[Ewa S]

-= Episode Two =-

Ewa: I've said the last word..... I mean... every extra second I spend talking to this hooded coocoo is a WASTE of time. Plus, I'm sure her eyes are glued are my puuurrrffecctt butt fully featured, and pretty much exposed in this thong leotard bottom, with the fishnet pantyhose beneath it.... By the time you break your gaze, I will be off the roof, and on my way to deliver my own bran of justi---"ACKKKK!!!"

 My thoughts are interrupted as I hear your loud, angry, screeching voice; like fingernails on a chalkboard, and hear the low *pop* of the bola behind my ankles, as the ropes extend and wrap around my feet!! "THE FUU--ARRGHHH!!!" The damn thing tightening around my feet and it sends me falling forwards, in a very UN-dignified manner to the floor, my arms curling, and I land on my forearms, receiving my bodyweight on the guards that run from my wrists to my elbows, the dull *THUD* sound of the padding against the granite making me feel how fortunate my bones are that I have these things on!

 My body twisting immediately, my feet tied together, and I bend my knees to my chest, so I can reach down and unwrap them, as I angrily cuss; "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, WE ARE ON THE SAME SIDE YOU PSYCHO!!!" But you are not even listening, nor standing still.. You're moving, and my eyes widen watching your arm snap one of your tonfas off the sheath, as you rush at me, raising it over your head. And... well, it's times like this, that you make decisions that dictate the difference between eating a tonfa to the skull for a quick concussion; or saving your fucking ass.

 My right arm swinging wildly, aiming with immaculate precision, swinging my whip at your wielded tonfa, letting the end of my whip wrap around it, and I give it a powerful YANK, pulling you... INTO me, to give your body that extra jerk, that should put you out of balance, and send you stumbling into my thrusting, joined legs, as I try to drive my boots into your gut, and fling BACK, monkey flipping you over my body, to crash safely over me, and give me time to free my legs... Using EVERY bit of willpower to not press the button on the shaft of my whip, and electrocute your dumb-FAT-ass right away!


Megan: I mean, I'm obviously outside the GCPD manual - I lost my place in that book when I put on a mask and hood and carried a bunch of illegally obtained armaments in a number of trespasses across the rooftops of private property to commit assault and battery on suspects without a warrant.

 That's so many call codes that I'd sound like I was reading pi calling myself in.

 But even outside The Law, there's some guidelines masks are supposed to follow. If there's a Leaguer in your city, you defer to them. You don't make a move on the big villains without help. You never use lethal force. And you don't pick a fight with another mask on a rooftop while there's a crime being quietly carried out in the street below.

 But you know what?

 YOU are a BITCH, and I'm just gonna smack you in the back of the head with my steel tonfa and make sure you don't get up right away while *I* handle whatever's going on.

 I bring you down with a bolaball, satisfied by the flickering whir of my magnetic gizmo wrapping around your ankles and snapping you down onto your front. But before I can put you down like Bullock knocking a hippie protester cold at Gotham U, you manage to snap your whip at me. I get my tonfa up to block it, but apparently that's what you WANTED, the whip wrapping around my weapon - and I grit my teeth, anticipating a jolt from your capacitors, but instead you just YANK me forward, and I curse something that gets cut off in one syllable before your boots crash into my core as you roll over to meet me.

 "NNHHHHH!" I groan, slamming into your legs before you roll those hips and thrust me up, launching me off your boots. My tonfa is knocked loose, sliding across the roof with a metallic clatter - and Lark glances up, suspicious down below at the faint sound, and then resumes her work, watchful - as I tumble through the air. My arms snap down, breaking my fall a bit with my remaining tonfa and my gloved hand but still feeling the jolt race through me, my armored suit absorbing the impact but feeling the wind blast from me, spilling hot against my filtered mask.

 I roll over to one knee, growling and digging my empty right hand into the granite on the roof, hips swiveling and boots dancing through the air, my hood and mask tightening up as my adrenaline spikes to yellow on my biomonitor, the armor weave in the suit strengthening over my aching back and winded lungs. I take a deep breath, glaring at you as the gold in my goggles shifts to a glaring blue as battle mode engages, scanning you to try to help me deal with you - your whips outlined in pulsing red.

 "We were NEVER on the same side, Zapper," I growl. "NEVER. And I don't fucking CARE if the Bat's willing to let you slide." I spin my tonfa in a whir, and set rise up, taking a fight stance. "This mockery of justice ends TONIGHT," I snarl, and it might not be clear exactly why I'm so angry … but seeing you and the smug bitchy look on your face and your little tarty Zatanna stockings, trying to be a mask, trying to be whatever the magic thing that woke you from the dead apparently wanted you to be …

 …. I look and all I see is the electric blue bitch that killed Officer Ed Kowalski. Twenty five year veteran. Survivor of the Quake. Held the Blue Line against Black Mask. Preparing for retirement. The procedures trainer at the Academy. My friend. He was my FRIEND, and I'm supposed to just let you STRUT AROUND GOTHAM?

 With a snarl I snap my right glove out, flexing my thumb and ring finger to make a sharp SNAP and deploy a sharp blinding flash of magnesium flare from a knuckle launcher, trying to distract you as I move in, hot to swiftly get inside that deadly whip range, reversing the tonfa in my left hand and jabbing it for your belly!


Ewa: It's a good thing that you've underestimated me. And while your bola-shot took me by surprise, your charge did no. The over-telegraphed rush with your tonfa up, resembled the tactics the GCPD employ when they rush rioters and protestors with their batons raised; mainly to intimidate them, and get them to turn heel and run; and I'm neither a hoodrat, nor a GU brat to fall for that.

  I grunt, yanking you by the whip, and right into my boots for a full on monkey flip, and I don't even wait for your back to touch the ground, to move. Just as I finish arching back with the flip, I throw my legs down, bending my knees, and I fling my body forwards, into two forward rolls. The only thing I can do to put some distance with my ankles tied together.

  I land on my feet, in a crouch, and I spin on my right heel, like a ball spinning on the fingertip of a professional basketball player. My right hand still wielding my whip, gripping it tightly, my left reaches down and TUGS on the damn strings wrapping around my ankles. Yanking and twisting them one by one, as I free my legs, hissing.

"God damn it Quis!! Cut it out!! They will fucking get away while I waste my time kicking your ass up here!!"

  I watch you turn and rise to your knees, your mask hiding your expressions, but your voice is showing the RAGE in which you are roaring at me... "The FUCK is your problem?? You're a fucking disgrace!! Wanna be hero, while attacking me from behind!! Now get the FUCK out of my way!!" -- My voice starting to lose it's cool, as you literally ROAR at me that we're not on the same side, and never will be.

  My chest expands, starting to heave, as my wrist monitor starts vibrating lightly, showing off the spike in my heart beat and adrenaline rates. "I won't say it again... Get... OUT... of my fucking way...." My right hand flinging the whip with a louder-than-intended CRACK, that sends a flurry of sparks flying up in the air....

  Down in the street, Lark turns her head up again to the roof, and she spots some of the sparks flying (pun very much intended)... And she turns her head and snaps; "Everyone to the car, NOW!!!" And they start to dash, in a bit of panic, one of the goons dropping a box, a bunch of firearms dropping to the floor, as they throw what they can in the back in the truck and start hauling ass....

  But right now, neither of us noticed.... My eyes are fixated on you... While yours... Well... with that nacho-libre -inspired mask of yours, I can't tell, probably staring at my perfect boobs. "Come on then, bring your fat ass and that Costco mask of yours, I don't want to whoop you, but it doesn't mean I won't enjoy doing ittt----AIIEEEHH!!" I screech as you charge and flick your wrist, the magnesium flare shooting and practically blinding me, the sensors in my visor picking up the bright substance and magnifying it, as tilt my head, my eyes shutting.

  "OOMMPPPHHH!!!!!!"

  A loud grunt leaving my lips, feeling the edge of your tonfa drilling into my abs, and you lead with the LONG side of it, drilling it like a fucking short-sword into my mid-riff... And even with my toned, sculpted abs, I feel the hard jab gouging into my muscle tissue, as I double over, my butt rising, and my boots almost leaving the ground.... I grimace in pain, still blinded, stumbling two steps backwards.

  I try to force my eyes open, my right opening slightly and I can see nothing... just brightness, but bless my visors, picking on your boots, the motion trackers coloring them a dark maroon color opposite to the calm blue of the granite floor. I swing my right arm in a downwards motion, while still stepping back, trying to hook my whip around your left ankle and PULL, trying to sweep your leg from under you, and send you to the hard floor; on your self-righteous ASS.


