Jinn’s AI Swamp

[Jinn]

let's hope that works!

It had better, or else her latest performance will be a swan song.

[cerberus]

let's hope that works!

It had better, or else her latest performance will be a swan song.

I suppose she's too far away to scale the wall, if only she had a some chord with her. It's key not to let it finish in a downbeat manner, you have to end it on the right note.

Sorry, couldn't resist.

[MadMax359]

let's hope that works!

It had better, or else her latest performance will be a swan song.

I suppose she's too far away to scale the wall, if only she had a some chord with her. It's key not to let it finish in a downbeat manner, you have to end it on the right note.

Sorry, couldn't resist.

some Sharp wordplay! fitting, since she is certainly not Flat

[Jinn]

let's hope that works!

It had better, or else her latest performance will be a swan song.

I suppose she's too far away to scale the wall, if only she had a some chord with her. It's key not to let it finish in a downbeat manner, you have to end it on the right note.

Sorry, couldn't resist.

some Sharp wordplay! fitting, since she is certainly not Flat

I can’t beat that concerted effort. Stay tuned for the encore…

[Jinn]

The second part of the post-apocalyptic peril adventure of two tights-trashing, super-singing, good girls in bad places…

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No Escape (Part II)

The pale light of an overcast afternoon and a draft of unseasonably cold Autumn air barged into the packed tavern as the front door creaked open. A slender figure in a white cloak with a fur-lined hood floated into the establishment with their head down and their steps light. The feminine figure inconspicuously made for the farthest seat at the bar and propped themself up on the least uncomfortable looking barstool.

The burly barkeep eyed the new customer as he handed a curvy server two pails of house ale. Without saying a word, he ventured over to the seated cloak and propped his heavily tattooed arms on the bar in front of the shadowy visitor.

‘Saki,’ ordered a female voice from under the hood, keeping her face concealed.

The bartender known as “Captain” meandered over to prepare the girl’s drink, still staring suspiciously at her. He wiped a cup extra clean and spilled a shot of rice wine into it before sliding it in front of the mysterious maiden. He placed his hands back on the bar in front of her as she sipped the bold beverage. The quiet girl pretended to pay no mind to the bartender as he glared at her intriguingly.

Captain raised his brow under his slicked back, thinning black hair. A snicker twitched on his scruffy mug. He noticed how fair and fresh the young blonde girl’s face was. Beauty like that did well to keep a low profile in a place like this, he thought. Pub goers have been known to go a bit feral around prestigious looking, pretty girls at “Ground Zero.”

Zeroshima Tavern was as divey as a dive bar gets. It stunk of marsh rot, body odor and angst. The sketchy social hub for the many clanspeople and travelers who came through the swampy junction for pint and pleasure was also a meeting place for those conducting all manners of intertribal business. Alcohol and drug fueled negotiations frequently got ugly. Ne’er a day went by where both booze and blood didn’t spill at the antsy, old inn.

The Tavern’s name was more than just stylish word play. The site of the “Zero” was situated in the town of Lowland Crossroads, located dead center of a massive, boggy, bowl-shaped depression with a twenty kilometer diameter. At its deepest point, the swampy crater was below sea level. The geographical indent was created during the Great Reset, when atomic warfare all but wiped out global civilization over half a millennium before.

It was believed that millions of people resided in a major world metropolis in the area over Lowland Crossroads until three well placed hydrogen bombs evaporated the entire urban center in a nightmarish nuclear fireball. The triple blast triggered subterranean seismic activity that caused a city-sized sinkhole roughly a kilometer deep. Zeroshima Tavern and its deep down geographical designation were a subtle reminder of ancient humanity’s last stand.

The pub building, converted from a relic mansion featured a diamond shaped bar, complete with a brass foot rail in the center of the establishment. The main parlor was dotted with several small, teetery softwood tables and rickety, old wooden chairs with benched booths along the walls.

The food menu was limited. Meals were usually some melange of soup, and the main course was often whatever unfortunate animal happened to wander too close to the back deck.

Even when food was unappetizing or scarce, the micro-brewery in the basement assured that the taps never went dry.

The second floor of the Zero offered limited lodging for those brave enough to endure bed bugs (among other crawling crustaceans). A half dozen dingy rooms featured featureless furniture and linen stained with a colorful array of bodily fluids.

In each of the four corners of the main parlor was a small private room for guests preferring less social ambiance. The shady activities that were enjoyed in those rooms were the business of wait staff and occupying customers only. A curious glance or a wrong turn on the way to the restroom could end poorly for a peeking pub patron if they mistakingly sauntered in on a tense poker game or a brutal rape scene.

Without conversing, Captain poured a second shot into the pretty patron’s cup after she polished off her first. He left the rice wine bottle on the bar, sensing that she was also going to make quick work of her second round.

The saki sipping stranger glanced at a calendar hanging over a shelf of liquor bottles. “September 22nd,” The Autumn Equinox. It was one year to the day that she had fled her home; one spin around the sun since she left her best friend in the hands of the evil Magistrate; three hundred and sixty five days since she had been accused by them of killing Carolette and fleeing the great walled city of Penna. Corus was one year older, and a lifetime since more experienced, more hardened… more jaded.

‘What do you know of the “Wind Witches?” asked the curious cloak at a low, almost inaudible volume with her cup to her lips.

Captain nervously glanced side to side before anxiously approaching the girl. ‘I don’t want that kind of trouble here,’ warned the bothered barkeep in a hush-hush tone, ‘You’d be best to keep that hocus pocus shit on the low, Gypsy. Lest you get my customers all riled up.’

The girl had struck a nerve. The bartender knew something, otherwise he’d not have acted out so intensely, she guessed.

Corus’s knowledge of the notorious Wind Witches in question was that they were a duo of fabled phantoms who apparently haunted the countryside, harassing the unholy hell out of and occasionally butchering bandits, gangsters and military men alike. The supernatural sisters were even known to have possessed people, making them perform horribly, heinous actions to themselves and their unfortunate comrades.

Their legendary status went far beyond creepy campfire tales and whimsical warnings for wary wanderers. They were feared by everyone across the land. The Witches’ impact was embedded in the cultures of every tribe and community, in every direction from the Crossroads. Whoever, whatever the Witches were, they were perceived as being utmost evil. They were the reason why every room at the inn was booked nightly. Gypsies called them “Jinni,” while some even claimed they were the ghosts of vengeful Songbirds.

It was the latter of those claims that brought Corus to Lowland Crossroads. The existence of undocumented Songbirds outside of the great walls of Penna was rare and she wanted to meet some… living or otherwise.

The keen ears of Kozak, a nosey informant picked up the triggering talk at the bar. The sleazy information peddler showed off his deplorable tooth decay with a ghastly grin to a passing server. The grey cloaked, gaunt looking goon lifted his scrawny frame out of his chair and awkwardly slithered behind the busty, beer-wielding pub server on her way to a private room with grippers full of ale pails. Kozak also had something to deliver to its occupants.

Taking notice to the shifty spy, Captain issued a stark, whispery warning to the cloaked Corus as he looked over her shoulder to a corner of the main parlor, ‘I suggest you get yourself outta here, lady.’

‘I am sorry to have troubled thee, bartender,’ apologized Corus, sensing some rising tension. She produced a small change purse from her cloak and dropped a few wingdom credits from it on the hardwood bar. Slamming her last gulp of rice wine, the diva in disguise turned on her perch to head for the door.

Her progress was halted as she slid off the stool into the chest of a giant man in a plum velvet suit. Corus looked way up at the frightful face of a man with a shaved, square head, a thick unibrow and yellow jaundiced skin. A sharp, pointy overbite jutted out over his bottom lip as a sinister smile stretched his jiggling jowls.

The gang leader known around Crossroads as “Grim” was a monster of a mobster. Even without his size thirteen platform boots, he towered over seven feet. Regardless of the silly zoot suit he chose to parade around in, he was next level fiendish and frightening compared to any of the tavern’s occupants.

