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From: Echo <echo@nym.alias.net>
Subject: {ASS} Damsel in Distress 5/? by Echo (Superhero)
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RE                                                     

Copyright remains with author.  This story is *not* to
be reposted, posted elsewhere, It is *not* to be made available
in any media for profit.  You are entitled to one hard copy for 
your own amusement.  

  **WARNING**  as this story progresses we will be heading
               towards the area on non-cons or semi-cons
               sex.  If this offends, don't get interested now.


Dark Damsel: Damsel in Distress  by Echo


Chapter 5
     Dark Damsel lay on the mat, tears trickling from her eyes.
She shook her head, feeling empty inside.  How could they have
done that to her?  Why would they want to?  She felt sick.
They had used her, tricked her into willingly doing what they 
had wanted.  There was no epithet bad enough for them.  She
curled up into a ball.  She wished she could die.
     Die?  No.  Not die.  She had to get away.  She couldn't
let them win.  Slowly she uncurled.  They had made a mistake,
several mistakes in fact.  First, she hadn't been refastened
to the wall, so she could get up and move around.  Second,
Kitty had taken the cuffs off of her wrists.  If she could do
that, then so too could Dark Damsel.
     Dark Damsel twisted her head down and brought up her right
wrist.  She felt over the cuff as best she could and finally
found a buckle.  Her spirits crept up off the floor.
     Seconds dragged into minutes and the minutes dragged on
interminably.  She had to hurry.  Soon they might be back and
then her chance would be gone.  How long would they take?
     "Yes!"  Dark Damsel whispered triumphantly.  She had done
it.  Her right hand was free!  It was the work of moments to
free her left.  She felt around the cowl and found the lenses
to be glued on.  The glue didn't hold and she could see again.
     Aside from the floormat, the stool and a chair, over which
her costume was draped, the room was bare.  The walls were an 
off white and there were no windows.  She reached over and 
touched the wall.  They were not made of the usual plaster or
particle board or anything else she'd seen.  That accounted for
the lack of an empty room sound.  They were some sort of acoustic
tiles, Dark Damsel guessed.  
     She turned her attention to the belt.  Again it was merely
buckled on and it took but seconds to free herself.  They had
been overconfident.  That would be the end of them.  Too many
mistakes and you lose.  They were going to lose.  Once again
Dark Damsel would win.
     Dark Damsel strode over to the chair and picked up her
costume.  Her panties were missing, a trophy perhaps.  Bastards!
She sat and slipped her legs into the costume bottom and pulled 
them up.  Something felt wrong.  She growled in frustration as 
she realized that they had been split along the crotch.
     "Damn!" she spat out the word as she slipped her arm into
her top.  As she pulled the top on and zipped it up she cursed
again.  Small holes, about the size of a fifty-cent pieces, had 
been cut out of her top, exposing her nipples.  Sick Bastards!
They were cut, no doubt, in preparation for the pictures for
which she would never pose.  Rage welled up in Dark Damsel's 
mind.  They would pay!
     Her boots, also, were gone.  The rage died as Dark Damsel
realized she'd have to get out of the building barefoot, with
nipples and pussy exposed.  Well, at least she would be getting
out, something which she'd almost given up on.
     Dark Damsel slipped out into the hallway.  There was another
door open.  She stepped over to it and took a quick look in.
Her pouch was hanging over a chair back.  She breathed a sigh
of relief as she opened the secret pouch at the bottom and 
found her keys still in their place.  The main cavity of the
pouch had been emptied.
     Half of her mind wanted her to seek and find Kitty and
The Photographer to make them pay.  The saner half realized that
she was at too much of a disadvantage.  She didn't know the
layout, nor how many people she'd have to go up against.  It
could be suicide.  Growling, she turned and headed for the
exit.
     The door was bolted from the inside, but there was no
alarm attached.  Dark Damsel slid the bolt open and disappeared
into the dark.  The Photographer had lied.  It had not been
morning when she'd awakened.  She caught her bearings at the
first corner.  She was not, she realized, very far away from
the 'Garage on 5th'.  It was the closest safe place, and she 
grimaced.  So, it was either face Ray and his men (hopefully 
otherwise engaged) or barefoot it two miles to her nearest 
hideaway.  There was no real choice.