Megan: I drive the leading end of my tonfa into your tight belly right at the centerline of that slutty suit you probably have to butter yourself into before you go out at night, and there's a lot of anger behind the blow and a grim satisfaction as you fold up around it, my fist tight on the upright handle of the club. I've been harboring a LOT of anger at you, it turns out, and it's all coming out now. All I meant to do tonight was just warn you off and then stop the Penguin's goons from getting whatever they just got in the little transaction taking place in the road below, but the fucking ATTITUDE you have, the SMUGNESS … and you don't fucking DESERVE to be smug. You deserve to be in JAIL

  I don't know what the Bat's kids are thinking, letting you run loose. You didn't even CHANGE that much, you just turned the voltage down to stop murdering people and started targeting sleazebags instead of innocents. I mean, I'm sure no one's paying you now, so that's gotta sting, but here you are, talking like a Southside bitch and waggling your big ass at people and flicking those stupid fucking whips everywhere - and we're all just supposed to PRETEND that you aren't the psycho we had to take down in insulated riot gear, that I didn't have to swing a nightstick at the back of your skull to take you down when you got Ryerson's helmet off and had a whip around his neck? We're supposed to LET you be a mask now, in Gotham, where that still fucking MEANS something?

  This fucking city can put a tarnish on ANYTHING.

  I spin the steel tonfa around in my fist, clenching my right with a ripple of my fingers that reinforces the copper shields on my knuckles. Maybe I can just crack you in the jaw and cuff you up here and worry about it later. Lark isn't stupid - if we keep fighting she's gonna - and then you snap a whip around my boot, and I have time to snarl, "Oh, you fucking B-AAGH!" before you yank my leading foot out from under me, and I topple back and hit the granite of the cathedral's theological office building on my ass, the armorweave of my blue suit absorbing some of the blow but the shock of it running up my spine as I hit with an "UNFFF!", arching my back which has the unfortunate effect of pushing my breasts out - there's no way to wear a bodysuit without showing off some curves, of course.

  And unlike SOME top-heavy sparking sluts on this roof, I don't have an access zipper on the front of mine. Mine has secured hidden electromagnetic tabs, the kind the Question recommended in the Free Thinker's Handbook. But even as I hit the roof and feel the pain sizzle up my back, I see you still haven't electrocuted ME - which is surprising. My suit's insulated, but it'd still be a major advantage for you. I don't know what your fucking game is, holding back on me, but I'm not going to wait around for you to change your mind and shoot wattage through me. And I'm not gonna be the only one disarmed, either. I twist my left fist on the handle of my tonfa.

  The handle gives a ratcheting click, and from the long end of the tonfa a crescent blade emerges, shining blue steel in the moonlight - the Question and Batgirl and a bunch of other street level heroes all recommend against FIGHTING with a blade - although the Cavalier seems to have a different opinion - but they all recommend CARRYING one, and a makeshift axe has helped me get through locked doors and break open cargo crates … and now I swing it in a vicious arc aimed across your whip, trying to slash right through the damn thing before you can jolt me, to try to give me a chance to get my boot free!


 Ewa: The blow to my mid-riff certainly has me reeling... There are tummy shots, and then there are THESE kinds of monstrosities; and taking such a blow from a trained fighter, guiding the point of a dangerous weapon, would knock most grown men down.... But I haven't survived this long, going down to such shots... Okay.. Well... maybe I did not 'survive' this long per se... But I did well damn it!!! I grimace and stagger, but even as I do, I cuss and swing my whip at your boot, letting it latch like one of Poison Ivy's vines, a move I learned from her, I admit without much shame....

  The outcome?? Totally worth it!! Watching your legs fly up in the air and you crash down to your butt.... Of course, that over-sized rear-end of yours padding the landing, as I give the whip an added TUG upwards, growling under my breath, trying to stretch my body upright, ignoring the burning pain in my gut; "You just don't know when to quit, do you??" My teeth clenching, my thumb dangerously close to the zapper button on the hilt of my whip... But... I must resist..... I just fucking must!! I've built so much street cred, and one incident like this, will only reignite all the heat back under my ass.....

  But watching you squirm, while pleasuring, has to stop at one point, I need to put you down, perhaps a heel smash to your kitty, or a heel-drop to your jaw would knock you out long enough so I can go and.....

  ... SCREEECCCCCCCCCCHHHH!!!!

  I hear the sound of tires skidding below, and I don't need to wait for the scent of burning rubber to hit my knows to realize what happened, they are on the run!! FUUUUUCKKK!!!!

  My eyes narrow, as I tilt my head up, seeing the truck racing down the street, followed by a smaller van, and four bikes.... and I cuss, turning my head to you, and I roar; "THEY ARE GETTING AWAY BECAUSE OF YOU, YOU B----!!" My words interrupted by the sight of the shiny blade, lashing through the air, and in one clean sweep, slicing my whip in half, my strained grip on it sending me stumbling back, gasping in horror... My precious whip, now rendered to a mere 3' length, sparks flying from the severed end.. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE??"

  Okay.... Now this is PERSONAL!!! I watch your legs kick up, as you acrobatically throw your body forwards, to rise to your feet again, the whip falling off your ankle loosely now..... But I just roar under my breath, charging at you, my right foot rising, and I plant it on your left knee before you can straighten your leg up fully, thrusting my body up, in a frontal somersault over your, my body coiling in the air, and landing on my feet behind you, back-to-back, my left hand grabbing the severed end of my whip, I toss my arms back to hoop it under your chin, and I use my momentum to bend forwards, yanking and trying to use the whip-lock on your jaw to fling you  over my back, and send you crashing into the large elevator control box in front of me!!


Megan: I grin behind my blue mask - which between the mask, goggles and hood is almost impossible to tell, except for maybe a crinkling of my cheeks - as the blue blade slashes through your whip. Forensics said you'd apparently made your gear yourself when you operated as Zapper. Me, I never figured you were smart enough, but you sure seem to take it personally when I cut your toy in half. I spin the tonfa in a sharp counter-clock, retracting the blade back into the shaft, and lithely kick up to my feet - only to find you already in motion, and fuck if you're not faster than I thought.

  You come at me in a rush, stepping off my knee as I land from my kip-up, and tumbling over me as I swipe at you with my tonfa, just missing a club shot across your lower back before you land behind me. I reverse the club, intending to jab it back into your kidney and leave you pissing blood for a week, but you snatch the severed whip under my jaw, the wire and segmented steel digging in under the plate of my blue filtered mask, hauling me to my toes with a "GNNNH!" of snarled frustration before you snap forward and YANK me over you, my legs flashing up overhead as I tumble through the air, a line of hot pain in my jaw that only has just a second to get registered before its shoved aside by a much bigger pain.

  I CRASH into the control box, crumpling the steel as my back slams into it, and sparks shoot out around me in a fountain - and some part of me dimly registers that we're gonna be drawing attention up here. "UNNNNNNNNGHHHHH!" I groan, my armorweave suit radiating the worst of the impact away from the crash point so I don't get any bones broken, but the pain is still huge and intense, the wind blasted out of me as I topple to the roof with a heavy thud, the crunched box smoldering and sparking above me. I clutch at my back instinctively even though the pain is really everywhere, my head ringing like the cathedral bells and whiting out my view as my goggles bring up a lot of information from my spiking biomonitor.

  I shake my hooded head, and slam my left fist into the roof, drawing up one knee under me and forcing myself up to that knee, planting my right boot on the smooth granite and growling as I press myself up. This is … this is beyond the fucking pale right here. Your idiocy and swaggering let the Penguin's goons get clear, at least according to the audio pickup from my Waverider earpiece, and now you're FIGHTING me? Fuck, I wish I had my daytime uniform on so I could add assaulting a police officer to the other charges I'm gonna run you in on.

  I stay crouched on one knee a moment, taking slow filtered breaths through my mask, trying to ease myself as the pain from that high speed crash races through me, getting my head back together a breath at a time. Because, see, I don't think you're gonna run off after chucking me at a wall. I think you're a vindictive bitch and you're gonna try to make this a fight you can WIN, somehow.

  So I ease my hand fro my lower back and twist my right gauntlet, arming a weapon from the bracer around my wrist under the gauntlet, and wait, my left fist and right boot resting on the roof, waiting for you to come in close.


 Ewa: They're gone.... They are fucking GONE, and I'm left without my prey for today.... And all because of this over-zealous, over-rated, over-costumed TART.... Gawd, I don't know what's worse, the criminals of this city, or the moronic wannabe-vigilantes, who are dripping idiocy and crass like you. And for the third time within minutes, I restrain myself from pressing the zapper button on my now, torn apart whip... Not really in fear of getting electrocuted myself... Since the 'incident', my body's chemistry has shifted, and small electric shocks do little more than tickle me.... No, I'm still trying to protect this hooded meathead!

   I fly through the air, landing on my heels, and with a backwards THRUST, I slam my tight butt into the tub of lard that is your rear end, bending forwards to initiate the throw... And well... Okay.... Your ass is not as fat as I expected... Unless that fall you received to your butt just bruised and hardened it instantly.... But I strain, feeling my sore abs scream with pain, the tonfa jab you delivered reverberating through the muscle tissue.. But like always... hard work, reaps worthy rewards!!! And I witness a very rare sight indeed.... A flying masked skank!! Your body propelled through the air and crashing into the box, denting it in, as sparks fly everywhere, puffs of black smoke rising from the fried fuses.

  And well, while my instincts are telling me to turn heel, dash and pounce off the roof to the awnings below, and give pursuit, my logic just shuts it down; there is no way I can catch up with them, and if I do... I do not have the element of surprise, or a fully functioning whip.... But fuck me if I'm going home without satiating my call to clean up these streets... If I'm not going back to my hideout with one of those goons as a trophy, I'm dragging back this hooded slut instead!!!

