Monsters Among Us (Superheroine peril, MF, Fdom, non consensual, public)

Monsters Among Us

Historical Interlude 1886 London

Femme Fatalle adjusted her gauntlets. She needed the protection of total skin coverage to prevent her power from accidentally feeding on the men around her. She was a heroine, a defender of the people because she chose to be. Inside her was the blood of an Incubus, a sexual demon who had seduced her mother the Countess of Tor, as part of her father’s endless and limitless debaucheries. She was born with a curse, a curse that made love impossible, for she fed on the lives of men through their sexual desire. She was worse than a vampire, she was a soul devouring seductress. The physical power she gained from that heritage made her three times stronger than a strong man, faster than a fencer, and able to take blows which would stun an ox. She chose to act as a heroine, to defend the people who would hunt her down and destroy her if they guessed what she was, to defend the people her own soul and hunger deemed cattle, a prey herd that existed only to be her playthings and food. She chose to be a heroine, because she knew she was a monster waiting to happen.

Not all monsters fought their nature. She was here for Hyde. He was the worst nature of man made manifest. Stronger than ten men, healing almost as fast as he could be wounded, inhumanly fast, and with appetites that went beyond bestial. He didn’t strive to fight his nature, he revelled in it. He was not only the personification of why Femme Fatalle took up defending fragile, ignorant, and undeserving humanity, he was also the face she one day feared to see in the mirror; the monster that knows what It is and laughs.

The line of police with their truncheons and the handful of rifles were visibly shaking, clustered together as if for comfort. Hyde had exploded from the gambling den in search of the last of the house bravo’s who had poisoned and shot him, tired of his gambling, whoring, and casual destruction in their gaming houses, his inhuman senses allowing him to beat every rigged game, and laughing when he broke them financially, laughed harder when he broke them in blood and bone when they raised gun, club, and blade against him.

The first line of police had been toyed with. Some were hung naked from gas light lamp posts. Others were left with their truncheons rammed up their asses, bound arse up elbows to knees. The second wave refused to go in. Hyde was throwing pews through the church stained glass, having sated himself on the half dozen women who were praying when he came in, and turned to destruction for his amusement when his toys had been fucked unconscious and no longer amused him. At least Hyde didn’t kill his women. If surviving him could be considered a mercy.

Femme Fatalle looked at the watch captain coolly from behind her mask.

“Your men can confirm Hyde is still in there?” Femme Fatalle asked, her voice like whiskey and shadow, stole down the captain’s spine and into his cock and balls, bringing them achingly to life when seconds before he was impotent with fear.

“Yes ma’am.” The watch captain replied in a tone again professional. “I can’t send anyone in against him, the men won’t go, and I can’t say I blame them. He isn’t human. I am not sure he can be stopped. I requested the army send cannon, but they won’t shell a church. I can’t ask you to go in. He isn’t anything a woman should face.”

Femme Fatalle took off one long dark glove, then another. She stripped off the long cape that shrouded her form. The outfit she wore underneath covered her skin like a glove, and the watch captain felt his erection threaten to burst free of the heavy wool of his trousers, and feared if he so much as shifted, the gentle rub would be enough to send him over the edge into emptying himself in his underwear.

Femme Fatalle’s expression changed from serene to hungry, and her eyes lit with the sort of reflection you saw in a hunting cat’s eyes deep in the jungle, right before it pounced. Her too pale face was flushed with blush, and her lips pulled back in a wide white grin that left the watch captain noticing her canines were oddly and elegantly elongated, like a vampire or perhaps like that jungle cat he compared her to a second ago.

“No captain. This hunt has no place for you or your men. This hunt belongs to Femme Fatalle. Hyde will be stopped, no matter the cost.” Femme Fatalle was panting like a sprinter, her womanly chest heaving in a way that left the watch captain unable to control his eyes.

She tore off towards the church faster than a racehorse, ignored the door and steps, to leap a good sixty feet to dive through one of the shattered stained-glass windows.