Before Corus could react, Grim was picking her up with his mammoth hands around her slim waist and placing her back on the stool. ‘I’d like to buy you a round, Miss…?’ he asked in a low baritone bellow, ‘I didn’t catch your name, sweetheart.’

Corus remained silent. Grim signaled for Captain to fill her cup, which he obliged respectfully without protest.

Grim sloshed back a mouthful of ale from his own stein, swallowing noisily while ogling with bloodshot eyes the tiny, tantalizing feminine flower next to him.

He’s high as fuck, thought Corus as she examined Grim’s mannerisms and malevolent stare. She guessed he was probably in one of the side rooms doing drips of gamma or maybe snorting coca puffs with his cronies.

‘I hear you’re looking for spookies,’ inquired the creepy criminal boss, as he sleazily examined the cloaked female sitting nervously under his looming presence, ‘Specifically, a set of swamp hags whose names I dare not utter in here.’ Grim winked at the very superstitious Captain. ‘Tell me sweet girl, what do you know about them?’ asked the mountainous mobster in a serious tone as he lowered his frame down to be at eye level with Corus.

‘Nothing,’ responded Corus, daring to meet his intimidating glare inches from her face, ‘That is why I am here. I wish to find… information regarding them.’

There was no sense trying to have an intelligent, productive conversation with this man, thought Corus. The vibe was icky. The lusty gleam in the eyes of this ogre in a tacky suit suggested that it was not her ghost stories he was interested in. Corus’s new plan was to get the fuck out of the Zero and far away, as quickly as possible.

Grim wagged his chins with a mockingly patronizing nod of approval. ‘Well little Miss Adventurer, information around here comes at a price,’ he declared with a sickening sneer as he delicately peeled open the bottom half of Corus’s cloak. The molesting mobster swatted the blonde beauty’s hand away as she instinctually reached down attempting to prevent him from revealing her irresistibly sensual legs, crossed elegantly under the bar. They were wrapped enticingly in sheer white, super silky pantyhose with high end, suede ankle boots adorning her feet.

‘My, oh my,’ salivated Grim, giving in to the urge to indecently stroke Corus’s exposed thigh, much to her discomfort, ‘It seems you’ve brought a pair of tasty trade items to my bargaining table.’

‘Thank you for the drink,’ Corus quipped as she turned to jump down from the stool opposite the ogreish oligarch, ‘I’m afraid I must be going.’

Her escape attempt was impeded by two of Grim’s thugs who had materialized behind her and beside her. Corus was caught.

‘I’m afraid you’re not going anywhere, Miss Adventurer,’ retorted Grim, as he pulled Corus’s cloak off and dropped it disrespectfully on the floor. She was wearing a tight, long sleeved, hooded spandex mini-dress, accented by a hiking belt around her narrow waist and a sand colored mini-cape draped over her shoulders.

Don’t use your song, lest they find out who you are, Corus warned herself. She had vowed to never use her enchanting singing power unless her life depended on it. The less she used it, the less of a psychic footprint she would leave for the Magistrate to find her with.

‘We just cleaned,’ piped Captain, foreshadowing an altercation and recommending the gangsters move their pervy party elsewhere.

Grim leered ferociously at the barkeep, but understood the assignment: Don’t fuck with your bartender. He signaled for his droogs to escort their guest to one of the side rooms.

As the closest gangster grabbed Corus by her upper right arm she flashed a dagger at him, nearly cutting his face before he backed off defensively.

‘Last warning,’ cautioned Captain as he partially hoisted a multi-stringed crossbow from under the bar, ‘Take it out of the parlor. Tryin’a run a fucking business here.’

Grim grabbed Corus by both of her wrists and handedly wrangled the blade away from her. He effortlessly picked up the struggling Songbird and carried her into his private side room. ‘Two more pails,’ croaked Grim to a stunned server as he lugged the lovely, leggy lass into certain peril.

‘Ugh!’ moaned Corus as Grim slammed her backside down unapologetically on the side room table. Four more grimy gangsters and a curious Kozak filed in around their attractive young plaything as the crime boss greedily groped Corus’s long, sexy legs, squeezing salaciously at the stretchy nylons hugging them.

‘Stop! Please!’ begged the captured Corus, helplessly leaning back on her elbows as Grim spread her legs and pulled her into his groin. The corrosive quartet around the table whistled and cheered with cat-calls and devilish laughter. Grim flopped out his enormous, gnarly looking penis and began to slap it on the inside of his vulnerable victim’s thighs. Hands from every direction began pawing and pulling vulgarly at Corus’s dress, her hair, her breasts and her tights… rubbing uninvitedly between her legs as she whimpered and squirmed.

Not yet, Corus told herself. Even then she was hesitant to use her singing voice. She had not used it since shortly after fleeing Penna. She feared it would instantly alert the other Songbirds to her location and unleash a squad of the Magistrate’s golden guards upon her. She reluctantly chanced enduring torturous rape rather than being found by the wielders of power in Penna.

‘What do we got here?’ Grim pondered, stopping his merciless assault on the beautiful, besieged girl to investigate the cloth choker on her neck. Peeling back the fabric, the Lowland Lord and his malevolent mob gasped collectively at the revelation. The sight of the shiny blue sonustone in Corus’s neck instantly inflicted her assaulters with fear and trepidation.

‘Aww Grim!’ cried one of the goons anxiously, ‘We bagged a Songbird, man! Cosmic cunt hairs! Wudda we gonna do?’

Grim glared in awe at the jewel, and fumbled to make a decision, ‘I uh…’

Uneasiness as well as the sense of opportunity grasped Kozak. He was well aware that the Magistrate in Penna had put a hefty bounty on the head of a missing Songbird. He was convinced that this was the fugitive femme wanted by authorities. However his instincts tingled, telling him something about the unsettling situation wasn’t right. She’s a fucking heat score, thought Kozak. Shit was about to go down.

The snakey spy backed into the shadows of the side room, quietly kicked a loose panel of wall molding and stealthily slipped out a secret passage into the hollow walls of the tavern to conspire from a safe distance.

‘Always wanted t’fuck a Songbird,’ piped up a horny henchman, reaching over for a gratuitous handful of Corus’s breast.

‘Shut up fool!’ whined another, ‘She could pop your head like a zit!’

‘She would have already, if she could,’ concluded Grim, as the sadistic smile returned to his freaky face, ‘She’s broken. That’s why she’s looking for ghosts.’

Satisfied with his assumption, Grim flipped Corus like a pillow, bent her over the table and pulled up her mini-dress to expose her alluring ass. He aggressively pulled down her ultra-thin pantyhose and spit a repulsive, mouthful of mucusy ale onto his rigid penis.

Corus whimpered detestably at the feeling of her colossal captor squishing his throbbing meat between her ass cheeks in search of a moist opening to cram it into.

I do not want that inside of me, Corus decided. She feared the imminent assault was more of a threat at that moment than alerting the Magistrate. The time had come.

She used her diaphragm to contract her lungs and force air into her larynx, creating a gentle hum in her throat. The dark rape room began to glow with a bright blue light from her sonustone. Invisible psychic vibes radiated from within her, out of the room, out of the tavern, out into the universe.

Before Corus could cantillate a song, the door of the side room suddenly swung open. In the doorway stood a handsome, gallant looking, dark haired Magistrate Officer in a black cloak and gold plated body armor. Behind him were six red cloaked Pennan guardians, all wearing their trademark golden masks. The tavern had been emptied of all its patrons behind them.

The Magistrate had found Corus, long before she ever expected her voice to lure them. She surmised that she had more than likely strolled her sexy suede boots into a trap.

The gangsters were gobsmacked. First the Songbird, then the Pennan platoon… things were escalating quickly and dangerously.

‘Remove thy prick from my prisoner,’ barked the blue eyed black cloak, as he brandished a sword and pointed it at Grim, who was hastily tucking his veiny beef back into his britches.