  My right hand gripping the hilt of my whip, but it's starting to come to life, flinch around, like a snake with it's head severed, sparks flying off it, and I cuss, swinging my arm to the side, and sending it across the roof to land few feet away from us..... Turning my head to you, I hiss in a cruel voice..... "You'll pay for a new whip, bitch... "

  And as you push your left knee under you, and plant your right foot to the floor, I bend forwards, planting both of my palms to the floor, and I sweep my legs around, with a speed that would make a break-dancer gawk; and precision that would make a gymnast go green with envy, kicking your right booted foot from under you, and sending you crashing down to your butt again. "STAY DOWN!!!"

  My feet pressing to the floor, I thrust my body up, balling my fists, and tilting my torso to the left, my right foot coming up, and I push my boot under your chin, as you sit crouched on your butt, back to the spark and smoke spewing fuse box.... Every fiber of my body telling me to just... LEAN IN... and CRUSH... But I contain myself... Ignoring the red that I'm figuratively AND literally seeing through my visor; as my vitals are all red-zoning right now.....

  "But you know what, I'll probably collect in your screams and bruises. You probably couldn't afford it, on your paycheck as the Quiz-Nos mascot..." My voice taking a turn to sarcasm, as I start to feel in control..... " Speaking of which, shouldn't your colors be green to match???" I taunt you cockily, leaning a bit more, to add more pressure to your windpipe.... Not too much Ewa... Just a little bit... Resist the urge....


Megan: I hear the whip scatter across the roof and spark somewhere off to the side, and then you hiss at me and come in sharply, sweeping your legs through my unsteady stance and dropping me back to the roof in a tumble. "NNNNGH!" I grunt, groaning a sharp "FUCK!" as my planted foot and hand are scythed out from under me, hitting the roof on my side. I roll back, forcing myself up to my ass, my back against the shielded wires and crumpled fuse-shattered elevator control box I was so recently introduced to. It's always nice to renew acquaintances.

  You push your boot under my chin and I snarl behind my mask, arching my back and lifting my breasts to ease the pressure a little, forced to stare up the length of your leg at your ridiculous centerfold body. What the hell are you doing to get curves like that? I bet it's surgery. You probably had them implanted by fucking Hugo Strange or something. You're probably all silicone and ReNu. Nothing else could explain a fucking body like yours. Not that I really APPRECIATE it much with your fucking boot pressed to my throat.

  I tense up, prepared for an immediate fight against a lethal attack, but you seem content to just fucking purr at me like Catwoman in heat, making some joke I don't fucking get right away - I don't even fucking eat at chain restaurants, not when Gotham has the best hero sandwiches in the world at Harmon's Deli - and you press more against my throat, quickening my breathing. My O2 monitor starts to spike a little as my goggles whir, scanning you. And I snarl as I arch my back and give you just what you want for a moment ...

  … choking under your foot, my tits pushed up and outlined in taunt deep blue, my tight abs stretched, my hips lifted. Looking fucking helpless. Looking DELICIOUS, I bet, to a reputed nympho like you - they say you even fucked Bane, and THAT takes some serious whoring - and I let you drink in the view a moment before I snarl and thrust my right fist up, my hand flipping up and the wrist nozzle in my bracer deploying, like I'm about to shoot webs at you like that urban legend about the Spider-Guy from New York - but instead a jet of high-velocity pepper spray shoots out. I bet your visor will probably keep those slutty greedy eyes safe, but not your fat nose or big fucking mouth!

  I lost my second tonfa in the crash, leaving us both relatively weaponless, but I do have a witty rejoinder for your bitchy commentary, slapping my gloves against the concrete wall of the elevator housing and lifting my hips, my right leg snapping up and out in a wide sharp arc that's not gonna win any awards for flashiness or make it into highlight reels - it's just a short, snapping soccer-style kick with a lot of power behind it aimed to drive the toe of my reinforced black boot up between those thick thighs of yours to give you something ELSE to enjoy while you snack on my pepper spray!

  "I'M not the one who's gonna end up paying tonight, bitch. You've got a FUCKLOAD of outstanding bills," I snarl.


Ewa:  It's easy to get carried away, when rage takes over..... And while I have been mostly 'good' since I was 'brought back'.... I have had few episodes.... Like that time I saw some Two-face lackeys breaking that guy's arm, just because he was trying to protect his wife and two kids.... I lost it.... I pounced at them from three stories above, and using the back of the neck of one of the goons to break my fall... I was coming down with my knee, you see, so I needed something soft.... He went out right away, and relatively speaking, he was the least harmed one.... That squad.... Well, let's say I didn't use any zapping at all.... I went good old hand-to-hand on them.....

  And when I was done, they looked like broken dolls on the ground... Arms broken and joints dislocated. And it felt.... it felt GOOD... But also, terrible at the same time... For the first time I realized that I could lose control... What if next time, I ended up taking another life?? What if I liked it then?? A slippery slope Ewa... a very slippery slope....

  And right now, with my boot pressing against your throat, I just stare at your masked face.. Your fingers wrapped around my ankle, as the fishnets on my right thigh bulged with the fine lines of muscle of my quads and hamstrings.... And I knew, I was loving the feeling.... To have someone under my mercy, under my control..... And those moans coming from under the mask... Those gasps.... Groans.... Shudders... Oh, they were music... Borderline erotic, I dare say..... And I couldn't help but bite the left corner of my lip, okay... just few more seconds, then I'll release the poor thing, she's probably learned her mistake by nowwWWWWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!

  The spray comes out of no where... All I saw is your right hand leaving my ankle, your palm curling back, and then there was the spray.... Squirting in a steady stream hitting my visor, strainning the vision, but also hitting my unprotected nostrils and lips... The same lip that I had slightly parted, as I bit on its corner!! And FUCK it stung!!! And even before the Millions worth of Scoville points got the chance to enflame my nasal package, and the taste buds on my tongue to recognize the burning sensation of the pepper spray... Your powerful right leg shot up in a vicious, short trip, driving the front of your boot square into my exposed pussy!!!

  The blow powerful enough it actually lifted my left foot almost an inch off the floor, or was it the twitch in my calf from the sudden, overwhelming, multi-sourced pain, that did it as I screamed, retracting my right leg, my thighs closing as I pressed them together, bending at the knees, my mouth widening, and SUCKING in air in pain.... Air that is pretty much filled by MORE pepper-spray mist that now filled my nostrils and throat, making me SCREAMMMMM in pain and collapse to my knees, my body bending, resting my head on the concrete, alternating between GASPING and COUGHING, spittle and drool running from my mouth, pooling on the dirty floor....

Holy shit cakes…. I’m FUCKED !!!

-= End of Episode Two =-

[/quote]

[Anna the Marine Chick]

Damn.... My kitty hurts just reading this!!! Great job!!!

[LilMishyRocks]

So as I finished Episode 2,  it became quite apparent that this epic has pushed the FCF posted matches into the realm of Literary Art---with this match serving as the standard-bearer.  Well done, ladies, well done!  I loved it!

PS  Was I the only one in whose head the line, "Hello. My name is Renee Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die," popped up??   Just asking....   

[BustyTiffany35]

This is so freakin' great, I absolutely LOVE this!! More please

[Michelle]

So as I finished Episode 2,  it became quite apparent that this epic has pushed the FCF posted matches into the realm of Literary Art---with this match serving as the standard-bearer.  Well done, ladies, well done!  I loved it!

PS  Was I the only one in whose head the line, "Hello. My name is Renee Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die," popped up??   Just asking....  

Blame it on the French...

When studying French…as I did in a past life…which is one reason why my head exploded…you came to the indisputable finality that the gender of French nouns was chosen totally at random by a bunch of fiendish…perverse linguists!

The aforementioned quote…

“My name is Renee Montoya…you killed my father...prepare for lesbian sex”

Is entirely appropo…

The masculine form would therefore be…

“My name is Inigo Montoya...you killed my father…bend over”

The proper response being…

Lawsuit filed for copyright issues by “Princess Bride” lawyers Dewey, Cheetum and Howe…

Just saying...

[Jessi the Country Cougar]

Someone call Hollywood and tell them to get their money back that they wasted on that Batman vs Superman disaster, because here's a blockbuster that's going to push profit margins so high the International Space Station will need a different orbit.

[Ewa S]

-= Episode Three =-

Megan: The rain beats down harder as I face you across the rooftop, and lightning crashes overhead, rending the sky with the savage fury the heavens seem to have against the very idea of Gotham having a peaceful night. I clutch at my aching arm, my whole body feeling the force of our brawl so far. None of the Bat's kids have shown up yet, which means they might be busy somewhere, and Black Canary or Huntress haven't shown up to scold us and drag us back to Oracle for a talking-to, so the all-seeing eye of Gotham must be looking elsewhere. It's just us. That's probably not a good thing for either of us.

 You ripped my fucking mask off. The rain runs down my naked face, my pale cheeks shining with it, soft lips parted as I pant. I tug the hood back up over my tightly-raked back light brown bun of hair, and my goggles hide my wide hazel eyes, but this is still the face that was so twisted with righteous fury when I broke into your hideout in the slums with a handful of MCU officers to bring you in. This is the face that showed such satisfaction when I clocked you in the back of the fucking skull with a slightly non-regulation nightstick - a heavier model reinforced with metal, used in Metropolis and popularly called the Turpin.