     Across the street from the building Dark Damsel had
been imprisoned in, a window closed silently.  Two figures 
drew back from the portal.
     "There she goes, better late than never," Kitty said as
she sat back, yawning, "I thought she'd be faster than that."
     "You got out in half the time.  Still," the Photographer
mused, "you didn't have the psychological battering."  His voice
had lost the blurred edges.  It was clear.
     "I'm not so sure we should have let her go.  She won't 
be that easy next time."
     "Darling," The Photographer murmured, "you know why we're
doing this.  The steps have to be followed.  Otherwise it
wouldn't be any fun.  Now she knows she's not safe when she's
out in costume.  Now she knows just how easily she can be 
taken.  We give her a few days to get used to the uncertainty,
then we step it up.  By the time we're finished she'll never 
again wear the costume of Dark Damsel."
     "And you'll enjoy her body like I did," chuckled Kitty.
"You'll love it."
     Laughter filled the dark room.
     "Let's get dressed, darling.  We have much left to do
tonight."
     "After I wash this stuff out."

     Ray's eyes widened as Dark Damsel came through the door.
For a second he was too stunned to do anything but stare.  Then
he averted his eyes.
     Damn.  She had been so cautious, so intent on getting to
the station unseen, that the relief in opening the door had 
caused her to forget to cover up.
     "Get me something to wear, will you Ray?" she asked as
she slipped by him and into the small washroom.
     A minute later there was a light tap on the door.  She
opened it and a hand came through, holding a pair of coveralls.
Dark Damsel gratefully accepted them and in a trice was once
again decent.
     "Thank's Ray," she said as she stepped out of the 
washroom, rolling up the sleeve cuffs.  The pants cuffs had been
likewise rolled up.
     Ray was once again sitting behind his desk.  He looked up,
wondering just what the hell had happened but polite enough
to not ask.
     "We have your bike again," he told her.  "You have to stop
leaving it lying around."
     "Where did you find it?" the Damsel wanted to know.
     "Outside Peter Lepcher's Photography Shop.  He called us
last night just after 11:00.  Said you'd left just a little
earlier.  He didn't appreciate being hauled down to the station
and questioned half the night."
     "When did you let him go?"  Damsel asked, wondering if 
he'd been a very good actor and had misled her.
     Ray punched some codes into the computer.  "About 2:30.
He was picked up by a woman."  He scrolled down and Dark Damsel
felt her anger starting to rise.  "A detective followed them
home, to his registered address.  He left and went to work
about 11:00 this morning and . . ."  Ray picked up the radio.
"Alpha fourteen, this is House Seven, over."
     "House Seven, Alpha fourteen.  What's up?"  The radio
crackled.  
     "Status of subject?"
     "At residence.  Left work two hours ago.  He made us
around two o'clock this afternoon.  He's been very careful
to not do anything suspicious.  About an hour ago the bast- . . .
oops, the subject brought us out coffee.  He hasn't left the
residence.  Waves to us every fifteen minutes or so.  I'd
like to . . ."  The detective decided he'd better not say
what he'd like to do.
     Ray looked over at Dark Damsel.  Her shoulders slumped
and she shook her head.
     "Alpha fourteen, subject still about?"
     "Yep.  Just waved to us again."  There was suppressed
anger in the voice.
     "Good.  Go knock on the door, thank him for the coffee
and wish him a very good night."
     "What!?"
     "Oh, and tell him the object thanks him for his aid in
recovering her property."
     "She there?"
     "Affirmative."
     "Awright!  Alpha fourteen out."
     Dark Damsel smiled at the enthusiasm in the detective's
voice.  "Who was that?" she asked
     "Charlie Foster," Ray replied.  Charlie had spent a lot
of time at the Garage and felt a fatherly interest in Dark
Damsel.  "He doesn't usually pull night shifts anymore," Ray
explained.
     "Thank him for me," Dark Damsel said softly.
     "Will do."  Ray was quiet for a moment, made as if to say
something then changed his mind.  "Cycle's ready to go."
     "Thanks Ray . . . for everything.  It's personal and I
don't know why.  Anyway, he caught me, but I got away.  He was
going to try to make me pose, hence the, uh, damage to my 
costume," she hoped that Ray had not seen the split in her pants, 
"but I got away before he could do this."  She looked Ray square 
in the eyes.  "I'm going to get him, Ray.  If it's the last thing
I do."
     Ray's jaw was clenched.  He relaxed it.  "Perhaps it is
time to stop going it alone.  Bring us in.  Keep us informed.
You know that if you want us, we'll be there."  
     "I can't, Ray."  And she couldn't.  It would mean admitting
that the Photographer had beaten her, that Dark Damsel's time
was done.  She walked out of the office and into the Garage.
Her cycle was waiting for her.  "Oh, by the way, how did you
boys make out at the apartment?"
     "Too late," Ray replied, sounding a little dejected.  "But
we'll get them, sooner or later."  He watched as she started
the cycle and drove out onto the street.
     Five hours later, Ray decided to call it a night.  He
cleaned up around the office and washed out his coffee cup.
His hand moved to switch off the computer then froze.  What had
Dark Damsel said?  'It's personal.'  He sat down in front of
the keyboard and typed an address in the browser.  It took
him three tries to get it right.  The connection was fast and
it wasn't long before he had what he wanted . . . or didn't
want.
     "Son of a bitch!" he exclaimed.  "Son of a fucking bitch!"