Hours of roaring and smashing, mad laughter and howls of pain, inhuman whimpers of suffering, and screams that hell itself would shrink before alternated for all the long hours of the night. When dawn passed there was only silence. Explored in the daylight, the church was empty save for the destruction.

Neither Hyde nor Femme Fatalle was ever heard from again.

Toronto Canada, Present Day

Lillith Jeckel hated her name, so she routinely went by LJ with her friends. She had a few, but only enough not to stand out, and every one she had thought she was closer with the others. Camouflage was not just second nature for her, it was first. Don’t stand out, don’t draw attention.

Toronto had its share of superheroes and superheroines, its share of supervillains and regular scum, its gangs, its corrupt politicians and dirty mega-corporations that made the mob look clean, but that was not her world. She was studying accounting, about as far from her nature as she could get. No passion, no feral hunger, and she could indulge her hunting instincts at enough of a remove that her blood would not boil.

LJ put away her sex toys with a sigh. She had to masturbate to a precisely measured degree. Too little and her mother’s blood would awaken. Too much and her father’s would. She had to avoid passion, had to avoid violence, had to avoid her own nature at all costs.

Looking into the mirror, she saw herself before dressing. Tall for a woman, she wore flats with a hard enough heel that they sounded like high heels enough that people would write off her height as being heel derived, rather than noticing she stood six foot two in bare feet.

She was tall and lithe, yet her hips and breasts were rounded richly. Her face was a cold classical study in beauty. Aristocratic and subtly inhuman, if an elf lord were to ride out of fairy and see her, he would know her at a glance as a peer, and a threat combined. She was not fairy, she was worse, but at least half of her was still human, and the warring other quarters must never be allowed to change her past that.

Long lustrous chestnut hair and cold blue eyes over pale aristocratic cheekbones framed lips just a little too full and sensuous, just a little to red, for anyone to accept they were not the product of careful makeup, just as the light purple tint of her eyeshadow was part of a vision system that owed nothing to humanity, rather than the product of a makeup pallet. Let others assume she dressed like a mouse and used makeup like a model, it made her seem like more of a nerd, more a figure of amusement and less of seduction. Camouflage was everything. Don’t stand out.

She dressed in heavy loose sweaters with too long sleeves, too large glasses and long skirts that covered her legs down to the slouching soft boots that covered her feet. No skin was exposed save her face, as she usually wore a scarf even in the heat.

From the nightstand she picked up the last article of clothing. The last, vital piece of camouflage. Her power belt.

She put the power belt on and felt the artificial enhancement of its power lock her humanity into ascension, a simple and stupid invention of those cursed with the Aphrodite gene that converted sexual frustration into physical power. For her it powered her weak humanity enough to allow it to keep the rest of her hidden, sleeping. Sexual frustration was easy, both her mother and father were sexual predators whose thirst was deeper than the ocean, whose hunger was hotter than fire. She was just a degree below flashpoint, and the belt was her cooling unit.

Plus, it explained any…….mishaps. Sometimes her instincts reacted before her need to hide could speak, and she was left with the power belt as her only tool of misdirection.

Swinging her long Italian leather purse over her shoulder, laptop, texts, snacks, and the all important earbuds to allow her to ignore attempts at conversation, LJ headed to the University of Toronto, and another day of accounting methods and statistics.

Meanwhile, across town, there was another plan for LJ’s day that was coming into being. A plan that didn’t name her, that didn’t know her, that in fact denied her existence as an actual person. For this reason, both LJ’s plan and this other plan were doomed to fail.

The Crusader had begun as a super soldier attempt by a cash strapped weapons manufacturer. He had been a soldier, an elite one at that, before his excesses on the battlefield cost him everything. He had become radicalized in both the Men’s Rights movement and the Conservative Christian, blaming his career failures on the influence of women in a man’s world, and the weakening of traditional values through female voices.

The Corporation didn’t care, they had an elite soldier who was willing to undergo procedures that destroyed mind and body in nine out of ten subjects, and he had been their first success. Unfortunately, he decided this was a holy calling to begin his crusade, and had both looted and slaughtered his way through their research facility to equip himself for his quest to set the world right.