 This is the face that watched you die in the electric chair.

 And my lips curve in a half-grin, a sort of sly smirk. My goggles flick from burning red to gold, scanning you again through the slashing rain. "You know who I am … Marlena." I say your name deliberately. I read your fucking file. I read it over and over before the courts finally put you away.

 And I run in swiftly, hoping to catch you off-guard, using your name like an icy slap across the face as I rush in, charging straight at you, twisting my hips to put my right shoulder towards as I bring my arm up, chambering it and aiming a thrusting back elbow smash right into your fucking visor, seeing if I can maybe break your gear up a little. My left arm clutches at my side, aching, but the rest of me is a surge of adrenaline. Saying your name drove me back to my purpose here tonight. I vowed to keep these streets free of trash. And that means you're on the next garbage scow on the Finger River, you psycho bitch.



Ewa: Time itself slows down at this moment. Both glaring at each other, with nothing but the sounds of our heavy hearts pounding in our chests, like drums of war. The spaced out bleeps of our bio-scanners, alerting us to the red-lining of our measurements as we stare at one other's faces. It takes me few moments, of your pretty features registering into my senses; for my mind to dig up the memories burrowed deep within the gray matter of my mind, to finally know where I saw you before....

 And then, you utter my name... Not Blitz.... not Zapper.... But Marlena......

 And my heart skips a beat... "... You... " I whisper in a voice raspy and low enough you probably do not hear.... Lightning flashes, overloading my neural sensors with the bright light, and making me squint my eyes, then blink my eyes twice.... But you only needed one of these blinks, to be there.... upon me...... Rushing me in the midst of my shock, my mind and body in a total lockdown, as a flurry of distant memories and emotions come flooding in.....

 And I move, but it's too late, you're already spinning and your elbow comes CRASHING into my visor with a loud *CRACKKKK!!!!* The glass not shattering, but four long cracks run from the corners to the point of impact, as the display goes nuts, flashing yellow, green, blue and red in quick succession. "Motherfucker!!!!" I yelp in pain, the padded edges of the visors jamming into my face, and I can feel it almost digging into my flesh, as my neck whiplashes back, and I go flying backwards, my lithe body arching through the air, almost comically (ha!!) my own feet leaving the floor as I fly backwards and towards a VERY painful crash into the ground!!! And for a good measure, the blow sending my other boob bursting from the nearly fully suit!!



Megan: The sweet shock that runs up my arm is fucking delicious. My blue bodysuit has reinforcements at the elbows and knees, thicker weaves of the carbon nanotube ballistic fiber and metal threads that run through my suit that give a little pep when I hit someone with an elbow or a knee -and the CQC instructor at the Academy, Sergeant Vimes, really fucking encourages people to use their elbows and knees. He's an old school cop - practically medieval. I drop you with the scything back elbow, twisting my hips to throw my weight behind the blow, and I grin with dark satisfaction as you drop to the rooftop.

 I stand over you in the slashing rain, shaking out my right arm and flexing the gloves on my hands, lining up the weighted copper-studded knuckles. "Yeah, you know who the fuck I am," I snarl. "And you know why a fucking PSYCHO like you doesn't get a free fucking pass." I bend down clutching at the lapels of your suit, my black leather gloves brushing the edges of your bared, bouncing breasts, and I'm so fucking intense right now that I barely ogle them at all, even when my goggles scan them for spatial analysis. I lean down close, my left arm aching and the grip on that side weaker, my back creaking as I bend over, standing by your left hip on the stone roof of the old Victorian Auction House, clutching at your collar.

 "God might've forgiven you, Marlena, but the GCPD fucking hasn't," I snarl at you, and YANK you up, trying to haul your upper body upwards as I release you with my right fist and haul my fist back, curling it and LAUNCHING forward with a high overhand haymaker!



Ewa: Laying on my back, I moan.... But not in pain, and certainly, not in arousal.... No, it's something else.... It's a deep, guttural moan that has been trapped in my chest for over a year now.... Suppressed and smothered by the amnesia caused by the trauma of the execution. My mind has always been hazy around that night. And the only bits I recall are flashes that haunt my dreams, or shall I say nightmares. Ones that I never trusted to be true.... But now... Now I remember you... Your face that I saw only briefly in the reflection of my large OLED monitor in my hideout, before you smashed my skull in with your nightstick.... That now I think of, looks way too similar to the tonfas I disarmed you of earlier....

 The face that was sitting there, behind the glass, looking at me with a mixture of contempt, and satisfaction; moments before everything went dark.... And now, that same face is looming down at me, but there is no satisfaction in it, only contempt; at a job that you surely consider not finished; and who knows, maybe you're contemplating the idea of RE-finishing it yourself now......

 You bend down and grab my suit, and yank me up, your strength more than enough to jerk my upper body off the concrete floor, and I groan, tilted to my left, as you hold the now saggy collar of my body suit. Another powerful YANK and I watch your right fist ball up, curl back and SWING for my head.... And I groan, swinging my arms both up, and *THWAAAPPP!!!!!* Your fist collides, but not with my face, but right into my raised palms, that I bring up to the side of my face, and I see your eyes widen in rage... "... Fuck you... and fuck your impotent GCPD.... Now I know where your sloppy fighting style comes from...."

 And squeezing my fingers on your knuckle, throw my body back, pulling on your arm, and in the same time, hearing a RIIIIIIIIPPPP from MY suit, as you stretch and tear at the collar line, while kicking my left leg up, and trying to hammer it into your opened up armpit, trying to jam my heel into your exposed lymph nodes!



Megan: I snarl in fury as you catch a looping punch that Sergeant Vimes would have cursed me out the door and into the street for. It was emotional, and there's no room for emotion when you're trying to fight effectively. Emotion makes you do stupid, showy shit, instead of quick, efficient attacks. I wanted to punch your stupid face so hard that your teeth would scatter across the roof like spilled jellybeans, and I paid for it by getting my fist caught. You might be a psycho bitch, but you're not an ineffective one - getting work for scumbags AND surviving as a mask as long as you have has honed your edge.

 Your boot lashes up and catches me under the arm, and even with the armorweave flexing to absorb some of the punishment it's still a brutalizing attack, sending a spasm up my arm and down my side. There's armorweave there but not much in the way of protective muscle or ribs, and the kick feels like a damn stab wound. "HNNNNAAAGH!" I snarl as my body is rocked, my breasts jolting painfully in the suit and my body twitching to the side.

 I stagger back, my curling arm ripping my wet glove and suit free of your grip as I move in a drunk's stumble, my sore left arm crossing my chest to clutch at my aching side, feeling aftershocks run through me like winter shivers. I pant, snarling at you like an a Crime Alley dog, pressing my back to the concrete enclosure housing the now-useless elevator, the crumpled box dripping with rain.

 "You never should've left Arkham, shithouse rat," I growl through locked teeth, wincing as pain shifts from my shoulder to my underarm.



Ewa: You're fucking lucky as SHIT that you're wearing this armor weave suit!!! If not, the power of my upwards kick on your stretched arm would have probably popped it out of the socket.... But I still smirk, hearing your sweet, sweet grunt, as I release your wrist, curling my legs back to my chest and thrusting them, in an arch to land on my feet, annnnndddd.... not without that bounce of my exposed boobs, that still send a little blush to my cheek.... "I don't think I'm the one who should be in there, you psycho BITCH!!!"

 My visor is cracked, and it's really bothering me, as the full-sized display keeps flickering, bouncing you around, but I need to use my instincts more than ever to triangulate your position... I can't afford the time to take it off right now, and heck, a cracked visor is still a better protection to my face than no visor at all... And as the rain droplets keep pounding on the top of my head, causing my two ponytails to thicken, weight down and stick to the back of my neck, I thrust my body forwards, bending down, pivoting on my left foot, and I SPIN on my right heel, aiming a roundhouse kick with my left foot towards your smug right cheek!!



Megan: I'm getting rocked around this fucking roof by this nutjob! My left arm is sore with every movement and now there's pain radiating from under my right arm along my ribs. My back is still fucked up from getting chucked across the roof. My suit is strained, my mask torn away, and I'm bruised all over under the ballistic fiber. I'm panting, chest rising and falling deeply with every deep breath. My biological scans are racing, a flicker of bright graphs in the HUD from my goggles - but even through the silver slashing rain I see you, rising up and coming after me, your Harley-ish pigtails hanging down your back. Your bare fucking tits are … I don't even KNOW how to deal with that.

 I mean, yes, every single female vigilante and criminal in Gotham seems to paint themselves into their outfit. I'm no different - getting a suit made meant getting a fucking bodysuit, because I couldn't find a crafter on the black market willing to make a set of anonymous riot armor like I originally wanted. At least I can move well in it - and unlike some people on this rooftop I have everything tucked away under my tab-locked suit. The free energy pack that powers my goggles and my tasers and my biosensors is still keeping the tabs locked tight - except I need to get some better ones installed on my fucking facemask, apparently.