One of the gangsters reached behind his back and produced a centuries-old hand gun, a weapon rarely seen outside of the criminal underworld. He shakily pointed the antique 9mm at the Lord Magistrate. The black cloaked battle commander swiftly separated the goon’s gun hand from his body with a lighting quick swipe of his razor sharp arming sword.

All hell subsequently broke loose in Zeroshima Tavern.

The table that Corus was forced onto was flipped over, sending her to the floor under a stampede of grappling guards and gangsters. She scurried to the wall on her hands and knees where she hurriedly pulled up her tights, frantically fixed her hiked up dress and looked for a way out of the chaos surrounding her. Blood and screams filled the air in the small room as bloodthirsty brawlers banged heads and bludgeoned bodies with blades.

Somehow, someway, Corus managed to crawl unscathed and unnoticed out of the side room amidst the carnage. She hopped to her boot heels and sprinted to the back door of the tavern, leaping out onto the back deck where more battling brutes were exchanging blows behind the Zero. The tavern had been completely overrun by mobsters and Magistrate militants.

The escaping Songbird met eyes with Captain, who was watching the battle unfold from the tree line adjacent to his pub, still clutching a drying towel. He leered scoldingly at her as she pranced precariously by in her heels, on her way toward the treacherous Lowland Swamp.

Corus put an index finger to her lips, silently begging for the begrudging barkeep to aid her escape by keeping quiet. He responded by spitefully raising his middle finger.

‘HEY! SHE’S OVER HERE!’ Captain screamed to anyone and everyone, crazily waving his arms, ‘SHE’S RUNNING THIS WAY! HEY!! SHE’S GETTING AWAY!!’

The only one to turn their attention away from the melee to the fleeing fugitive was Kozak. As the Magistrate began to surround the inn the sly informant had slithered out of a trap door behind the Zero and seeped into the shadows. He had been lurking patiently, watching and waiting for his next opportunity to exploit the situation in order to advance his personal agenda.

With his gnarly dental issues on full display in a sadistic sneer, Kozak approached a group of four evicted pub patrons loitering at the edge of the woods, watching their beloved watering hole become flooded by a deluge of violence.

‘Gentleman… if I may use that term lightly,’ began the snide mob spy, getting a few chuckles from the Crossroads folk, ‘Behold! A sweet, innocent Songbird in our midst!’ Kozak pointed to the departing damsel zig-zagging sneakily through the nearby woods.

‘Fack off, Kozak,’ cussed Hammond, a purple faced, portly pork farmer, ‘You’re so high on drips you’re seeing things.’

‘There’s a bounty out on that girl’s tight little ass you see wiggling away into the swamp. It’s worth millions in wingdom reward credits,’ revealed Kozak, glaring with the others at Corus’s slender, silk covered legs and perky derrière, striding gracefully in her teasingly short dress that was more or less a tight hoodie with a belt.

‘You’re so full of shit, Kozak,’ accused Hubert, a brawny blacksmith, as he himself feasted his eyes on the glamorous getaway girl’s gorgeous gams.

‘Have any of you ever known me to be a liar?’ challenged Kozak, ‘Hmm? Anyone?’

The group stayed silent, still ogling the beautiful woman in white getting smaller in the distance.

‘Help me to capture her,’ offered the conspiring criminal informant, ‘And I promise each and every one of you that we will all finish this day with pockets full of gold and money… and cocks glazed with golden honey.’

The posse ignited with agreeable laughter and motivated cheering. The lure of riches and the body of a tasty, young, high-born female was too tempting to resist for the Lowland lads, who had spent their lives never enjoying either luxury.

Several hundred meters out into the woods that separated Crossroads from the swamp, Corus turned when she heard more cat-calls and hollering. ‘(GASP) Oh, Spirits! Those men give chase!’ fretted the frantic fugitive. The Songbird’s secretive scurry turned into an all out sprint as a handful of inebriated villagers with bad intentions pursued her into the mucky marsh.

‘Cover your ears,’ suggested Kozak, putting cotton swabs into his own ear canals as the group fanned out to hunt the girl like wild game.

‘I’ll cover them plenty with those luscious thighs!’ joked the hog-like Hammond to the laughter of the others as he lumbered through the tall grass and swamp reeds.

‘Fools,’ Kozak muttered condescendingly under his breath. If that girl uses her voice she could snuff the lot of them with a song, he thought as he trailed behind his deviant deputies.

The Lowland locals knew the swamps better than anyone. On their home turf they easily outsmarted and out maneuvered the fugitive femme as she stumbled through the soggy swamp in her inadequate footwear. They cleverly filled in her flanks and corralled Corus onto a path that lead straight into a horrid mud hell known simply and suitably as Dead Man’s Bog.

At the cusp of the muddy morass, a panting and exhausted Corus stopped to catch her breath. She could no longer go safely forward, and behind her in the distance was a relentlessly closing rape gang. Corus was trapped.

Ahead of her, the bottomless, muck filled moor was deceivingly disguised by a thin layer of moss and sandy, semi-solid looking soil. It was the preferred place of local criminals to get rid of anything or anyone, dead or alive, without leaving a trace. No possession or person ever escaped the bog. It swallowed everything that was unlucky enough to get stuck in its sucking snare.

She sighed submissively as she faced what she construed as her choice between two different ways to die: remain at the moor’s edge to be captured, tortured and raped to death by the mauling men, or venture out into the sinking filth of Dead Man’s Bog to be caught and consumed by a putrid puddle of liquid earth. Either way she faced the probability of a slow, grisly demise.

As she heard the heinous hunting party approaching, Corus took a deep breath and made her decision. Testing each step carefully, the long-legged lass slowly placed one ankle boot heel after another onto the spongy soil and cautiously began to walk into the wide open, ooze filled expanse. She refused to have her body ravaged and violated by the malicious mob. She chose instead to take her chances with the awful, unforgiving mud…

The drunken men closed in on the sound of a girl’s whimpering and crying. They were spent from plowing through the foliage and were thankful that this darty bitch had given up her useless attempt at getting away. In particular, hefty Hammond intended to make the little tramp pay dearly for causing him to embarrassingly puke up a belly full of ale in front of his mates while chasing her.

They gathered around a thorny hedge that the girl’s sobs had been emanating from and grinned victoriously at each other. Hubert put his index finger to his mouth to hush the others, before counting down from five with the fingers his other hand.

By the time the blacksmith got to “two” he had stopped counting and was standing with a dazed and confused look on his face. The girl’s sobs had morphed into some kind of hypnotic song, and had all but paralyzed the grungy gang readying to pounce on their pretty young prize.

Out of the hedge glided the figure of a peculiar, pale woman. It was not the sexy-legged Songbird that they had been tracking. This girl’s hauntingly long black hair and ghostly gown fluttered like ethereal wisps of smoke. Her eyes were as cold and black as death and her feet did not touch the ground. Her mesmerizing movements made her look like she was underwater or floating in slow motion.

The men found that they could not move. Their minds were perceiving what was happening but they were unable to make their bodies work. They watched helplessly as the spirit girl fluttered over to the pork farmer. She slowly raised both of her thin, boney hands and held his flabby, whiskery jawbone. Still humming her hypnotizing hymn, she began to kiss him.

The frozen farmer started to gurgle and twitch erratically. A wet stain started to spread on the front of his trousers as he visually appeared to be pissing himself. The ghostlike girl dug her fingers into his cheeks. Blood began to spew from the corners of his mouth. Like something out of a twisted nightmare, the phantom female proceeded to claw and tear his face apart, and snack on the inside of his gaping maw. She was eating Hammond’s face from the inside out.

Her sharp teeth pulled and shredded the pork farmer’s tongue as she tilted her head back and maliciously ripped it in half. She stopped singing, which released the others from their trance. She chewed the half tongue wretchedly as she snarled at the remaining men.

The hulking Hubert began to scream. He then dashed into the swamp, crying as he retreated back toward Lowland Crossroads.

