Ay: Nisan 2024

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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Sirens wailed, the sound of their warning scream echoing and rebounding off of the walls of towering buildings in the heart of Second Chance City. People on the streets, whether they were tourist or city resident, all paused for a few heartbeats listening and focusing on the sound for a few moments. Those who were used to the city, or came from other metropolises that were home to many super humans, cocked their heads slightly and then went on their way. Whatever it was, it wasn’t nearby. The sirens were heading away. Others took longer, but after several seconds they too continued about their tasks. The excitement was nowhere near here.

Which made their surprise all the greater when the front doors of the Second Chance National Bank blew off of their hinges, two inch glass shattering into jagged shards, reinforced steel frames crumpled like cheap tin cans, to crash and bounce across the sidewalk and then into the street. Cars slammed on their brakes and screeched to a halt, more than a few crashing into one another. The sounds of screaming brake pads, bursting glass, denting metal, cracking plastic, and the muffled bang of airbags joined the sudden ringing alarm that shrieked from the gaping hole in the front of the building. Human cries joined it, both from within and without, as a trio of figures emerged, each of them with a stuffed duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

“Fuck, yeah! Easy money, what did I tell you?” A lean Hispanic man in his mid-twenties was grinning as he sauntered to the top of the steps that lead to the bank’s entrance. Shreds of cloth hung over a tight bodysuit that was a garish neon green save for a burnt orange swath that went up the middle of his body, a neon green radiation symbol in the middle of his chest. He wore knee high black boots, thin chains wrapped around his shins, and had chains on his forearms also, a pair of green fingerless gloves on his hands. He wore no mask, just a pair of expensive looking sunglasses. Chain Reaction gestured at the street of chaos in front of them, “See? No cops, no super sluts, they’re all taking care of that alien fucker on the west side. Told you all we had to do was wait for someone else to do something; perfect cover.”

“We get it, you were right,” said a rough voice that seemed almost to grunt out each word. He was causing no small amount of the screaming; standing at about eight feet tall and as broad at the shoulders as an average woman was tall and with coarse, prickly fur the color of rust covering what was visible of his body. His upper back and shoulders were so heavily muscled they were disproportionate, giving him an almost humpbacked look, a ridge of larger, more bristle-like hair going up his back and neck to the very crest of his head. His face was a blend of human and porcine features, most notably a pair of eleven inch tusks that jutted from the corners of his mouth. His eyes were beady and deep set in his brow and his large nostrils flared as he took in the smell of the fear that came off the onlookers. He wore little save a pair of stretchy sweat pants that had expanded rather than burst when he transformed, though they now looked more like shorts on him, and instead of feet he had hooves the size of hubcaps. “Save it for when we’re fully in the clear. They could finish up and get back, you know.”

“Let ’em, Razorback,” sneered the last man. He was average height but had a somewhat stocky build with thick limbs and a solid frame. His hair was long, falling in limp black hanks to the nape of his neck, a worn blue bandana tied around it. He had a thick handlebar mustache that joined a set of long, curving sideburns, and wore mirrored aviator sunglasses. He had a denim jacket that was scuffed and torn, with a patch that said “Meat Masher” on the front and a larger, round patch on each shoulder that read “The Loners.” He wore jeans and knee high tanker’s boots of black leather, a thick belt, and a Harley-Davidson t-shirt. “We’d kick their bitch asses an’ have ’em bent over back at the hideout in no time.”

The pig man grunted, “Right. Didn’t Achimi kick your ass solo last time you caused trouble around here?”

The wannabe biker flushed, “Fuck you, Porky! I was taking it easy on her and she got lucky, that’s all.” He gave the towering anthropomorph a push, sending him stumbling a few feet to stagger into a pillar that cracked at the force of the impact. “Keep mouthing off an’ I’ll turn you into fucking bacon.”

Chain Reaction sighed. That fucking idiot; he never should have brought him into this job. He kept pushing at Razorback, trying to assert his dominance like a pissy bulldog. “Madre di…knock it off! You two can finally fight or fuck later, all right? We got the money, let’s get out of here.” In truth, he was pretty sure they had plenty of time but if he created a sense of urgency the wannabe badass might leave off for the moment. “We’d end up dropping a lot of the money if it comes to a fight, so let’s go before New Half gets freed up.”