The corporation quietly buried all record of its connection, and prayed they could avoid the blood spatter when their carefully crafted monster revealed its power, and its insanity to the public. There was no way his debut would be anything but a blood bath and PR nightmare. Better they quietly put out the rumour it was a government program gone wrong, so no one started looking in their direction.

The fall of Roe V Wade in the neighboring United States had been his sign, a sign from God that it was time to put things in order, to restore the natural order by force, by holy fire and steel, as the Crusades had called for. The radical arms of the alt right groups who had been grooming him were only too happy to supply foot soldiers for him. Although he was insane, he was also the only superhero that served their cause, even if none of them could control him.

Today the University of Toronto was hosting a protest against the patriarchy, and especially on its war with sovereign rights of women. The Crusader meant to bring them to their knees and show them the error of their ways. Blood and fire, shock and awe, the terror of the holy flames of judgement were going to fall upon the unclean and the unbeliever today. He would purify the land and save the soul of his nation!

LJ had her earbuds in as she watched the protest. There was a little media coverage, but honestly the people who already cared already knew. The ones who did not care would never care because hatred trumped empathy pretty much every time, and humans loved their petty hatreds. They dressed them up and gave them names like religion and nationalism, but it came down to the suffering of others makes them feel better than those doing the suffering. LJ was raised both to defend and to despise humanity, the second one came naturally. The first she honestly hoped to avoid.

All she wanted was her bus. The walk across campus was long, and the chance of coming across enough public displays of affection, if not outright lovemaking, was too high to risk on a spring day like this. Her hungers were hard enough to control. Toronto busses were about as romantic as a camp outhouse, so no risk there.

Her earbuds made her miss the first scream.

An armoured car painted white with a large red crusader cross on it plowed through the police cruisers and was looking to plow directly into the marching women.

LJ hated her instincts, because her inhuman heritage made them too fast to stop, and all her work of concealment could be thrown away in one cheetah fast sprint. Still, now that her mind was catching up with her body, she couldn’t let the LAV, thirteen tons and eight wheels of armoured personnel carrier, plow through the crowd of mostly women and children of the march. Given a choice she would have chosen something less direct, but she was half the distance to the APC and both were accelerating.

The impact was phenomenal. Her clothes where torn, but the APC took the hit so badly its turret and mounted cannon actually came off.

LJ reached up with what other’s would call inhuman speed, and what she called the induced weakness of the power belt, and got enough of a grip on the turret ring that she allowed it to pull her from the armoured car’s bow as she redirected its course enough to shatter the pavement, rather than skip along it and into the crowd.

Four trucks worth of supporting thugs locked their brakes as their planned shock and awe entrance derailed, and the shock troops of the LAV were, with one exception, bound for the emergency room and months of care, rather than battle.

As LJ stood panting, the pain in her body causing her father’s blood to scream and howl for dominance, promising power, promising invincibility, promising blood and horror and the mad laughter of rage given form.

Her clothes in tatters, her body broken and healing, even with the suppression of the power belt holding both her mother’s and her father’s blood in check, LJ was unaware that burning eyes stared at her from the hull of the crushed LAV. Eyes that hated, eyes that wanted, eyes that saw in her everything that was wrong in society. A man who had come to set the world right, blocked by some insolent woman who dared to set her womanly foolishness against God’s plan and his holy Crusader.

“GOD WILL’S IT!” The masculine voice roared, and a pillar of white fire blasted upward from the wrecked light armoured vehicle. The armour screamed as it burned, not even to liquid, but to gas in the fire of the Crusader’s flames.

Striding forth in his white robe and its crusader cross, the Crusader let his arms burn with the fires of his power, as he set a halo like crown of flame upon his head.

“Bow down before me woman, for God has set man above you, and your denial is an abomination in his sight. Kneel and beg my forgiveness or you will burn.” The Crusader called, his power singing in his veins. This was better, this was as it was meant to be.