 And you're just coming after me, of course, because why would a psycho let a little thing like bare tits or a sense of karma stop her from attacking a police officer? You move like fucking lightning through the storm, fast as anyone I've ever fought, and your leg lashes out high in a graceful kick that'd take my damn head off if it connected. I drop down, my legs bending low, the curve of my ass sliding down the wet concrete, dipping to the heels of my boots as your kick whips through the storm above my head, just missing me and proving that God or possibly Zeus or the Phantom Stranger (I have a hard time keeping up with theology) loves me.

 I lunge up, a deep growl behind my locked snarling teeth, and come right at you, rain pelting me and lightning flashing off my fury and the sheen of my glowing goggles as I come in just behind the high looping kick, driving my right knee up and pistoning it for your bared belly just above the low zipper as my gloved hands move to clasp your shoulders, moving my right hand to try to wrap the reinforced black synthleather around your smooth white throat if the knee drives home into your gut. "I'm not the one who's fucking KILLED people, ZAPPER." I snarl into your ear, as our dialectical debate on the nature of morality continues, twisting my hips to try to SLAM your back into the concrete wall behind me by the throat!



Ewa: Leading the charge now, I fucking mean business.... It's not everyday that you get to meet your... killer?? ... in a sense... Yeah, in many ways, you were the reason that I got murdered.... Or rather... executed... If we are to be technical.... You're the one who lead the arrest, and sat there, grinning while the electric shock took my life... or... what you thought it did.... And I will *NOT* waste this chance, to show you my 'gratitude' to the little gift you gave me.....

 I can feel certain emotions that I have not felt in a long time.... The instincts of the cold, remorseless killer that laid dormant since my return; blossoming in my chest, and spreading like a cancerous fire, bringing so much darkness to my heart... Calling for vengeance.... For pain... But.... I know I have to control it... To stop myself form unleashing that ugly beast at you, for it would mean that everything I've done is for naught....

 And maybe in a way, it's that struggle, that hesitation that might have slowed my reflexes just a bit, giving you a wide open berth to not only duck, but spring your body up under my swaying roundhouse, to hammer the re-enforced knee of your suit right into my gut, just below my belly button, your knee catching the fly of the zipper, and jamming it into my flesh, for a little extra bit of pain, as I double over, and gasp, feeling like I'm about to expel my innards through my mouth.

 The gasp not even allowed to finish, your right hand clamping on my throat, and I groannnn in pain, feeling your fingers close on the bare skin of my throat, expertly, like the expert combatant that you are, to control my entire body and spin me, to slam my back into the wall, and causing me to gasp and gag.... My eyes widening under my cracked visor, staring at you... as you call me again that name..... My hands moving up to grab your wrist, but I groan, your fingers closing more on my throat, and I start to gasp and drool, feeling your body push into me.... Pinning me, and making your moral dilemma quite evident.... You haven't killed... YET... But would you tonight?

 Well, I guess I better make DAMN SURE you're not in a position to decide.... And knowing that tugging on your arm anymore would only prompt you to squeeze and crush my throat more, I let go, my arms moving as fast as I can.... My left sliding under your right armpit, and curling around your back, my palm pressing into your back and I PULL you into me, in a little hugging motion, mashing my exposed chest into your lightly armored more....

 While my right hand moves down, to the little gadget that I saw clipped to your belt.... The grappling gun.... And in one fluid motion, I pull it out of your belt, pointing it at one of the little stone chimneys 20 or so feet behind you... and I PULL the trigger, bracing myself, as I HUG you tight.... Trying to send us both across the room, to slam your back (again) into the wall behind you!!



Megan: I snarl at you in the rain, my fingers locked around your throat. I need to get you off the fucking streets. You're a psycho, and I know better than anyone in the city how dangerous you are. You might've gotten the Bat-family's good graces - I dunno, maybe fucking Superman put in a good word for you since you both came back from the dead - and NO, I still don't fucking know what it means that you were brought back from the dead, but the bedrock of my fucking mora convictions says that this right here is to be your last god damn night on my streets. And I lean in, my fingers tightening on that smooth through, the rain running down your cracked visor and over your ridiculously gorgeous breasts.

 And I slow, just for a moment, taking a deep breath, my fingers relaxing just for a moment.

 Because what the FUCK am I doing?

 What the fuck are you doing, Officer Megan Trent? Is this what the Academy was for? Is this what the badge is? I'm not wearing my GCPD badge - except I am. I always am. It's tattooed on my left bicep, like the Gotham City municipal flag tattooed across my shoulders. I wear my fucking city on my skin and carry it in my heart. And is this what it's all for?

 Is this justice?

 My goggles' golden glare dims a moment as my fingers ease for just a moment, and my furious adrenaline-spiked mind ratchets down a single degree towards rationality and away from the axial tilt of frenzy. And of course, that's when you wrap your arms around me, your bare breasts mashing my chest in my armorweave suit, which doesn't do a super good job of protecting me from THAT kind of sensation. And I draw in a sharp breath, my cheeks flaring with sudden roses of color I'm not even aware of.

 And then I hear the distinctive PFFF-WZZZZZZZZZH of my grapple gun, and my goggles flip to red. "Oh, FUCKIN' H-AAAAAAAAAAAH!" I yowl as we're HAULED back by the belt at my hip, with you wrapped around me before I CRASH into the brick chimney, hard enough to send masonry scattering across the roof with a dry and ovened CLATTER and crunch, and my goggles flare with an overload of input as my body bursts with a white shatter of pain behind my eyes.

 "UGGHHHHHNNNHHH ..."

 I slump forward, my arms going ragdoll, hooded head hanging on your shoulder, body jolting with pain as a couple of the shattered electromagnetic tabs at the back of my suit give way with little fizzing sparks, and the back of my suit peels open with a series of silky snaps, baring my tattooed and bruised back as I hang on you, taking slow ragged pained breaths.



Ewa: Desperate times... I remember hearing about that showdown, between Catwoman and Batgirl.... Many many years before I even did my first job.... One of these wives tales about the time the Bat found them both unconscious, laying inside a small locked room, with a huge hole in the wall that they propelled through with their own bodies..... No one knew how the hole was created, or even if the story was true... But if there any truth to it, then the moment I squeezed the trigger on that grappling gun, and our bodies felt that sudden JOLT, going from standing still to freaking rocket-speed; makes me strongly suspect a grappling hook involved in that incident!!

 Your words are a blur, the momentum making our bodies SQUEEEZEE even tighter, as my arm is jerked by the grip on the gun, and I hold on TIGHT, sending us like a cannonball of flesh and bone to SLAM into the brick wall; and lucky for us, it's not concrete, one of the few red brick portions of this roof, and yet, the impact makes us both GASP, my breasts squished, mushrooming against your covered ones, hearing loud cracks and snaps and bricks cracking and shattering, gravel flying everywhere, as you recoil, slumping into me, and I lose my grip on the gun and we crash down to the ground... winded.....

 Your body is laying atop of mine.... and even though I ate total SHIT with the impact, it's you who must have taken the worst of it, being sandwiched between me and the wall, in some way easing the impact.... But right now, I feel like every bone in my body has turned to powder, and I moan, pushing up on your shoulders and I throw you off me, rolling you to my left.... And I lay down, my lips wide, trying to catch some air, but my lungs are not responding... for few seconds before a loud GASSSPPP wheezes out, as I fill my lungs with air, then start coughing.....

 I don't know how long I lay there, hearing your moans and gasps, before I push on my left elbow, gasping and getting up.... My head is spinning, but I still force myself to turn and slide my body over you... my left knee resting to the ground outside your hip, while my right heel presses to the concrete outside your right one, in a half-crouch.... My left hand reaching down, and I grab your collar, giving you a mild JERK up, lifting your shoulders off the ground, watching your head lol down a little bit... I ball my right fist, keeping it to my side, and I try to speak....

 "COUGH... COUGH... COUGH!!!"

 FUCK!! My body shudders, and my grip on you slacks a bit, but I tighten it, and try again.....

 "COUGH... Have... COUGH... you... had.. COUGH COUGH... enough.... yet???"



Megan: I'm just stirring awake, water running down my suit. My goggles flicker and lights flash as they sense my return to consciousness, flashing by a series of alerts. Contusions, tissue damage, abrasions. Nothing broke, amazingly, thanks to the Kord Industries armorwear. My body temperature is down a bit, my face soaked in rain. I flex my toes, making sure they can still move in my tall heavy boots. Before I can get any further in my slow check-up, you suddenly remind me of why I'm here, rising up over me and pressing your body to mine, a not altogether unpleasant way to wake up except for the who and the why parts.

 My back is cold, bare skin pressed against the wet granite, and it takes me a moment to realize my suit is fucking open down the back, from just under my hood to the small of my back. I realize that a lot more when you take me by the collar and lift my head and shoulders off the roof, and the suit peels up from my breasts and belly, tented and clenched in your fist. You cough down at me, apparently a little jolted by our fucking Red Rocket thrill ride into the chimney, and your shoulder rolls as your free arm tenses. My head lolls a little, my hood falling back, letting my unraveling honey brown hair free, soaking and darkening in the rain.