“Oh, they’ll be busy for a little while yet,” a young, feminine voice assured them. “I’m the one who’ll be whupping your ugly asses today, boys.” She was a pretty young white girl who stood about five foot four and had a slender, supple body with gaziantep escort luscious curves on a model frame. Her hair was sunny blond, save for a pair of locks that hung down over her face that were dyed royal purple, and was pulled up and back in a high ponytail whose end whisked over the base of her neck as she shook her head. Her eyes were unseen; covered by a dark purple mask edged in black with opaque green lenses. The mask was designed to cover most of her face in a sort of sweeping wing style that left the bottom of her nose, her plush, blowjob perfect lips, and a small chin exposed. A corset made seemingly of leather, but actually a much more protective and durable composite, in the same purple as her mask simultaneously covering and offering up her large, high tits; each slightly more than a handful of sensual flesh. The trim and laces were all in a vibrant electric blue and she had an open short jacket of black leather that came just to the underside of her breasts over the corset. She wore snug fitting purple gloves over her hands that came just to her wrist and flared out slightly; a thin belt around her waist that held a few pouches. Her pert ass was hidden and showcased at the same time by a pair of leather-looking black pants, with the same vibrant blue accents and lacing as the corset, so tight it seemed almost as though her shapely, long legs and ass had been upholstered. A pair of knee high boots with that matched the mask and corset set the affair off. “But don’t worry about them; you’re really not worth their time. I’ll take care of you.”

“Damn right you will, bitch!” Meat Masher stomped his foot and cracked the concrete steps, “All fucking night long!”

Razorback looked at his partner in crime with distaste, then at Chain Reaction, “Who is she?”

The Latino pursed his lips, “One of those jailbait super sluts from the Power Academy. She’s called Wanderlust.”

“Oh, someone’s a reader!” Wanderlust, really Angie Anders, smirked at the trio of small-time super villains. She was actually pleased one of them knew of her. “Though you’re a little out of date; I’m not with the Academy anymore, and I’m legal too, if only by a few weeks.” She’d just turned 18 a month ago, shortly after she and her boyfriend graduated from the teen super team/school.

Meat Masher laughed, “Barely legal, huh? My favorite kind! Come on, sweetie, let Ol’ Meat give you a late birthday present you won’t forget.” He thrust his hips at her and rubbed his crotch. “Tell you what, go down on me right here and I won’t even beat your pretty little ass black and blue for being a bitch.” He waggled his hips, taking a few more steps, “Or maybe,” he then lunged for her, large hands reaching out, “we’ll do both!”

There was a sound like a zipper being pulled down quickly and she was no longer in front of him, but instead directly above him about ten feet. Wanderlust’s legs went together and pulled up to her waist as she fell, then kicked down with both of them right on top of Meat Masher’s head. The super strong biker cried out as he slammed down into the pavement head first, his body landing flat a moment later. He rolled, swinging at arm up to bat at her, only for the agile blond to fall back with his swing and grab hold of his hand, going into a back roll throw and hurling him up into the air and away from her at a forty five degree arc.

Chain Reaction ran forward and thrust his arm out at her, a sizzling bolt of a sickly green energy lancing forth but even as he moved there was that zipping sound and she was gone again. His bolt burned a furrow in the sidewalk as she reappeared in the path of Meat Masher’s flight. Her hands went up, one in a fist and the other cupping it, and brought them both down on his left shoulder as he reached the apex of the arc and sent him shooting back down to slam hard into the steps, cratering them with the impact. She laughed, an excited grin showing clean, white teeth before she vanished to reappear in the spot she’d been first standing in, rising up out of her hammer blow to cock her hips to one side, one hand resting on her hip, she shook the other, “I might make my hands sore beating your hard heads in but it’s pretty clear you’re outclassed. How about you guys just give up, huh?”

Meat Masher groaned in the small crater, stirring weakly. The other two advanced warily. “You’re good, Wanderlust,” Chain Reaction said, “but we’re not as dumb as him. Even with your teleporting, there’s still only one of you and two of us.” He whipped himself sideways and fired a steady beam from each hand, scissoring the lines of power in towards her.

She cursed and zipped away straight up to avoid the slicing beams of radiation, then let out a grunt as Razorback leaped into the air and tackled her, squeezing her in a brutal bear hug. “Watch the huannds,” she wheezed, struggling in his grasp.

“There we go,” the nuclear powered villain grinned as his comrade landed on his hooved feet with the heroine still in his arms. “What you got to say now, chica?”

“Twoo, woof,” she gasped as the powerful porcine man monster continued to try and crush her in his arms, “two.”