The snacking succubus wrapped her legs around the portly pork farmer like an anaconda as he dropped to the ground. Straddling her victim’s dying body, she let out a most demonic sounding hiss at the motionless men, who were no longer paralyzed by the female’s singing hex but rather by the fear she had cultivated. In unison they bolted like rabbits from the murderous maiden and her plump pigsicle…

‘Fuckin’ell,’ cussed Kozak as the muscular mountain that was Hubert the Blacksmith went plodding right past him, stumbling and sobbing pathetically as he sauntered through the boggy brush. The Songbird got to them, he surmised while trudging on.

Maneuvering precariously around a sketchy briar patch, Kozak was startled by the presence of someone else across a clearing in the hedge rows, also managing the thorny shrubs. He did a double take. The person now standing upright and staring back at him was… him. Kozak shook his head, as his mysterious mirror image did the same.

‘What manner of fuckery is this?’ demanded the suspicious spy as he walked toward his apparent reflection. Kozak’s reversed effigy matched his every movement. No looking glass or reflective surface appeared to be between him and his exact opposite. he slowly raised his hand, and quickly dropped it back down. He waved. He taunted and teased. The imposter copied every flit and flick that Kozak tested him with.

‘Fascinating,’ chuckled the curious crime informant, examining the uncanny replica of his own atrocious dental condition in the mirrored Kozak’s mouth. He dropped his jaw and gnashed his terrible teeth at the flawless fake, trying to provoke it with growls and grunts. The double didn’t skip a beat.

Kozak quickly grew bored of playing mocking games with the mirrored version of himself. He closed his mouth. To his astonishment, the faux Kozak’s maw remained open.

Horrified, Kozak leapt back a few steps. He started to sweat instantly at the realization of his situation. ‘I have no quarrel with you, swamp hag!’ he protested as his alter-self broke character and leapt forward a few steps of its own.

Fumbling to draw a concealed dagger, Kozak could only watch with wide eyed terror as his shape-shifting adversary began to shriek hellishly. The unbearable pitch and volume of the scream was so intense that Kozak dropped his blade to cover his assaulted ears. The ferocious outburst was so loud and mind-numbing that it made Kozak’s eyes hurt and caused his head to feel like it was bursting. The cotton swabs in his ears began to turn crimson with blood. His ear drums had imploded like squashed berries.

Kozak couldn’t hear his own pain-filled screams as the wailing Witch reverted to her original form. Long, white, wispy hair swayed like spiderwebs from her scalp. The dark eyed, floating, phantom-like female was wearing a dress that looked more like tar-stained rags or ripped strips of cloth than an actual article of clothing. Her face was utterly terrifying. The Witch’s pale, colorless skin contrasted with the black, bottomless pits that served perhaps as eyes. Her mouth was opened up freakishly wide. Her narrow, pointy teeth loomed Lovecraftian from her receded black gums. She appeared more monster than maiden.

‘TO HELL WITH YOU!! TO…’ defied the crumpled criminal as lumpy blood gushed from his ruptured sinuses, oozing out his nose and into his mouth.

Before Kozak could finish his damning curse, the wicked Witch sprung onto his crippled body and latched her menacing maw to the side of his head. A long, snake like tongue lashed out of her horrific mouth into his ear canal, burrowing deep into his skull. The Witch proceeded to suck blood and brain through Kozak’s blown ear drum and punctured sinus cavities. The deafened, destroyed man’s eyes rolled back into sunken sockets as the ferocious female form slurped them out of his head, like a vampiric vacuum.

The fleeing, frightened local men from the other murder scene ran for their lives with renewed haste as they stumbled past an undoubtedly dead Kozak and the otherworldly creature feasting on him…

The ground quaked queerly beneath Corus as she fought to keep her balance. The scary sound of something incredibly loud and sinful behind her had spooked the poor girl into throwing caution aside. She carelessly careened over the treacherous terrain to put whatever animal or entity was screaming like that far behind her.

Corus’s heart was pounding in her chest. Her head was dizzily spinning out of anticipation and fear of what might happen to her. This was suicide, she thought. The defiant damsel knew it was only a matter of time before…

‘GBLWUMP…’ burped the ghastly goo as a misplaced step sent Corus’s pretty pantyhose wrapped legs plopping down into stagnate, soupy sludge.

‘Merciful Spirits!’ she gasped as bog bubbles belched hideously around her. ‘Oh! I am but a fool to have chosen so carelessly to condemn myself to this..this quicksand! Ugh… Nnh!’ bemoaned Corus as she pumped and pulled her sinking thighs in the thick, oozing muck.

‘Oh no! I am sinking deeper… with every move!’ fretted the struggling diva in distress, as she watched her writhing legs disappearing in the deadly quagmire. The pit’s putrid paste clung to Corus as she floundered and fought, weighing her down more and more with heavy, oppressive ooze as she sank deeper and deeper.

The foul, drenched dirt belched up swamp gas and grit as Corus’s helpless body succumbed to its sinister suction. ‘UHN!’ whimpered the helpless Songbird as gurgling goop splattered onto her vanishing nylon tights, ‘The hungry swamp is sucking me in!’

There was no solid ground around Corus. There was nothing nearby that she could use to pull her self out or even keep herself from being gulped down deeper by the gooey clag. The only thing around her helplessly sinking body was more fathomless, filthy pits and pools of quivering, quaking quicksand. There was no escape. The beautiful songstress was being slowly and surely sucked down to her doom.

Of course her psychic song would have worked wonderfully to quell the rapey men that were hunting her, Corus thought in regretful retrospect. Her magical voice would do her no good at the bottom of this slurping sinkhole. Pride and panic clouded her judgment and sent her into a sticky, sinky swamp, with no way out.

Corus nervously held still trying to slow her descent. Even then she could feel the puckering pit pursing and pulling at her hips like a menacing mud mouth sucking down its supper. Gas pockets continuously sent bubbles eerily crawling up her trapped legs from somewhere below, bursting and splattering gritty muck at the surface of the quenchless quicksand.

‘BLUBLUBLUBLBLBLB…’ exuded the ooze sickeningly as it gluttonously gulped the beautiful songstress dramatically down to her waist. Corus gasped at her drastic drop. Whether she squirmed or not the quicksand was relentlessly, ravenously devouring her.

‘Ugh!’ moaned the helpless Songbird, ‘The quicksand swallows me as if it were alive!’

‘BLUBLUBLURGLURGLRGLRGLRGLRG…’ responded the terrible trap as if in agreeance, sucking Corus’s defenseless body deeper into its gooey gullet.

‘Oh NO!’ she lamented as the quicksand hungrily consumed her midsection and began to slurp and slop its muddy maw over her heaving chest, ‘The bog, (UHN!) it..it will not cease! Nnnh!’

Corus bit her lip poutingly as the disgusting muck gobbled her breasts. She desperately pushed down in the soupy swamp with her hands. ‘SHLURP… SPLORPTPTPT… ‘ squelched and gargled the sticky mud around her rising chest before her breasts plunged back down even deeper, along with her straining arms into the horrible bog.

‘It..It’s pulling me under! Spirits NO!’ wailed the doomed diva. Terror driven panic and the reality of her fate consumed her as deep as the quicksand had, ‘This cannot be how it ends!!’

It was too late to sing her way out of her peril, Corus accepted. Even if someone could hear her and be coaxed to try and rescue her, it would be difficult for them to reach her in time, if they didn’t drown in swamp goo themselves. No one was going to save her.

Still, Corus thought that if she was about to sink into oblivion, she felt compelled to sing her way there. She chose to meet her end doing the one thing that always truly empowered her.

The drowning diva closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath and exhaled. She could feel the warmth of her glowing blue sonustone as she released her enchanting voice through her lips. ‘CESSIO ACCEPTUM QUIES..’ pleasantly sang the Songbird, letting her own words calm and cradle her: surrender, acceptance, peace.

