Hi Everyone!
A release from the Premium Access Archives today! This one is based on a request I get every so often to write something that puts all those pesky superheroines in their place. Who do they think they are, gallavanting about in skintight spandex with their tits on display and their perfect athletic bodies available for all to see? Are we really supposed to not want to see them brought to their knees, submissively sexually serving a man so strong and capable that he melts their tiny (and obviously, inferior) brains down to orgasm-laced mush?
I suppose you can decide. There are some thinly-veiled, legally distinct heroines on display here, transformed or transforming into mewling sex-kittens who can think only of their man’s pleasure; please enjoy!
Buy it for $3.99.
Blurb:
She Came to Stop Him. And She Will…right after she kneels and obeys like a good girl…
Regina Maxx has it all: a flaming mane of red hair, the body of a goddess, and a cosmic power source that makes her the most formidable psychic superhero on the planet.
When her sexy teammates start vanishing into the glittering orbit of Henry Hamilton, a handsome businessman with a clothing line, a restaurant empire, and a growing harem of devoted beauties, Regina storms his offices to put him away for good. She’s strong. She’s brilliant. And she knows beyond a doubt that she is absolutely immune to whatever Hamilton is doing to those other gorgeous girls.
In front of him, though, she can’t help but think about what else she is—fertile, obedient, sexy, and the perfect accessory for a trophy-collecting supervillain. She looks good on her knees, after all, and shouldn’t pretty girls like her be quiet in front of a real man while he enjoys other women? That’s only polite…and she wants to be a good girl so badly, all of a sudden.
Superheroine Slave Origins is the thrilling, erotic story of the origins of the supervillain Headliner and his growing collection of brilliant, beautiful, and thoroughly persuaded heroines. Expect lactation, devoted obedience, bimbofication, and enough explicit bedroom content to make your favorite telekinetic redhead blush—while her mind is still hers, that is.
WARNING: Contains scenes of enthusiastic submission, harem expansion, and the complete intellectual dismantling of powerful, confident superhero beauties.
The First 1000ish Words:
A trio of giggly, smiling, tight-bodied, mini-skirted beauties walked, arm in arm, into the brick-and-mortar office of Headliner Inc. The tall, growing office was just down the street from the ridiculously shameless new breastaurant Headlights and the utterly flamboyant designer clothing line Nice Rack. Each was owned entirely by the same person—the target of Regina’s mission today—Henry Hamilton.
Or, as she knew him—Headliner.
Regina floated right above a building across the street, holding binoculars and watching the girls and their orgasmically joyful smiles. The proud nymphs walked in perfect unison—or rather, Regina mused, they strutted—their tall stiletto heels clacking the concrete at exactly the same time even as they leaned into each other’s arms and giggled and bragged about how recently and how well they had been fucked by their boss.
It might have been empowering, or perhaps even some kind of female liberation in action to speak so freely of sexual escapades, except that Regina knew for a fact that each girl had been mindwarped to the core to become Headliner’s sexual servant.
Each one was exactly his type—tall, tight, busty, thin, and gorgeous. Their only real difference was in hair color and length, which was blond and short, blond and long, and brunette and shoulder-length.
They had the same body type as Regina, though she hated to admit anything about her personal appearance was attractive, despite her Olympian-fit body, her glorious mane of thick, lumbar-length blond hair and her angelic face.
Like, yes, she was basically a walking goddess, but why did everyone always try to get so sexual and inappropriate about it? She tugged at the tight, bright white carbon fiber material clinging to her heaving, heavy tits, minutely adjusting the way the thin fabric tugged against the sides of her gorgeous, gravity-mocking breasts. Her uniform was a source of pride, not sexuality. So what if you could measure five inches between her slender thighs, or if her heels gave her ass a little boost? What, was she not supposed to try and look good while she kicked ass?
So defensive…
Regina took a breath, trying to recall what she had learned in therapy. She only needed to have the fights she was having; there was no reason to create opponents in her mind.
It was this damn mission. She hated other telepaths, as a rule, and she especially hated when they were villains.
She steadied herself, though she floated more than fifteen feet away from the nearest surface. She was a hero with steel will and steel nerves. She called on the persona of Regina Maxx, hero extraordinaire and de facto leader of Maximum Force now that Mighty Girl had been missing for over a month.
Maxx was immune to his power. The Lux Terminata—the source of all her power and her many resurrections over the years—would keep her safe. She hoped.
She had perfectly good reason to believe so. Mind-controllers were nothing new in her line of work. She had faced down Mr. Amethyst without a sweat, the only member of her team to resist his control in that awful volcano lair. Her will was strong enough to fight off Harro the Moon Beast and The Ancient Key. And even though the interstellar slimes only known as The Many had tried to meld with her, she’d fought them off.
Time and again, she had shown the strength of her mind and control in the face of telepathic danger.
So, now why did she hesitate, instead of breaking down this jerk’s wall and punching his face into a jelly?
Was it the sex?
She looked at the billboard over Headliner’s office. The unrestrained lust in the faces of Gilda Tramell and Hazel Mesmere, otherwise known as Snow Maiden and Countdown, as they clung to each other and knelt at a man’s feet. His feet.
Gilda—an elegance-obsessed, statuesque redhead with a supreme bitch face and matching bitch attitude—was a psychic par excellence with the ability to create and control snow and ice. She was Regina’s former teammate, and Regina was sure she’d been taken into Headliner’s service against her will—despite the several dozen gushing emails she’d sent swearing to the contrary (plus an additional several, several dozen voice messages Gilda had left begging Regina to come join her). Perhaps the most damning evidence of the tampering with Gilda’s mind were how friendly all the messages were—Gilda hated Regina, and the feeling was mutual.
Nonetheless, they were teammates.
Not only that, but Regina had fought had so many battles against the morally-ambiguous Countdown that they had almost become friends just because of their long familiarity. Regina knew Countdown better than she knew her own sometimes-boyfriend, Polyphemus.
Countdown—who had a tiny, incredibly built dancer’s body—was slight and cheery, with a thick shock of platinum blond hair. She had been a stage hypnotist who sometimes used her powers of suggestion and hypnotic persuasion to pull off big heists, and sometimes used her criminal connections to help Maximum Force stop giant disasters from occurring. Hard to keep track of, and hard to pin down—and certainly not the kind to attach herself to one man.
But there she was, next to Snow Maiden, worshipfully smiling and simpering at Headliner’s feet on that billboard. Both super vixens wearing dark versions of their previous outfits—Snow Maiden in deep ice blue and black, and Countdown in blood red and a stained dark iron color.
They were two of the most powerful psychic minds Regina had ever met besides herself and maybe, maybe one or two others.
And from all appearances…they had been utterly and totally dominated by Headliner.
So, her hesitation?
Yeah…it was definitely the sex. The sex part was weird.
Why would anyone make superheroics about sex? There was nothing sexy about upstanding, noble female citizens in perfect shape wearing skintight uniforms bounding across buildings or flying through cities to fight crime and make villains submit before their will. Certainly there was nothing sexual about wanting to own such a woman. That was just creepy and awful; no moral person would ever want that…