Razorback sniffed, breathing in konya escort her scent. Too bad they knew better than to take her with them or do anything fun. “Two things?”

“Two of us.” There was a muted boom, as if a cannon had gone off far away, and then a rushing roar of air. A fist lanced in to strike Chain Reaction in the side. He bent like a rag doll and went sprawling as the fist went shooting back, back, back, the arm that threw the punch having explosively stretched half a block to deliver the blow. As the arm fully retracted to normal length, the force of it made the shoulder of the approaching young man jerk back as if he had been punched in the shoulder himself. He was taller than his girlfriend by six inches, making him on the shorter side of average. He too was white, though far less of his skin could be seen. The youth had a slender build like a gymnast, though the form fit of his costume showed that he was all strong, hard, clearly defined muscle beneath it. He wore a high necked bodysuit with a square notch in the neck, primarily a blue that was a few shades above navy; there was a white vertical stipe that started where his calf high navy blue boots ended and gradually thickened until it covered the sides of his torso and then went to thin again on the underside of each arm until they met the forearm length navy blue gloves on each hand. He wore a traditional domino style mask with mirrored lenses over the eyes and his face was handsome and finely featured, almost pretty, with high cheekbones and lips as made for oral sex as his girlfriend’s were. His hair was a mid-length, tousled mop of brown locks, freely styled by his movement and the wind.

Razorback and Wanderlust both disappeared then and flickered back into reality with the pig man’s back to his tumbling comrade. The Latino hit hard and made the super tough pig man stumble, his hold on Wanderlust loosening enough for her to slide out of his grasp and land in a crouch before she threw herself forward onto her hands and kicked with all her might, slamming both heels up into Razorback’s junk. He let out a shrieking squeal like, well, a stuck pig and toppled over, clutching his genitals.

The lush figured blond giggled and vanished again, teleporting to the top of the cratered steps. “Fun fact; I can teleport other people if I’m touching them.” She looked over at the steadily approaching boy, “Glad you made it, babe!”

Pike, real name Will Shaffer, couldn’t help but smile a little. Who wouldn’t with her smiling at them? Even if he was a little angry. “You didn’t wait for me, Wanderlust.” He reached out with his left hand and there was that muted percussive thud as his arm stretched forth again to grab hold of the slowly rising Chain Reaction by the front of his shirt. The criminal let out a yelp as he was jerked off his feet like a fish on a line and shot back towards the oncoming hero at tremendous speed, the boy letting go of the older man halfway and letting his momentum carry him the rest. He stepped into the villain and threw a wicked uppercut that caught Chain Reaction in the stomach, doubling him over in mid-air and blasting the air from his lungs and consciousness from his mind.

“Sorry!” She shrugged a little as he let the knocked out man slump off his shoulder and onto the sidewalk. “I got a little carried away, I mean, our first crime fighting after the Academy! Our debut in Second Chance!” She leaned forward a little as her boyfriend reached the immediate scene of the battle, giving him a wonderful view of her assets, and smiled apologetically. “And on your 18th birthday too! It’s like a present from fate!”

He couldn’t stay mad at her. “Yeah, I guess it is.” Razorback was getting to his feet, well, hooves. The youth looked over at him and held his right hand up towards his girlfriend, “Together?”

“Yeah!” She turned to face away from him and sank down into a runner’s stance. At the same time, he pulled his right arm back behind him as though he was about to throw something at the remaining opponent. His hand suddenly stretched and grew until it his palm was about the size of a manhole cover; then Wanderlust blinked away and reappeared on his palm just as he threw it forward in another explosive stretch. “YAAAH!” She pushed off his palm and swung a wicked right hook with all her might; his own strength and the force of his propulsion added to her punch as she struck Razorback square in the jaw.

He went shooting back as if fired from a cannon, hitting the street over a hundred yards away and just in front of a police car that was pulling to a halt. The physically powerful metahuman tried to rise and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed limply.

The two heroes turned to face each other. She grinned at him, the young man giving her a smile and a shrug. Then she whooped and hugged him, laughing. Those on-lookers who had not completely left the scene crept out from behind whatever they were using as cover, many pulling out their phones and taking pictures or video of the scene. Of course, several had been doing that while cowering too. A few people began to cheer and clap, more taking it up. The young heroes kissed and the kayseri escort cheering increased, becoming a roar, with plenty of whistles and calls of “woooo” thrown in.