Passively relenting to the terrible quicksand that was oozing in over her shoulders, Corus held the note and let it fill the chilly swamp air with serene sound and… harmony?

At first the swamped songstress was unsure if what she was hearing was actually someone else singing along with her. She thought it was perhaps an echo. Soon however she became convinced that the distant sound of another girl’s voice had undoubtedly joined Corus’s song and was helping to carry its sweet euphonious melody.

The soft, soothing singing grew louder and louder. Corus ceased her own crooning as the creeping quicksand inched up over the goosebumps tingling her neck. The mystery maiden soon seemed to be humming directly behind her. The sunken Songbird was beguiled by the other girl’s voice; it was beautifully captivating, pleasingly lulling… and fondly familiar…

[cerberus]

That was enjoyable. The Wind Witches were suitably nasty and the story setting was perfect. Great picture as well.

[65sinking]

My initial prediction when I began reading Part II was that Corus would somehow return and attempt to rescue Carolette, so the time skip and change of setting was surprising. And poor Carolette, although it does beg the question: did she really sink and die in the slime, or are we going to find out more about what really happened to her? And is Carolette somehow connected to the Wind Witches?

Looking forward to the next chapter!

[Jinn]

That was enjoyable. The Wind Witches were suitably nasty and the story setting was perfect. Great picture as well.

The Wind Witches were fun to write about. They even kind of creep me out.

My initial prediction when I began reading Part II was that Corus would somehow return and attempt to rescue Carolette, so the time skip and change of setting was surprising. And poor Carolette, although it does beg the question: did she really sink and die in the slime, or are we going to find out more about what really happened to her? And is Carolette somehow connected to the Wind Witches?

Looking forward to the next chapter!

Thank you. Not entirely sure where Part III is going yet. I’ve sort of cornered myself into a swamp with this story. There must be a way out… right?

[Jinn]

This story identifies as sticky.

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Robin's Itch

‘Good evening, boys,’ greeted Robin as she made her presence known to the Boss Crew thugs in the icky outskirts of Slaughter Swamp, on a spooky October night. The caped crime fighter stood confidently in her enticingly tight spandex bodysuit and form fitting heeled boots among the sneaky group of gangsters who were as usual up to no good. ‘Whatcha burying?’ she inquired, peeking over the shoulders of the startled mobsters, who were consolidating the contents of several duffle bags, ‘Bodies? Bullion?’

‘Fuck,’ cussed Mouth Piece, a verbally vulgar villain employed by notorious, criminal kingpin BossMan. The mullet-sporting mobster in blue coveralls threw down the weighty gold filled sack he was unloading as if being caught was utterly annoying. The half dozen do-badders all turned their glaring orbs to the dark haired, moonlit masked maiden smirking back at them.

‘Well, well. If it isn’t the Girl/Boy Wonder,’ snickered Big Deal, the most senior scumbag of the pack. The slick-haired supervisor in a stylish suede suit jacket grinned opportunistically at the gang’s attractive adversary. ‘Looks like we’re gonna need an extra duffle bag. Take her.’

From behind her, two hulking henchmen lunged at the sly superheroine. Robin countered their advance with a quick side step and a sweeping kick that sent a brawny, bald bully face first into the dirt.

The other goon grabbed the brave beauty by the arm with his massive meat hooks, which she utilized to flip the ogreish oaf onto his back.

‘CLICK-CLICK…’ the sound of a gun’s cocking hammer caused Robin to freeze.

‘Nice kung-fu demonstration, sweetheart,’ complimented Big Deal facetiously, pointing a lethal hand gun at Robin, ‘Unfortunately for you, quick kicks and fancy flips don’t stop bullets.’

The pair of thwarted thugs picked themselves off the sandy soil and aggressively apprehended the tiny intruder. The muscle-bound bandit with the shaved head known as Mista Clean and the mountainous mobster with a neon green mohawk nicknamed Spam wrangled Robin’s arms rather roughly.

‘Ugh! I’m caught in your corrupt clutches! Nnn!’ grunted Robin, squirming protestingly between the Boss Crew bruisers.

‘Our little gender-pretender seems surprised,’ commentated Big Deal to the amusement of his cronies, ‘Sweetie, you pretty much threw yourself in our laps.’

‘What are you goons gonna do to me, huh?’ Robin demanded, trying to sell a look of ominous worry.

‘To start, we’re gonna fuck up your pronouns,’ quipped Mouth Piece, triggering mischievous laughter from the others.

‘HAHAHA! Pronouns! Heheheee!’ chuckled the impish, obnoxious gangster Re-Pete, as he tripped over his oversized overcoat onto one of the dark canvas bags containing several gold bars shimmering under the full moon.

‘What do you think we’re gonna to do to you?’ quizzed Big Deal, lackadaisically twirling his pistol on his trigger finger.

‘I suppose you’re gonna (UGH!) manhandle me, and (Nnn!) smack me around a bit,’ guessed Robin, moaning as her huge handlers tightened their grip on her, ‘You’re probably gonna feel up my legs… and my ass and..and spank me!’

‘That’s a hellova detailed guesstimate!’ admired Big Deal as he cleared his throat and shared an awkward side eye glance with his fellow criminals.

‘I bet you’re gonna slap and squeeze my perky tits,’ continued Robin, her slim, sensual body writhing provocatively in the hands of her confused captors, ‘And I bet you’re gonna slither your grubby fingers under my skin-tight leotard… and swirl them around between my legs, aren’t you? You savages!’

‘Whoa! Stop the press!’ interjected Big Deal with uncomfortable sarcasm, ‘That’s quite the um… imagination you’ve got there!’ The stunned Boss Crew members had all gone silent.

‘(UHN!) You better not do what I think you’re gonna do to me (UGH!)!’ cautioned Robin, dramatically arching her back and biting her lip.

‘Do what? Do WHAT?!’ begged Re-Pete, his mouth agape as he soaked up the superheroine’s sizzling suppositions.

‘Yo, shut the fuck man,’ barked the mindful mobster Hush, who was helping Re-Pete move millions of dollars worth of stolen bullion from one bag to another, ‘Don’t encourage her, bro!’

‘You better not overpower me with your manly muscle and bend me over that tree trunk over there (UHN!) with my arms behind my back… and (nNn!) have your way with me!’ warned Robin, licking her lips and staring smolderingly at the gobsmacked gangsters, ‘You’ll probably pull my hair and..and punch me while you take turns fucking my tight lil’ ass, won’t you? You animals!

‘Correct me if I’m wrong here, my little non-binary bat-buddy,’ supposed Big Deal skeptically, ‘But it seems like you WANT us to do those things to you.’

‘I bet you say that to all the sexy superheroines you capture and humiliate with your sex torture, you PERVERTS!’ hissed a seemingly role playing Robin, looking almost overly desperate and defeated.

‘Yo Big Deal,’ advised Hush. The youthful henchman in a black and white Adidas track suit and fitted White Sox ball cap looked more like a punk than a mastermind mobster. Nevertheless he was more intuitive than the rest, and was the only one not rockin’ a hard-on at that moment. ‘It’s a scam, man,’ he foreshadowed, ‘She’s stalling. If she knows we’re here then so does “you know who.” He won’t be far behind. Let’s pack up this stash and bounce the fuck outta here.’

‘Don’t think you’re gonna make me suck all your cocks while you pound my poor little pussy from behind!’ pouted the raunchy Robin, rubbing her rear end randily into the aroused crotch of blushing bald baddy gripping her arms, (GASP) You FIENDS! Nnn!’

‘Big Deal, man,’ lobbied Hush again with heightened urgency, ‘Let’s roll dude.’

The hesitant hoodlum Lieutenant considered Hush’s plea and weighed it against the allure of the lip-smacking, leggy heroine and her invitingly indecent ideas for her captivity. Re-Pete and Mouth Piece had already sauntered over to the captured crime stopper and were greedily groping and grabbing at her body like they were pillow shopping.