LJ wasn’t done healing, her mind was still fogged by the damage she took and the fight to keep her father’s blood from taking ascension. Compared to how she was unbelted, she was a pale copy of herself. That pale copy had learned to fight with science and artistry from Femme Fatalle, the first superheroine. That pale copy had learned to fight with animalistic fury and bestial rage from Hyde, the most powerful of all the transhuman atrocities born of man’s desire to be more. Plus, that was her favourite skirt. Her mother sewed it by hand, and now it was in tatters.

“If you are very, very good, I may let you kiss my ass before I put your face through the pavement. There are children in that crowd. There are elderly in that crowd. You would have killed dozens in your little angry boy temper tantrum, I can’t imagine the rest of the plan involved reasonable exchange of views either. Fuck off now, and I won’t make you crawl before all your little minions.”

Both her mother and father’s blood were singing now. Both howling, both demanding dominance. LJ held on to her humanity with a shred, but the reflexive need to hide, to blend, to pretend to be less had been cast aside. She was Lillith Jeckel. She bowed to no one.

Crusader raised his hand, and a sword of fire blazed in it. He swept it out casually and cut down a light pole.

“Jezebell, I will beat that pride from you, and you will sing my praises as I teach you your proper place.” Crusader roared as he charged.

LJ allowed him to close at speed, needing to get a feel for his speed and power. She had fought Hyde in full fury, and knew she was no match for that power with the belt on, but she trained suppressed, trained at her weakest for this moment, the moment where she must fight and remain human. Plus, if she ever took it off and fought full power, even her parents need to fear her.

Crusader was fast, but his reactions were choppy. He was inhumanly strong, inhumanly powerful, but those were add-ons. They were not a part of him, he was a regular human enhanced beyond reason and limit, but he had human thoughts and reflexes driving that inhuman killing machine.

Lillith folded before his strike, collapsing backwards like water before the blade of fire. Her hands grabbed one leg, and she spun on that pivot point to lock him in a leg bar and dropped him face first into the pavement at almost 50kph.

She forgot the state of her clothes, too much skin was exposed. Crusader wore shorts beneath his mantle, and boots, his arms and legs were bare, that put a terribly wounded Lillith in contact with the Crusader flesh to flesh.

Her mother’s hunger awoke, and from that skin to skin contact, she began to drink his life to heal. A wild spike of arousal took her and she arched in orgasm as she ground him face first into he ground, slamming his face again and again into the ground as she rode his thrashing leg in a serious attempt to shatter it.

“Not Jezebel, you Incell half wit, you face LILLITH!” LJ screamed as she licked his bare flesh with her dark purple tongue and tore raw life force from him as lust warred with rage in the pinned Crusader’s flesh and brain.

An explosion of fire detonated from the Crusader’s core in a desperate attempt to flee himself. The shock would have destroyed a main battle tank, and did strip Lillith down to bare skin and power belt. It also blasted off their feet, the charging backup thugs with their assault rifles, body armour, and enough ammunition to fight three world wars, as long as they never had to get above a wheezing walk between the combination of too much gun and not enough PT.

LJ was stunned not by the explosion, but by the ascension of her mother’s blood. This was bad, this was very bad. Naked, arousing all who looked at her, she was on the edge of a feeding frenzy, a shark surrounded by prey that couldn’t run, and would only run towards her if they could. The blood of Femme Fatalle, the blood of the Succubus had fed on power beyond human and was breaking free of its chains. Her humanity, even augmented with the power belt, was not enough to control it. She wanted to take that angry boy-god and break him, degrade and use him in the street, before his minions, to take his soul and his power to feed her hunger, to awaken her higher self, her demonic form.

Crusader came from the fire in a rush faster than a bullet and with force like a freight train. His punch hit her hard enough to blast her into the ancient stonework of the University library. The shock was a wakeup call, but it was too little too late.

Face, ribs, face, ribs, ribs. The Crusader’s arms were coated with fire, and he pounded Lillith with power that exceeded what a power belt enhanced woman could withstand, with power a Succubus couldn’t withstand. The purifying flame of god burned her, broken bones tore at her, blood filled her lungs and her head spun.