The hot blond stepped out of her boyfriend’s embrace to wave, “Thank you, Second Chance City! Wanderlust and Pike, here to fight the good fight, if you’ll have us!”

“We’ll be happy to,” another voice said from above the street. The woman’s voice was warm and confident, with a touch of underlying sensuality that often made those she was speaking with uncomfortable in the best way. All eyes, including those of the young heroes raised to the roof of the bank’s portico where a famous quartet stood and looked down at the scene below them. “Very happy, I think.”

“It’s them,” one of the onlookers shouted, pointing.

Another crowed, “The New Half!” The crowd’s cheers grew even stronger and their phones lifted to capture Second Chance City’s super team; one known throughout the world and as much reviled as celebrated.

Achimi, the team’s leader, was the one who had spoken. She stood at the very edge of the portico’s roof, one foot half way over it. She was tall, as they all were, but she was tallest of them at 6′ 3″; she had an athletic body with toned and defined muscle, and somehow she kept incredible curves. Her unblemished skin was a rich chocolate brown and her eyes were the shocking color of polished gold. She was lovely with strong but feminine features that had a charming, almost roguish cast to them and she wore no mask. Her hair was a glorious mane of obsidian black that was pulled back into a long tail that was gathered with a leather thong at the base of her neck and again at her waist, falling to just brush her ass. Her costume was shades of brown with a few cream patterned accents; consisting of an open sided, sleeveless, tunic style top that was belted at the waist and displayed her sides, including a generous view of side boob. It was stretched over her ample breasts, larger than Wanderlust’s and almost the biggest on her team, massive and luscious mountains of flesh that stood proudly in defiance of gravity and the laws of physics. The tunic belted at the waist and a snug fitting pair of trousers fit her powerful legs and tight handfuls of ass, embroidered with symbols in a little known tongue down both legs. A pair of dark brown ankle boots with a small heel covered her feet and she had wrapped bandages about her hands and wrists like a boxer. Her outfit was accessorized with a necklace that looked like it might be made of horn or bone and a series of similar looking beads on her belt.

One of the others stepped up to the edge as the crowd cheered and lifted her arms up, roaring out a greeting to the citizens of the city they protected. El Tornada was noticeably shorter than her leader at an even six feet tall, her figure full and tempting, and her arms and legs were more obviously muscled; defined and developed as she flexed a little for the crowd. She wore a skintight, sleeveless minidress that was streaked with blue, green, and white in whirling wind patterns, with a flared skirt that fell to just above her knees. Little could be seen of her face; she wore a white full mask in the luchador style of Mexican wrestling, with eyes, nose, and mouth area outlined in swirling, sky blue lines, the mask laced in the back with cord of the same blue. There were no lenses in the mask and her eyes were a dark and earth brown, her lips red and plush, teeth gleaming as she cheered back to the crowd. Knee high white boots that laced up the front with the same green that was on her dress went with a set of white fingerless gloves that reached just past her wrists, laced with blue, stylized whirlwind logo on each one. Like the rest of her teammates, she had generous curves above and below, though her ass was a bit more prominent than the others, her breasts huge and high, casting a shadow onto her stomach.

To her right was the woman considered to be the team’s second in command, not that any of them had ever talked about how they operated in any interview, webchat, podcast, or other forum. CM was a statuesque white woman who stood even with her Latina teammate and had an almost ridiculously curvaceous build, her limbs fit and rounded but lacking the muscular hardness of Achimi or El Tornada. She wore a white masquerade mark, ornately decorated in gold and silver, that covered much of her face but the features that could be seen were fine and delicately pretty. Her lips were pink and tempting, her smile almost a smirk and her bright blue eyes were not on the assembled onlookers but the two young heroes who had thwarted the robbery. Her hair gracefully curved down to her shoulders and was known to change color frequently; today it was a honey blond. A black legless leotard covered her torso and arms, clinging tight to her body, a white belt cinched about her waist, the buckle shaped like the mask she wore on her face. Her shapely, supple legs were bare from her hip to the bottom of her thighs where her white high heeled boots took over, her legs seeming to go on for miles before touching the rooftop. Her eyes were a kaleidoscope of colors, changing every now and then, as they looked out from her mask with interest at the newcomers. She wore white gloves, detailed in gold and silver like her mask, and lifted one to tap a single finger against her lips in thought. Curvy and gorgeous, she looked somewhat top heavy compared to her comrades in arms, her chest the largest of the team, her waist slender, and her hips and ass rounding nicely.

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