‘UHN! Get away from me! Nnn… No!’ protested the pretty prisoner pretendingly as the four men surrounding her helped themselves to her tempting little body with their heinously horny hands.

‘Yo, BIGGIE!’ snapped Hush, watching the situation quickly spiral out of control.

‘Hush is right,’ chimed in Big Deal finally, ‘Its a set up. She’s killin’ time. She’s not the one in the trap; WE are.’

‘Aww, c’mon Big Deal,’ petitioned Mouth Piece, ‘Five fuckin’ minutes. Not even. I could nut in this bitch before you could say the alphabet… Do any of you fuckers know how to say the alphabet?’

‘The alphabet,’ croaked Big Deal. The goons roared with laughter.

Robin scowled and wiggled frustratingly in the grabby gangsters grasp. She was failing to get Boss Crew to help her iron out whatever kink was overwhelming her.

‘Get those bags back onto the hovercraft,’ ordered the Big Deal to the tentative troop, ‘BossMan is gonna have to pick another spot to hide all these shiny bricks. Let’s go.’

‘What about her, Big Deal? What about her?’ inquired Re-Pete, reluctantly relenting his sleazy surveying of Robin’s beautiful young body.

Big Deal shrugged. ‘We can’t bring her with us,’ he deduced, looking at the squirmy superheroine, then over at the treacherous bog in which they had planned to stash the gold… and then back to the resisting Robin.

The helpless hero shook her head. ‘Don’t you even think about it! (UGH!) NO!’ Robin dared, whimpering as the two gargantuan goons picked her up.

‘Think about what? About WHAT?!’ requested Re-Pete attentively, as if Robin’s answer would relieve him from the burden of his throbbing erection.

‘Don’t you dare force me into that gooey QUICKSAND! mMm!’ pleaded Robin, moaning as if being tossed into the treacherous quagmire was exactly the torture her sex drive was thirsting for, ‘Please! (UHN!) Let me go!’

The men carried the sexually amped sidekick over to the edge of the devious looking, putrid pool of thick, semi-liquid sludge. Before the Boss Crew brutes got the order, Robin was kicking and fighting with all her spirit to break free from their gorilla-like grippers.

‘NO! AAHH!’ cried Robin as she flung herself out of their arms and into the bubbling bog with an unpleasant ‘KPLWORP…’

‘The FUCK, guys?!’ whined Big Deal, surprised by the sudden escalation of events, ‘I never said…’

‘Guy, we never threw her!’ claimed Spam defensively, ‘She just like jumped in there, I swear!’

‘She did, Biggie,’ concurred Mista Clean, ‘We was just…’

‘Forget it,’ snipped Big Deal, trying to get his men focused on aborting the mission, ‘Maybe she’ll stay above ground long enough for her sugar “batty” to save her.’

‘Ugh! I’m sinking!’ gasped the disappearing damsel as her body settled into belching swamp muck. ‘This quicksand, it’s so goopy on my legs!’ fussed the writhing Robin, excited by the sucking sensation of the sandy soup pulling at her ankles, her calves and her thighs, gulping her deeper and deeper with every pump and pull of her slender legs.

‘MMmm!’ Robin’s plight seemed to stoke her sex fire even more. The urge to touch herself was irresistible. She subtly ran her hand over her leotard, sliding it delicately up her side and over her chest. She gently squeezed her breast, playfully pinching her nipple while she kneaded her soft bosom. Meanwhile Robin’s other hand had traveled the other direction. She let her fingertips slip between her legs and begin to massage her moist mound through her tight suit’s thin layer of stretchy spandex.

‘Ooh (GASP)’ purred the stimulated sidekick, finding sweet pleasure in her peril. The creeping danger was deliciously arousing. Slowly and steadily, the heated up heroine felt the increasing internal warmth of a sexual crescendo… Slowly and steadily the fired up femme succumbed to the sucking sand of Slaughter Swamp. Robin had accidentally discovered her sinking fetish.

An admirer had been ogling close by the stuck spandex-clad superheroine as the quicksand engulfed her. Robin took notice. ‘Are you just gonna stand there and jack off to my helpless body struggling… mMm… and sinking in this bottomless goo?’ demanded Robin, as she pumped her trapped thighs performatively in the squelching sand trap that was consuming her.

‘Yes… Oh, YES!’ confirmed the hunched over figure of Re-Pete, furiously masturbating to Robin as her alluring body jiggled and gyrated in the quaking quicksand.

‘Yo put that shit away, Re-Pete!’ insisted Hush, laboring to lift a duffle bag loaded with its priceless payload, ‘Let her go, bro. We gotta get the fuck outta here before her man shows up… Unless you wanna show him your chode.’ The bag-carrying Boss Crew bandits exploded into laughter. Re-Pete embarrassingly sheathed his minuscule meat and sighed at the missed opportunity to cum on his fantasy female sinking into the abyss.

‘So long, sticky sidekick,’ joked Big Deal before departing, ‘I hope you don’t get your fingers stuck in there.’

Robin bit her lip and whimpered. She watched distressedly as the criminal contingent moved out with their loot and their libido. Within moments they were gone. She was alone; sexually supercharged; tragically unsatisfied; slowly submerging.

‘Oh! They’ve left me to drown in this slurping swamp!’ Robin lamented poutingly with her arms over her head, looking down at the burping bog oozing up over her hips, inch by eerie inch. She closed her eyes, reached down into the gurgling muck and continued to touch herself, with seemingly zero regard for her personal safety. Her new-found kink was deliciously dangerous. ‘My poor little superhero body is being pulled into this slimy mud pit! I’m all alone and helpless… Mmm…’

The bog quivered and quaked unsettlingly as if something was emerging from its depths. Robin felt the mud’s suction tighten around her waist.

But it wasn’t the suction that increasingly squeezed her slender figure. It was something else completely unexpected.

‘(GASP) Clayface!’ Robin exclaimed as the massive mud mit belonging to the infamous sludgy supervillain compressed around her vulnerable body. The clumpy head of the clag-formed criminal rose from the quicksand, followed by his enormous earthy upper body. He growled unsettlingly and snarled menacingly at the swamped sidekick.

‘ROBIN!’ spat the vile, viscous villain, splattering swamp goo on his captive as he accosted her, ‘You fucked me over! I was seconds away from inconspicuously acquiring that stolen gold! Then YOU strutted your pretty little legs down here and flashed your ass like a hot and heavy heat score… and scared away those Boss Crew bozos!’

‘You look mad!’ commented Robin, putting on an over-the-top look of quasi-concern for the irate, super sludge monster.

‘I’m PISSED!’ he growled, ‘Penguin was gonna reward me handsomely for this job! YOU screwed me! YOU are gonna pay for this!’

Robin licked her lips with hungry anticipation. ‘What are you gonna do to me? Are you gonna… punish me? Hmm?’

‘I’m uh… I’m gonna…’ started the gluey grunt before being held up by his hostage.

‘Are you gonna suck my young, tight, defenseless body into your hulking, mucky mass?’ interrogated the stimulated superheroine, twisting and turning teasingly in Clayface’s oozing fist.

‘NO!’ snapped Clayface as he squeezed Robin a little tighter, much to the delight of her pleasure receptors.

‘mMm! Are you gonna grab my sexy legs with your gooey grippers and drag me into your creepy-crawly quicksand body?’ she pressured, feeling the mud man’s filthy fingers working their way around her writhing frame like a boggy boa constrictor.

‘NO! I’m not going to EAT YOU!’ argued a confused Clayface, dripping and dumbfounded. He could feel his anger getting the best of him as his filth-forged fingers mashed tighter around Robin’s midsection. His mud slopped over her body, and seeped into her crevasses.

‘Nnn! How dare you squish your oozing sludge between my thighs (GASP) to make my pussy wet while you devour me!’ UHN!!’ whimpered the gooped Girl Wonder as her lady parts hummed with arousal.