 You glare down at me behind your cracked visor, and my gloved hand slides to my hip. There's not too much gear I carry BOTH as a cop and as a vigilante - pepper spray, a club (or two), and cuffs … but there's one thing that The Question insists EVERYONE should carry, citizen or vigilante, cop or crook. And my right hand curls around it as I look up at you through the red glow of my goggles, outlining your face in perfect clarity. I know that face so well. Staring at your file photos in my cop-salary apartment in Robbinsville while the trial was going. I wondered how you got made into what you became. I see a little of it now, in the furious lines on that beautiful face. I see the pain there, buried so deep its in your fucking soul. Or maybe I'm just fucking concussed.

 My breath is hot and ragged, and I feel my skin glistening with chill rain and my suit peeling off me, inch by inch. And it's an act of sheer will to bring my aching arms into motion. My right hand comes up, elbow curling tight, right hand wrapped around a 200-lumens tactical flashlight designed by Hoshi Industries, and my left hand comes up and claws my gloved hand under your visor, fingers curling by that elegant nose as I try to yank your cracked tactical visor up and off that pretty face as I FLASH the blinding bright light up at you, trying to sear those retinas a little and shrink your pupils to fucking pinpoints!

 "Not … YET."



Ewa: Say yes... Fucking... Just... DO IT.. Say that you've had enough, and let this fucking SHIT SHOW of a night come to an end!! We'll both go our ways, stay in bed for a fucking week nursing our bruises... At least I will, you'll probably have to go to work tomorrow to direct traffic or help some school kids cross some street..... "Fucking... SAY IT!!" I roar again under my breath... The cracks in my visor have suddenly multiplied, and deepened. There is no fixing this shit... I'll have to raid Victor Fries old lab again, trying to scavenge for some older model to use... GAWD I FUCKING HATE YOU!!!

 The flickering on the visor is just becoming epilepsy inducing, and honestly that slam into the wall, might have snapped enough fuses in my head to get me to seize up.. So i bring my right hand up and SMACK the size of the visor violently, trying to get it to stop, one way or another... Roughly banging it with my hand..... cussing under my breath..... "COME ON!!!" -- My frustrated voice is not really aimed at either you, or the visor... perhaps a bit of both......

 But the distraction, and rather OVER-confidence, and pre-mature assumption that you are out for, costs me... And while you do me the courtesy of *helping* me with the visor *cough cough*, your fingers snapping under the lower part, your fingers burrowing against my flesh, that's very much dented in, where the frame of the visor smashed in after your elbow, I yelp in pain and shock, as you pull the damn thing up and off, slipping it off my face, and my eyes squint instinctively, with your alien fingers so close to my eyes...

 But it's not an eye gouge that comes in, no.. It's the freaking SUN.. As you flash the military-grade flashlight right into my eyes, and I SCREAM, beaming it through my cornea and directly against my retina; flooding my optical nerve by the ultra-bright light and making me CRY in pain, my body snapping back, my visor slipping off my head with the thick rubber straps sliding up, pulling my pony tails along with it as they slide from between the straps.. My body arching back, my palms coming up to cover my eyes; "AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!! -- YOU SNEAKY PIECE OF ------- !!"



Megan: I toss the visor aside, letting it thud across the roof to join the increasingly large heap of gear we're leaving behind up here. I sure hope whichever of us walks away remembers to pick this stuff up, or it's gonna be in a pawn shop at 50th Ave and Wayne Street tomorrow. I click the light off again, my goggles losing their quick-darkening polarization as the blast of light that outshone the lightning for a moment fades, and I see you, see that whole face. Marlene Sodorki, orphan from the South Side, the Electrokiller of Mother of Mercy Orphanage, Zapper, and now fucking Blitz. I still can't even really sit up, catching at your left shoulder to stop from falling back to the wet rooftop on my bared back, still pulsing with heat and pain.

 But I also can't miss following up on moment. I tighten my right fist around the short thick titanium barrel of the Hoshi tac flash, and drive my fist forward in a short, heavy arc of a blow aimed between those lush rain-soaked bare breasts, at your sternum. We've both had the everloving fuck kicked out of us across this rooftop, and we're still going, so I try to think clever like the Bat and try to fuck up your breathing, driving in a short weighted hammerblow between those exquisite tits with the double intent of trying to make breathing agonizing and to try to knock you sprawling off me across the rain-soaked roof, towards the lightning-lit tilted beauty of the stained glass skylight of St. Michael and his foe.

 "There's no such thing … as dirty fighting … in Gotham." I pant, quoting a favorite aphorism of cops and vigilantes alike. It's practically the city motto. It's tattooed on my right bicep in Latin - Nihil Tale Pugnae Gotham Sordescere !!



Ewa: My head arches back, palms pressing into my eye sockets, screaming... My eyes are closed AND my hands are covering them, and I still see a bright red light... Signs of minor damage to my freaking retina!!! And while I hope it's temporary, it's there, and it fucking BURNS!!! Screaming so loud, I'm effectively deafening myself.... My mouth gaped, the heavy rain dripping right into it, hammering my pink tongue and my throat directly.... A long, sustained WAIL, and ironically, the only thing that's stopping me from falling back and off you, is your left hand gripping my right shoulder.....

 My suit is slightly sagged down my shoulders down, and your palm is grabbing flesh only, my breasts hanging out, and ripe for you rising fist to SLAM between them... Your gloved hand slipping right between the orbs to hammer into my sternum, and that shuts me up, IMMEDIATELY!! My howl turning to a gasp, my body jolting, another shot, and another time my lungs shut down, gasping, feeling your left hand tighten on my right shoulder and you PULL me off you and to the left, and we go rolling... Your body not atop of mine.... In a very similar fashion to how I was above you....

 I'm gasping, coughing, gagging completely... My eyes are still blinded, and right now, I can barely breathe... Hearing you hiss your words... Almost.. taunting me.... And in this darkness, I can't see how your own suit is slowly sliding down your shoulders, the back open, but the front mag-clasps still in place, hiding your bosom, and still way too tight to let the suit slide down your arms.... Fine..... You want to... lecture me... on dirty fighting.... Let me.. Show... a GLIMPSE... of the zapper.....

  My arms shoot up, and I clamp my hands on front of your suit, my palms, cupping each of your breasts... Which are... not hard to find, even in my blinded state... considering how you're perched on me... And for a moment, my fingers ... almost like a lover, about to knead and fondle your perky breasts ... Something I actually seem to be about to engage into... But not for love... Although... Mmmrrrrr... they do feel.. magnificent.... Prompting me to delay my plan for just a brief moment, to enjoy and admire their firmness, before tightening my palms... The wraps around my fingers tensing, as I push the little electro pads right where I feel the tiny tenting of your nipples....

 I grit on my teeth and GRIND my palms in, sending a jolt of electricity right into your suit, hoping to not only shock you, but fry some of those freaking circuits controlling ur armored suit!

-= End of Episode Three =-

[~Rox Erotique~]

MOOOREEEE! MMOOOOOOOORRRREEEEE!

Fantastically enthralling stuff! You two are crafting a bruising, thunderous riot of a superhero brawl! I LOVE the tone and the weight of the writing! You can almost feel each exhausting blow and desperate counter as you read them!

Truly fantastic!

x G x

[Ewa S]

Crraaaaaaaaappp!!! I did realize that while editing episode 3, I accidentally cut a beefy chunk of the post... So, I'm going to add it below, and let's call it... Episode two POINT FIVE!!!

Sorry again folks ^^

[Ewa S]

-= Episode Two POINT FIVE!! =-

Megan: Okay, now we're both … we're both pretty much outside even the unspoken rules vigilantes follow. We've not only let the bad guys get away without even tracing them or marking them or calling them in, but we've started brawling with each other, and each of us is making this very personal. I think I might've just escalated it by punting that pussy of yours, though. That's for damn sure not in the Free Thinker's Handbook. Wait, actually it is, under "Attacks of Opportunity" and the chapter on soft tissue and nerve attacks, but it's not in the police handbook! But y'know what? Fuck both those handbooks.

  YOU made this personal by not just listening to ME. YOU made this personal by being the fucking bitch you are. And now I'M gonna make this real personal by fucking you up so much you won't show your face on the streets again. I watch you collapse with a dark satisfaction - and while I'd never admit this out loud, my biomonitor is happy to report an increase in skin temperature, a rise in perspiration, and a bunch of arousal hormones getting dumped into my bloodstream. I'm a hardworking cop and a night owl of a vigilante. I don't even have time for a lover. I haven't had a girlfriend since I decided to join the Academy.

  (Another reason Renee Montoya was an inspiration? Highest ranked lesbian officer in the GCPD. She's as impressive as Maggie Sawyer over in Metropolis! And I don't even KNOW how they had time to meet girls …) And that flush I feel is probably just adrenaline and recovering from your choke and the heavy impact I just took (my biomonitor seems to claim its something else, but what the hell does Michael Holt know about anything?), and that satisfaction is probably just … well, no, I love watching you clutch your aching cxnt and drool on the roof.

