear, patience. You will have your opportunity. But let’s give her a chance to recover first. Then we will have our way with the sweet thing.”
Once again, the siblings moved close together, embracing one another while they stared lustfully down on my fallen form. But unknown to them, I was still conscious. And I was becoming increasingly agitated by their remarks. They may have gotten the better of me in round one, but there was still plenty of fight left in my tank, as they would soon learn.