‘For the last time lady, I AM NOT GOING TO EAT YOU!!’ screamed Clayface, so close to Robin’s face that his bog breath made her hair flutter.

‘I bet you say that to all the sexy superheroines that you slurp down and swallow into your boggy belly!’ accused Robin, as if daring her nemesis to do just that.

Clayface facepalmed. He was at a total loss of words. He was completely disarmed by this sex-crazed superhero’s spicy suggestiveness and stone-cold stubbornness. All he could do was laugh.

‘When Batman rescues me, I’m going tell him all about how you’re violating my fit lil’ feminine figure and..and forcing me to orgasm in my tight lil’ spandex outfit! Nnn! How dare you! Ugh!’

‘No, no… don’t do that. Um, don’t do either of those things!’ pleaded Clayface, trying to avoid an awkward and painfully consequential future interrogation with the Dark Knight.

Robin cooed, ‘Ooh, if Batman doesn’t rescue me, you’ll probably gobble my defeated body down into your goopy guts! mMm!’ Her loins tingled. The deep glow of an approaching climax grew inside her. The feeling of the swampy villain clutching her submissive body and being totally at his mercy was too much… or perhaps exactly the right amount. Robin’s arousal peaked, ‘Oh, no! What am I gonna do?! I can’t escape! You’ll suck me under!’ UHN! OooOOHH! I’M CUMMING!’

Robin tilted her head back and let her surrendered body go limp in Clayface’s giant hand. She let out a series of ultra-feminine yelps as her primed pussy erupted in an orgasmic tsunami.

‘Aw hell, girl,’ sighed Clayface, with the quivering, climaxing superheroine whimpering libidonously in his clumpy claw, ‘What did ya go and do that for?’

‘Put the young lady down,’ growled a dark silhouette from the edge of the quicksand bog. The looming shadow standing tall and tenacious in a black cloak and cowl resembled the very figure whose possible arrival had spooked the Boss Crew six-pack into fleeing Slaughter Swamp moments earlier. It was none other than the Guardian of Gotham, the Caped Crusader… the Batman.

‘Listen Batty, this isn’t what it looks like,’ explained the soggy scoundrel, ‘Your girlfriend here…’

Robin whimpered and whined like a wounded animal. Her rescuer completely misinterpreted her yelps as cries of pain.

‘Last warning,’ threatened the Dark Knight, scowling stoically and sincerely, ‘Put. Her. Down.’

Clayface knew that the moment he released the revved up Robin that Batman was going to implement his hard-knock brand of justice. The boggy bad guy’s options were as limited as his patience.

‘Have it your way, Bat-for brains!’ he roared, relenting to Batman’s demand by calculatively tossing the horny heroine farther out into the deep and deadly quicksand.

‘KGLORMP…’ puckered the pit as it accepted the soaring sidekick. Soaked, sandy soil splattered over Robin as she landed on her behind in the unstable liquid earth.

‘Your move, Batso!’ challenged Clayface. The gambling goon was counting on the reasonable assumption that Batman would sooner save his sinking sidekick than chase his oozing adversary around Slaughter Swamp. As Clayface escaped by lowered himself into the fathomless filth of the bog, Batman raced to rescue his crime fighting companion from her sticky situation. The boggy bad guy had gambled wisely.

‘Batman!’ gasped Robin, momentarily coming to her senses as goopy sludge poured in over her rapidly vanishing body, ‘Help me! The quicksand… I’m..I’m sinking fast! Please save me! Nnn!’

The Caped Crusader wasted no time retrieving his grapple gun from his belt, firing a hook and cable up into the trees above the ghastly quicksand pit that was swallowing poor Robin. He tugged the line to test its strength and swung heroically out over the bog, over his drowning dynamic damsel.

Whimpers peeped from the bogged bird as she reached for Batman’s extended gauntlet. ‘Lock arms with me,’ he recommended to the shoulder deep sidekick, ‘Don’t let go. Even if it hurts.’

The pair joined arms over the pit. Slowly and carefully, Batman reeled in the cable on the grapple gun. Robin moaned as the suction of the swamp pulled stubbornly at her trapped body. Her arm was being stretched torturously by her own weight as the quicksand held her tight. She swung her other arm up and grabbed Batman’s shoulder armor. Inch by agonizing inch, the Dark Knight pulled the Girl Wonder up and out of the clinging clag pit.

‘SHHHHCLORP…’ squelched the quicksand as it finally let go of Robin’s captured legs. She sighed with relief at the feeling of her imperiled body being released from the gooey grip of the treacherous trap. Batman swung the pair over to solid ground before retracting his lifesaving cable from the treetops. Robin laid back mud-caked and panting. She was safe.

‘Batman! You saved me!’ sighed an extra grateful Robin, forcing a hug on the attentive superhero examining her while she sat in the soggy swamp soil.

‘Are you alright?’ He probed, looking her over for any bruises or blood on her person, ‘Did he hurt you?’

The doe-eyed damsel was quick to brush off any assumption until the opportunity to cash in on some TLC from mister tall, dark and heroic presented itself, ‘I’m fine… er… I’m finding that my leg… It hurts. My left leg really hurts, Batman.’

Cautiously removing her form-fitting footwear, Batman gently elevated Robin’s spandex stocking covered leg and rigorously examined it for injury. ‘Tell me where hurts,’ he requested in his gravely voice, softly touching her foot, then her ankle.

‘Ooh,’ twitched Robin, confirming the sore spot as Batman’s armored glove delicately made its way up her soleus, just below her calf muscle, ‘Right there…’

Batman continued his scanning, sliding his fingertips gradually up over Robin’s soft and smooth calf.

‘mMm,’ she cooed, biting her lip, ‘And there...’

The masked medic slipped his hand lightly under the knee of his squirming sidekick.

‘Yes,’ Robin whispered, subtly writhing under her hero’s touches and nodding almost approvingly, ‘Uh huh… Right there too, Batman.’

She made no effort to hide her adoring gaze and her sultry lip smacking as her handsome hero caringly handled her leg. If his big, strong bat-hand travels north of my knee, it’s over, thought the submissive superheroine. Robin was convinced that even a teensy tender touch of her thigh would cause her to relinquish complete control to her urges.

Batman took notice of Robin’s amorous agitation and her dilated pupils. ‘You’re experiencing some sciatic pain,’ he diagnosed, assiduously replacing Robin’s sleek heeled boot and mindfully zipping her into it, ‘Probably a pinched nerve.’

‘Oh my!’ squeeked Robin, as her courageous colleague lifted her up into his arms.

‘You’d better not walk on that leg,’ cautioned Batman as his pretty passenger surrendered fully to his tender treatment. Robin smiled and laid her head on her savior’s shoulder, delicately dancing her fingertips on his rigid padding. She enjoyed every safe and secure second of their cross-country walk back to the Batmobile, parked stealthily under the concealment of some ancient looking willow trees.

‘You were supposed to wait for me,’ the grumpy Gothamite reminded his protégé, as he transported her out of the wooded wetlands, ‘What happened?’

‘I dunno,’ shrugged Robin passively, curling up comfortably in a cozy cradle of bat-muscle, ‘I can’t recall, exactly.’

Robin’s attention quickly turned back to the matter of her strange desires. ‘Are you gonna carry me back to the Batcave and get me out of these muddy tights and..and take really, really good care of me?’ asked the smitten sidekick suggestively with her arms around Batman’s sturdy neck and her shapely legs playfully dangling over the side of his thick bicep.

‘Something like that,’ he responded reservedly as he gingerly set Robin down in the passenger seat of the mean looking motor vehicle. She gladly let him fasten her cross-body harness, letting out a small moan as the cowled crime fighter jerked the belts to tighten them around her body.

‘Ouch!’ yipped Robin as Batman jabbed her arm with a tiny syringe, taking a small blood sample from her, without warning.

‘Apologies,’ he offered, before leaping into the driver seat and plugging the vial of blood into an onboard analysis microcomputer, ‘I need to check you for toxins.’