     When Renee woke, the sun was streaming through the window.
It had been a somewhat uncomfortable night.  Her backside still
hurt whenever she put any pressure on it--like sitting down or
rolling over onto her back.  The Photographer had given her a
thorough spanking.  Something she would remember for a while.
     She heard a low cough.  There was someone in her apartment!
Like a flash she was out of bed and pulling on her robe.  She
opened her bedroom door and glanced out into the hall.  Every
muscle was tense as she crept forward.
     "Oh hell." 
     It was Brenda's voice and Renee relaxed.  Of course.  Brenda 
would be looking after the business.  Renee walked casually into
the living room/office.
     "How's it going."
     "Hi.  Late night, kitten?" Brenda managed to throw a leer
into her voice.
     Renee laughed.  "Late night," she agreed.  Brenda would
damn well know that she hadn't been home all day and would 
suspect that she'd spent the previous night with her new
'boyfriend'.
     "So, give me the gory details, girl.  Is he good in bed?"
     Renee laughed again.  "You're incorrigible, Brenda."
Brenda waited, expectant.  "Okay, okay, let's just say it was
a night I won't soon forget."
     "Yesss!" Brenda pumped her fist into the air.  "So, should
I be out scouting for a bridesmaid's dress?"  She grinned at
Renee, knowing full well what the answer would be.  "Girl, you
have to get serious sometime, and I can hope for you, can't I?
     "Thank's Brenda, but I'm not ready for that kind of
commitment yet."  It was good to have friends.
     "Okay, but when you are old and grey and alone and I'm
there with my twenty-three great grandchildren, don't expect
any sympathy from me!"  She laughed at the thought.  "I have
everything on track.  Nothing for you to take care of.  Have
a day off.  Recover," she winked.  "I, on the other hand,
have a class."  She got up and put on her jacket.  "Later."
     "Later."
     Renee went into her exercise room and went through her
morning routine.  Then she moved into practice with fighting
forms:  blocks, kicks, punches and rolls.  By the time she had
finished she was sweating profusely.
     "Good one, Nietzsche," she told the tiger happily.  The
workout had been good.  "Now, let's check the mail."
     While cooling down and waiting for the computer to boot up
she continued to do the odd stretch.  She fired up her mail
program.  There was one message from her nym account.  She
placed it in the encrypted part of her drive and decoded it,
wondering what Commissioner Delcourt had to say.
     The message popped up and Renee frowned.  How would the
spammers get her nym address?  The only place she ever used
it was to send mail to Delcourt.  "Super Sex" the subject
read.  She was about to delete it then changed her mind.  It
had come to her address.  How?  She opened the message.

     "Check out our bevy of Super Lovelies!  Something for
      everyone, guaranteed!  Click here for a surprise."

The address was a numerical one.  Almost against her will
Renee clicked on the address and was transported to a page
which featured Dark Damsel's face.  Her hands began to shake
as she read the screen.

     "Hi Darling.  Did so enjoy last night.  Let's do it
      again.  Real soon,  
      
      Kitty.

      PS: Click on Dark Damsel's mouth to continue, such an
      instrument of joy."