  I move after you now, rising up and moving on my heavy boots. My back and throat and jaw all ache, but I have a free fucking night in front of me, and I intend to spend it teaching you a lesson. (And maybe I'll teach you such a lesson that I can take you back to my apartment and reform y- no! BAD MEGAN.) You might've gotten Heaven's forgiveness, but you haven't gotten mine. I go for your stupid pigtails, wrapping them in my gloved fists because you think you're Harley fucking Quinn or something, standing behind you and aiming to drag you up to your feet while you're still choking on pepper and clutching yourself.

  "This isn't a job for NUTCASES, *ZAPPER*," I hiss at you from behind. "Go back to fucking Arkham!" And I bend down behind you, pressing my shoulders to your back, looping my left hand under your chin and my right snaking over to clutch your hands on your crotch between your fishnetted thighs, taking a deep breath as I STRAIGHTEN up to try to lift your curvy form upright, my abs traced like steel under my bodysuit with the effort, aiming to haul you up across my shoulders and hold you hanging in the air a moment, cradling your jaw and crotch, almost like you're in a medieval torture rack before I THROW your lower body high --

  Aiming to toss your fishnetted legs overhead and tug down on your chin to try to SLAM you down to your back on the granite rooftop from my shoulders!

  "RRRRRAH!"



Ewa: FUCK FUCK FUCK FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKKK!! I can't even cuss... I can't BREATHE.... The pain in my crotch is just BRUTAL... A powerful leg + reinforced boots + spread thighs = BAD TIME!!! And while I can't stop myself from rocking, I do my best to stop the hyperventilating.... My tongue is already swelling, my nostrils shutting down, and it's harder to breathe.... Thus, my lungs are expanding and collapsing faster and harder, and I'm sucking and gulping the same amount of pepper-contaminated air.....

  My nose is running... as I hack and cough... My fingers groping my kitty, squeezing it... Shaking... But FUCK you don't even give me the courtesy of a break after a LOW blow.... Gripping my pigtails and yanking UP, I gasp, forced upright, but you keep pulling... Yanking me upwards to my feet, my legs weak, but it's between slacking off, or having you rip my pigtails right off!!!! Gasping I stand, my knees slightly bent... my thighs pressed tightly... I hear you taunt me... calling me... Zapper!!

  And through my squinted, teary eyes I can see the display on the visor starting to flash... my heartrate spiking from 180 to fucking 198... almost breaking a 200.... I feel immense RAGE... FUCK if your head was under my boot, I would crush it like a melon right now... But I feel the helpless of my body not responding, my lungs struggling to catch a breath.... The burn in my throat and lipp---ARRGHHH!!!

  Your hand loops around my neck, gripping my throat and neck, and my eyes widen... A back-breaker??? All it takes is you dropping back and planting your knee in the sweet spot, and I'll go straight to racing Oracle in matching wheelchairs... That is, if Jim Gordon doesn't slam cuffs on me and send me for a second round with a non-wheeling, much more electrifying chair......

  But it's your SECOND hand that gives me the first exhale in the form of a GASP, your fingers wrapping around my cupped palms, gripping and squeezing them, and thus, my injured kitty, as you press your shoulders into my back and with shocking strength LIFT me up, like I was nothing..... My body slipping up, suspended, and I catch a glimpse of the dark sky above us.... The dark clouds...... And for a moment, I feel suspended... With nothing but your shoulders against my spine, your fingers squeezing my throat and crotch... And.... The display on the visor goes nuts!!!

  A surge of estrogen is registered, as two of my main trigger points are attacked at once.... one obvious, the other is only known to those who shared my bed, and seen my bondage collection..... And I see a flash... One I do not understand right away..... But as your fingers squeeze both, I gasp lightly, then you THRUST, throwing me up, my legs spinning in the air, my body twisting and in that subtle moment, where I'm free falling... I hear the BOOMING roar of thunder, as my body comes crashing to the harsh floor with a muffled, meatier SLAM!!!!



Megan: The sensation of holding you up across my shoulders is … a little different than I first intended. See, I've been a judoka since middle school. And I hit the tatami even harder when I decided I was gonna be GCPD. By now I'm a fifth-dan black belt, and what I was originally thinking of doing was a kata guruma, a wheel throw, just hoisting you over my shoulders and throwing you - but when I took your weight, even with the ache in my back, when I felt that silky curvy pressure of you settle across my shoulders, and my gloved hands flexed on your hands, pressing your own fingers into your aching sex, and on your throat, my fingers slowly cradling that soft vulnerable hot flesh

  The sensors in my fingertips reading your pulse, finding the way it spikes almost unspeakably erotic … well, I changed plans. I didn't just chuck you over my shoulders, I hoisted you up and DISPLAYED you to the sky. And the Waverider beeped a weather alert as the pressure changed, and the clouds began to roil over us - Gotham has more dramatic lightning storms with low-hanging angry dark clouds just above the grim skyline than any other city in the US, according to the National Weather Bureau and most popular paintings of the city - and I just HELD you there, softly squeezing both hands on your throat and crotch, which isn't really an acceptable suspect restraint technique.

  And THEN I finally throw you, and you hit the rooftop with a delicious thud. I stand there, panting, breasts rising and falling, looking at the way you sprawl out. The fishnets on your smooth thighs. The curves packed into your dark suit. "Fucking tart," I growl, angry at the flush in my cheeks under my mask and hood as I bend and grab a fistful of the front of your suit  in one gloved hand, not wanting to give you time to recover. Not when there's a lesson to learn. I aim to yank you up to your boots with right fist ready for a knockout cross over your jaw - but as I hoist you up, I realize I forgot about the zipper, which gives a sharp metal ZZZZZZzzzzzzz as I feel that zipper gliiiiding down in my locked hand.

  I stare down at it, and momentarily at your bared cleavage and belly as the zipper glides low on your suit -and I look up at you, awkwardly, my goggles whirring from blue back to gold as the awkwardness of the situation makes my cheeks flush like a high school girl caught staring at a classmate in gym class.

  "… oh." I say, losing track of what I was going to do for a moment as the thunder roars again, rain starting to fall around us.



Ewa: The boom still rings in my ears..... But it's diminshed by the agony rushing through my spine.... Laying on my back, my arms and legs twisted.... And if not for my immense flexibility, someone would immediately assume that you broke my knees and back with that vicious throw.... I stare up, gasping, my lips trembling.... my tongue still swollen, when the first droplet of rain hits my overheated, sweaty skin, just above the zipper... The second droplet lands on my chin, and a third slips past my trembling lips and onto my tongue..... And ugghhh why isn't it helping??? Fuck.. Milk... yeah... Milk.. I need to drink milk....

  But since I'm sure you won't allow me a break to run down to the closest Deli, I have to rely on my own ability to recover.... Something you are not granting me, as you walk over, looming over me, your vicious, harsh words rainning on me faster than the now rapidly dropping rain.... It's going to be one of those nights.... And my visor lights up, as I get a 'Showers Forecast' message blinking in the upper left corner... No shit, Sherlock!!!

  You bend over, your left arm reaching and gripping my vest, your gloved hand squeezing the little patched Flash logo on my left breast and you YANK me up, I grimace, my teeth clenching, watching your right arm cock back, fist balled up, as you force me up to my knees, my hands slapping up on your hips, for balance..... And then several things happen at once....

  I see it... The glassed skylight behind you.... one that I have often gazed upon, from the other side.... The famous St. Michael and Lucifer glass skylight of the Gotham Auction House.... Closed years ago after the last shootout by the Joker's goons, and never reopened. The owners deciding it's not worth fixing it, since it got shot down or blown up every year, like clockwork... A reason I picked this building from all the ones surrounding Church square for my recon tonight.....

  But the other thing, is the loud ZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzztttttttttt sound as your powerful jerk sends my zipper rolling down, two thirds of the way, and to my belly button, exposing a landmass of skin, and cleavage..... My right breast practically popping out of the grip as you shake my body slightly, and my caramel colored nipple; the VERY stiff caramel nipple comes to view prompting me to GASP, and exclaim; "BITCH!!!" My shriek a bit too girly, too embarassed for such a badass as myself.... And I don't know if it's bothering me more that you have revealed my breast, or that you have done it against my will....

  But the pause extends to you as well, your fist idling mid-air.... And I know this chance will not present itself again.... The skylight is unfortunately too far for me to just 'push' you into it, and from my knees, I won't be able to rise and push you all the way back, not unless I want a knee shot to my crotch or aching belly.... I need to take you down first, right here, and right now....

  My hands, both of them shooting up, my left grabbing your left wrist at my vest, my right hand moving to the back of the same hand, gripping your fingers and I PULL them back, against the natural joint range and motion, trying to not only make you release me, but to control you by your wrist, my body falling back to my ass, my legs thrusting forwards, and I try to snake them both around your left shin and TWIST my body to the left, using my grip on your arm to send you falling down to your knees, and then down to your chest, while rolling myself over your back, in a reverse armbar. "EAT SHIT AND DIE, LIGHTBULB HEAD!"



Megan: Okay, okay. I'm a big girl now. I might not have a girlfriend or many regular friends or an actual adult life outside my job wearing a uniform and risking my life for dental insurance and then putting on a costume and jumping around rooftops at night, but I'm a grown-up. I know I'm not supposed to just OGLE tits - well, GOGGLE tits - but fuck, you just popped that thing out at me. I think maybe there'll be a time-out or something, while you put your top back together. There must be, right?