‘mMm… You can check me for whatever you want, Batman,’ she submitted, wiggling rousingly in her belted bucket seat and squeezing her breast semi-consciously, ‘By the way, It’s totally cool if you wanna hurt me a lil’ more…’

‘When was the last time you had contact with Poison Ivy?’ interrupted Batman, staring concernedly at the digital analysis results scrolling over the small screen on the supercar’s dash.

‘I… um… I don’t quite remember,’ answered Robin sincerely and curiously, feeling like her encounter with the sneaky supervillain had perhaps been recently.

Batman brooded, glaring at Robin then back at the screen. ‘Where are we right now?’ he continued interrogating.

‘I… I don’t… ‘ Robin shook her head. She couldn’t remember that she was in Slaughter Swamp. Her short term memory was on the fritz, while her lady parts constantly tingled and dripped.

Batman typed something onto a laptop keyboard. The footage from an Arkham Asylum Infirmary room’s security camera appeared on the screen. Two girls were lying together on an examination table… thoroughly examining each other. One of the girls resembled Arkham inmate Pamela Isley, aka Poison Ivy. The other girl… was Robin. The footage was scandalously sizzling; legs wrapped around legs; hands caressed curves and squeezed supple skin; tongues twisted and tangoed in a dizzying dance.

‘Ring a bell?’ inquired Batman, noticing that the timestamp on the video was of that morning.

‘She certainly did,’ murmured Robin, involuntarily letting her hand slip down between her thighs, ‘Looks like she found my (UHN) weakness, Batman.’

‘Oh yeah? What’s that?’ wondered Batman aloud with callous sarcasm as he monitored the blood analysis, ‘Deranged psychopaths?’

‘Something like that,’ whispered Robin, slithering and sliding agitatedly in her seat. The video triggered some memories in the sensually stoked superheroine, along with some sexual seepage. ‘(GASP) UHHHN!’ she cried, as a body-twitching orgasm boiled over between her quivering legs.

Batman looked back to the Arkham video. It showed Poison Ivy turning a submissive Robin over on the cold, steel medical table, spreading her cheeks and proceeding to gobble her gluttonously from behind like she was licking clean a bowl of birthday ice cream. He stopped the playback.

The toxicology analysis was complete. ‘Poison Ivy gave you “The Itch,” Robin,’ concluded Batman, reviewing the list of foreign substances found in his sidekick’s blood sample.

‘mMm… Don’t I know it!’ agreed Robin, recovering from her pleasurable peak, her hands sliding all over her body in a state of perpetual stimulation.

‘Tribulus Ichi. The most powerful herbal aphrodisiac on the planet,’ added Batman regretfully, ‘There’s no know cure besides time and…’

Batman refrained from continuing. It wouldn’t have mattered anyhow, he thought. At that moment Robin’s attention was on herself. She was completely rapt by arousal.

‘Ouch!’ yelped Robin, jumping out of her tantalizing trance as Batman administered another tiny syringe in her arm… again without warning.

‘Apologies,’ expressed the Dark Knight, ‘Just a little something to help you rest.’

‘ooOOooh! Batman!’ purred the soaking wet superheroine, enjoying her hero’s painful prick and surrendering excitedly to more touchy treatment, ‘What else are you gonna put in me? Hmm?’

Batman remained silent and put the Batmobile in gear. The high powered engine rocketed the car and its occupants down the narrow tract leading out of Slaughter Swamp toward Gotham City, stirring up a swirling vortex of autumn leaves in its wake.

As Robin yawned and nodded off into a sedative-induced sleep, Batman considered his game plan.

It could be months before the full effects of the “Itch” subsided in the young sidekick. Subsequently leaving someone’s exposure to Tribulus Ichi unchecked could also be extremely dangerous. The neurological and psychological impact over that time could be draining and devastating. The Itch could cause irreparable damage to the nervous system, blood vessels, brain matter and sexual organs. The “time” option would be a long, risky road to recovery.

The only other option to treat the uber-potent sex drive enhancer was one that made Batman particularly squeamish: The Itch could be “scratched” by steady exposure to seminal fluid. Robin’s behavioral symptoms were making her body crave this option, figured Batman. Her wild urges were actually her body’s natural reaction to fight against the foreign agent in her blood. As a coping mechanism, Robin’s subconscious was compelling her to quite literally fuck the drug out of her body.

The toxin was still fresh in her system, assumed Batman. The Itch hadn’t fully taken hold of her yet. She was still coherent and able to somewhat control herself. With immediate “injection” therapy, Robin could be in the clear within 48 hours.

But who could be trusted to perform such an incredibly private and personal task? Batman painstakingly pondered the dilemma as the Batmobile raced around the winding nighttime roads of rural New Jersey.

Whoever it was going to be would have to shoulder the full responsibility, the questionable virtuousness and the residual consequences of administering Robin’s… “special” injections. It would have to be someone that Robin trusted completely with her dignity, her body and her life. It would have to be someone who knew Robin, respected her and loved her.

The problem of consent, or the lack thereof was perhaps the biggest hurdle, surmised Batman. Robin was under the influence of not only the poisonous plant’s aphrodisiac but also the high-octane sedative that was keeping her at that moment from dry humping the interior of the high-tech rocket car. She was not of sound mind or body. Her judgements were clouded and the level of her synthetic sexual appetite was off the charts.

‘This is insanity,’ grumbled the Caped Crusader, shaking his head frustratingly. The plot was as thick and the situation as sticky as the quicksand that nearly swallowed his spunky sidekick moments earlier. It was Poison Ivy’s perfect peril: either way, the villain wins.

Nevertheless the clock was ticking, and the only thing that was going to save poor Robin was an able-bodied person; specifically a man to continuously drench her insides… with his hot, fresh semen. Someone had to consequentially take charge and take one for the team. Robin needed saving.

‘There’s only one option,’ Batman muttered to himself, sending off an urgent text to the one person he perhaps trusted more than Robin…

The Batmobile skidded to a stop at the end of a long, damp, dark tunnel in the secret subterranean lair deep under Wayne Manor, known as the legendary Batcave.

Batman glanced over at his sleeping sidekick. How peaceful and pretty she was, even covered in sand and swamp goo. How sweet and innocent she looked when she wasn’t contorting and climaxing. He sighed.

‘Your bed chamber has been prepared as per your specifications, sir,’ a voice relayed over the Batmobile’s intercom.

‘Excellent, Alfred,’ responded the Caped Crusader, watching contemplatively over Robin.

‘Will there be anything else, Master Wayne?’ asked Bruce Wayne’s loyal butler and trusted family friend.

‘Just a hot shower and some privacy, Alfred. Thank you,’ requested the grateful Guardian of Gotham as he exited the Batmobile.

‘Very good, sir,’ ended Alfred, not fully understanding the situation, but offering no less compassion.

Circling around and popping open the gull-winged passenger door, Batman carefully unbuckled the dozing damsel from her bucket seat.

The resting Robin opened her eyes from behind her dark domino mask when she felt herself being lifted out of the sleek machine. She yawned and squinted in the dim underground light for a moment and assessed her situation. She was being transported somewhere. The hazy heroine looked up at her escort; a tall, dark and heroic man in black was carrying her up a spiral staircase into the bowels of a mansion.

Robin’s short term memory was still impaired. She had no idea how or why she was there. All she knew was that she felt dirty, damp and horny as all hell.

‘Oh, Batman!’ sighed Robin with a complacent yawn, nuzzling adorably into the chest of the large cowled and cloaked male that was coddling her, ‘Are you rescuing me?’

‘Something like that,’ replied the smoky voiced superhero as he opened a secret door to Wayne Manor’s candle-lit, master suite. The aroma of calming incense, green tea and fresh cut flowers wafted over the caped couple as the heavy, hidden door clicked shut gently behind them…

[cerberus]

That was so much fun! I bet you enjoyed writing that, I certainly enjoyed reading it, excellent work.