     Again Renee hesitated.  Then she clicked.  She was
back at the superheroine site, on the new Dark Damsel page.
She clicked on the "New" button and was taken to a page which
listed three downloadable mpg files.  They were labeled: dd1,
dd2, and dd3.  Each file was large, very large.  They were also
available as a suite, compressed. The compression wouldn't make
them much smaller, but it would mean only one download instead of
three.  Renee cursed and began the download.  While that was 
happening she took a quick shower.
     Back from the shower, with Nietzsche beside her for moral
support, Renee sighed as the download finished and she logged off.
A minute later, uncompressed, the files awaited her.  She took a
deep breath and clicked on "dd1.mpg".  She gasped.  There was
Dark Damsel, hanging from a rope tied to a belt about her middle.
     Three cameras had been used.  One from the rear, one from the
front and one from the side.  Renee watched in shock as the man
in the picture pulled down her bottoms, exposing her ass.  He was
dressed in loose fitting shirt and pants, all the better to 
disguise his build. His head was never in the picture. Renee 
swallowed as she watched herself (as Dark Damsel) lowered onto 
his lap and as her bottoms were pulled off by Kitty.  Kitty was
just an indistinct shape at the side of the frame, the focus was
on Dark Damsel's bare bottom.
     "How many do you think you deserve, this time," The 
Photographer's husky voice came through the speakers, "ten, 
twenty or thirty?"
     "Please, thirty." Dark Damsel replied.  
     "Are you sure?"
     "Yes."
     "Okay, as you wish."
     "Thank-you."
     Renee seethed in indignation.  She had been taped and her
responses had been edited to fit The Photographer's sick sense
of humour.  She watched as the Photographer struck Dark Damsel 
and her head came up and body arched.  His left hand was planted 
firmly in the middle of Damsel's back and her ass was nicely 
presented.
     Renee flinched as she saw each blow land, heard herself count
out the strikes.
     "Spread your legs for the camera, dear."
     On the screen Renee watched in mortification as Dark Damsel
spread her legs.  It was a good view of her pussy, she had to
admit.  Clear, good focus.  She shook her head sadly, but couldn't 
even look away as the paddle came out and as her legs kicked,
showing everything.
     The second file, dd2.mpg, showed Dark Damsel's breasts 
appear as Kitty helped her out of her top, then cut to Dark 
Damsel on her back writhing in pleasure as a blond head worked on 
those breasts and then went down between her legs.  It ended with 
Dark Damsel wailing out her orgasm, her belly in the air, breasts 
jiggling, Kitty's fingers clearly in her ass.
     With great reluctance, Renee fired up the third mpg file.
As she suspected, it showed Dark Damsel's face being ridden
by Kitty, whose head was never in the frame.  It showed her 
tongue stretching out to meet Kitty's pussy, then Kitty pulling
at Damsel's nipples as she came.  The file ended with Dark Damsel 
on her side looking (apparently) into the camera; a contented 
smile on her face; her lover behind her, one arm draped over her,
hand cupping her breast.  To all appearances, Dark Damsel was a 
willing participant in all three scenes.
     Renee turned off her computer.  There were tears in her
eyes.  She picked up the stuffed tiger and hugged it.  "What
doesn't kill me makes me stronger, Nietzsche?" she asked the
little toy.  "How could this make me stronger?  How could they
do this to me?  Why?"  
     Renee's thoughts went back to the counter on the first page
of the Dark Damsel spread.  Visitors since 28 June: 2004.  Two
thousand and four!  'Word of mouth' would see that number 
shooting skywards.  How could she go out again, be seen again
in the guise of Dark Damsel?  The things they would say about 
her!  Oh God, why?

     "Well, my dear?"
     "Got her!"  Kitty was ecstatic.  "The first download came
from the Police computer.  I don't know how they got the 
address, but apparently either Dark Damsel accessed it from 
there or some cop got lucky.  But the second one.  That came
from Dark Damsel.  She followed the link we set up in the
e-mail.  No question about it."
     "Nice touch, the fake counter.  So, my little hacker lover, 
you got into her computer during the download?"
     "Yes, lover, I did," Kitty replied immodestly.  "It was
easy and I sent us an e-mail.  We now have her real account.
Now we put out the word?"
     "Now we put out the word," The Photographer confirmed.
"Anything else?"
     "Well, from there it wasn't hard to hack into her ISP and 
get her name and address.  Our lovely Dark Damsel is Renee 
Jimson."
     The Photographer laughed his sinister laugh.  "Well, Renee
Jimson, welcome to hell!"

End of Chapter 5 of "Dark Damsel: Damsel in Distress" by Echo


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