  Like B'wana Beast probably stops a fistfight with Blockbuster if his loincloth falls off and his B'wana dong is hanging out, right? Shit, I dunno. This is so fucking awkward. I glance back at my fist, thinking maybe if I just punch you real hard and run away we can pretend this didn't happen, but then you snap me out of THAT fanciful notion by yanking on my wrist, scissoring my legs and snapping me down to the rooftop! "NNNNH! FUCK!" I grunt, my foul mouth ill-suiting a woman in uniform OR a citizen-serving vigilante - but fuck it, I landed on my tits and that fucking hurt, and my back still aches. And before I can get up you slither over me, straddling my arm, and that's REAL bad.

  I slam my free fist into the roof, but with your big ass on my shoulder and levering my arm back, there's nowhere to go, my legs sprawled behind me. I feel my breasts, mashed under me through the armorweave, my breathing restrained by your bodyweight, and the sudden change in gears from awkward tit-goggling to agonizing arm pain is one that leaves my focus disrupted, my goggles flashing to red as my biomonitor reads sudden spikes in adrenaline and PAIN, fucking PAIN. "NNNAGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!"

  I scream out, slamming my fist on the roof, trying to get some body control back. I twist my fist in your grip, trying for anything. My bracer can't hit you from here, my other hand is on the far side, and at this angle I can feel my elbow strained against itself, my wrist forced back like a branch in a high wind, bending with the bough ominously creaking and that baby about to fucking fall. "NNNGHHHHHHHH …" I grit my teeth behind my facemask, snarling down the pain, the red glare from my goggles searing the roof as lightning crashes over us, rain starting to lash down on us. My suit is insulated - it has to be, Gotham has winters like the fucking Arctic and rain as cold as a stranger's hate.

  But I can feel the drops running over me, making me shine. I can feel your body mounting me, hatefully yanking my arm back. I can feel the lush unwelcome heat of your crotch grinding my trapped bicep as your ass flexes on me, screaming out again, ringing over the mostly empty Cathedral Square as I slam my fist on the roof and writhe under you.



Ewa: Speed is everything.... I'm certainly not the biggest vigilante out there... at 5 feet 4 and under 110lbs... And yet, I have tangoo'd with 300lbs+ behemoths, bodyguards, bouncers, enforcers before.... And well, yeah, I did bring Bane to his 'knees' once, but that does not count, considering that I had a rather 'tight grip' on certain parts of his anatomy.... And I've gotta say, considering his collosal stature, I was rather disappointed by the package he presented..... But things do get trickier the smaller my opponents get, and the quicker they are.... Mother fucking Harleen Quincy kicked my ass with no gadgets, just acrobatics and her ridiculously long legs....

  I wonder though, if I could stand a better chance now..... And I know that our paths will cross sometime, and when I get my hands on that purple-haired slut, there will be reckoning.... But right now, as you're standing there, frozen for a VERY obvious reason, hanging out of my suit, I take the chance to scissor your leg and bring you down, rolling my body over your back, straddling your arm with my thighs, my butt and entire weight resting on your left shoulder blade, and I just PULL and WRENCH.....

  Your screams are just music.... Fucking music, and I grit on teeth, still tasting the pepper, my tongue feeling like it's filling my entire mouth, arching back, strainning, rain pouring down on us, my mouth opening and I ROARRRR in a fierce, primal concerntration... The water hitting my gaped mouth, lightly and ineffectively wiping the remnants of the pepper spray off.... At a rate that surprises me actually..... Most crooks get their pepper spray supplies from the black market... Nasty, long-lasting shit... The crap that can cause permanent damage to your vision..... But this quickly receding stuff??

  That's... that's GCPD grade crap... Afterall, the Kingpins used the corrupt legislators to cripple the GCPD as much as they can, after multiple charges of police brutality... But... why would she use that crap??? She doesn't strike me as the merciful humanitarian type.... unless......

  My eyes narrowing, as I turn my head to the right, watching your fist pounding on the ground, your screams muffled by the mask, and I know this is a mistake... a HUGE one.. I need BOTH hands to bend your arm with enough power if I want to break it, or dislocate it.... But.... as my curiosity is too strong, as I release your arm with my right hand and reach down, looping my right hand over your face, feeling the cold glass of your goggles on my wrist, but my fingers dip deeper, under your chin, and I curl my fingers, letting my electric-blue nails lightly graze your skin, grabbing a hold; "LET'S SEE WHAT KIND OF UGLY MUG YOU ARE HIDING, YOU BITCH!!" Giving it a powerful yank, trying to sweep your mask right off!!



Megan: I'm clawing frantically at my hips, at the wide black copper-riveted garrison belt with its pouches and holsters, trying to find something I can use to stop you as you just CRANK on my fucking arm. This psycho bitch is gonna try to break my shoulder! I snarl and try to yank free only for your weight to shift back as I scream into the granite again, my throat getting raw from crying out. The rain is lashing us now, the thunder rumbling overhead in Gotham's favorite song, with a melody of my own roars of pain as I draw my right knee up under me, easing the pressure.

  And suddenly the pressure is much slackened. You leave a hand off my wrist for some reason, and shift your position, so your bodyweight changes. Your hand paws back, over my face. "NNNghhhh, what the FUCK are you - NNAAAH!" I feel you RIP at the mask, and the tabs that hold it in place are strong, but I'm not the fucking Batman - I can't afford an electrified armored cowl. It's a filtered mask that doesn't even have a voice changer in it. The sides of my hood strain with it before the tabs give way as my head is arched sharply up, and the blue textured mask rips away.

  My soft lips are bared to the rain, full and bared in a groan and a snarl, my milk-white city girl skin shining as the rain pours down on me. My hood settles back around my head as I take a panting breath. FUCK. WHO TEARS OFF ANOTHER MASK'S FUCKING MASK?! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT EVEN ABOUT?! Furious in a way I wasn't before, feeling fucking VIOLATED, I push my right knee and right fist HARD into the roof and THRUST my weight up on my right, yanking my left arm in as much as I can to slam you down to your tits on the roof and yank my arm free of your straddle, twisting free in a roll across the roof to where I can lay on my back, watching the storm, rainwater washing my naked face as I lay panting, tits rising and falling.

  I slowly work my way up to one knee, kneading my right hand into my left shoulder, working my fingers as I clutch the aching limb close to me, glaring at you, my goggles still burning a furious red in the shadow of my hood. The lightning lights my mouth and pert Irish nose up as I glower at you. "Fucking satisfied, you shithouse rat nutso bitch?" I pant, my cheeks flushed and glistening with rain as I glare at you across the roof.



Ewa: I know it's against 'protocol'.... But I mean... who the fuck do I care I piss off at this moment??? Half the vigilantes and masks have me on their watch/hunt list, and the other half, the children of the bat are grudgingly turning a blind eye to my activities, waiting for the first slip, breakdown, or fuse blowing up in my head to take me down like a rabid dog..... Besides.... I'm pretty sure that low-blows are not exactly vigilante code!! So, eat that!!

  My fingers latch on the mask and I YANK, feeling the first set of tabs holding for a moment then SNAPPING, pulling up over your mouth and nose, and then the next set, the ones just above your goggle straps resist.... and I have to give them two strong YANKS before jerking the mask and hood down your neck.... And like any self-respecting mask, you FREAK out, and use the chance to twist and send me flopping forwards onto my forearms, skidding slightly on the wet concrete, and rolling to my left, again and again and AGAIN, trying to put as much distance between us as I can.....

  But as I stop, I roll quickly to my knees, my right leg stretching back, the toe of my boot pushing to the concrete, my left leg curled, knee pointed outwards, my left hand fingers curled into a claw, pushing to the ground, while my right hand hovers up in the air, palm and fingers straightened, trying to look as bad-ass as I could... except.. for the.... swaying.... loose boob hanging down my zipped down bodysuit of course.... And it takes me a moment to register it, before my cheeks flush RED, and I give up the ridiculous pose, rolling back to my knees, and pushing up to my feet... only for a soft moan to leave my lips, feeling the rocking pain in my back...  ok.. THAT WAS NOT BAD ASS EITHER!!

  But as my eyes meet your face, I freeze.... Even with your goggles covering the upper half of your face... even with the dark setting, I can make out the features... the brown hair..... I caught in the fleeting moment before your hands pulled your hoodie back up..... the creamy, pale skin... the hint of inked flesh rising from your shoulder up the side of your neck.... I've... I've seen you before.... I've fucking SEEN you before.. But where... My mind a fucking blackbox.... As I glare at you, hearing you rumble at me.... Memories rushing back, glyphed and cyphered..... My visor lighting up, my heart-rate spiking again, my breathing hastening, early signs of a panic attack.... Why... where... where the FUCK did I see you.....

  "Who... are... you..."

-= End of Episode Two POINT FIVE!! =-

[stormbolt7]

Hmmmm ..

Cat EWA woman ... VS Harley PURPLE VIXEN quinn??

Looks like these ladies are giving one hell of a show. Wonder if one ends up tied up, in a utility belt by the end .... 

Storm

[~*M*~]

Where is the rest of this awesomeness ?? ~ ~ ~ I demand the next Chapter x x x