Then a wide feral grin took her face, and she slipped just inside the next punch, allowing it to graze her cheek as she curved underneath it to hammer a blow into his solar plexus. The force of his own blow added to her counterpunch and his breath blasted out.

Pain was Hydes, pain and blood and mayhem. Her father’s blood surged in her, the animal, the beast, the berserker. She rode the bestial savagery of her father until it drowned out the demonic call to feed of her mother.

Crusader fought like an MMA fighter, trained to batter and bind opponents. Lillith didn’t fight, she destroyed.

Crusader grappled with her, seeking to use his superior strength to crush her, and she let him.

He charged in to grapple, pinning her arms, ignoring her failed attempt to side step away. It had not been an attempt to side step, it had been a cross step to build the tension he used now. He charged straight in, but she twisted her body as they fell, becoming the axis they both spun around, and she rode him into the ground.

They hit like a freight train, but he was at the bottom. Her knee trailed, completing the half circle created by their spinning fall to ram into the Crusaders nut sack, driving the breath from him explosively. He released her arms as he clutched to defend his balls, and she slapped his ears hard enough to shatter his eardrums. This was also a distraction, for it caused him to open his eyes and push her away.

Her targets now open, his arms now opening the distance which had been too close, she drove fingers whose tips were harder than eagles talons, harder than industrial diamonds into his eyes. He bucked like a bronco and she rode it and flipped in mid air to land on her feet.

Her lungs were filled with blood, and she hacked and coughed it up, struggling for air as her vision blurred. She burned to take off the power belt, but now Hyde was too strong, his blood demanding she become the beast that walked, the primordial predator and she would be human, she was Lillith Jeckel, she was not going to let this bastard make her the monster of her nightmares.

The flaming crown upon his head pulsed and little rings of flame acted as sonar to guide the blinded and deafened Crusader as he closed in his transhuman rage to blot the defiant female from existence, but his rage was not a shadow of Hydes, and his skill not a ghost of Femme Fatalle. She was neither, but she was Lillith, and she had survived both.

She didn’t wait for him. She launched kick after kick into his legs collapsing first one knee then the other, sending him stumbling, dropping him to his knees. She hammered punch after punch into his ribs, feeling bone break at last. When he struck out with the back of an arm to take off her head she ended it. She pivoted around the arm to smash him face first into the ground, then shattered the arm with her more than human strength, and his own momentum.

She rode him down to the ground and licked his ear.

“Sorry lover, you broke me bad inside, and Lillith needs to heal. You are mine, you are my bitch, and my bitch needs to put his mouth to better work than roaring useless bullshit. Be a good boy, and make mamma happy.

Leaving the shattered arm to flop, she rolled him onto his back. He struggled and flailed at her with his last hand. He grabbed her throat.

Lillith laughed and dragged it down to her breast. Helpless, the Crusader felt his lust overwhelm everything, including his will to live and he began to grope at her breast like he was raping her, not the other way around.

Lillith sat upon his face, riding it like her own sex toy as he helplessly pleasured her with his tongue, each lick each touch, each heartbeat stealing his transhuman vitality, the inhuman all consuming power of his fire and fury, and feeding it into the she demon that rode his face.

She came with a scream, and her juices filled his mouth. He blacked out, going unconscious. LJ knew it would take one kiss, one kiss alone would take his life, his soul and his power forever. Her mother’s blood screamed for it. Her father’s blood screamed for it. But she was healed now, and without the pain and fear, without the survival imperative, she regained herself and realized she was one kiss from surrendering humanity.

With a desperate cry, she jumped off her assailant, her victim, her prey. She ripped his crusader mantle off of it, and coverer her nakedness as she sprinted away. Climbing the buildings to take to the skyline the way her father’s blood told her was the way to lose human trackers.

The surviving minions of the Crusader pulled his broken body from the scene and escaped in the chaos. The Crusader’s eyes were half healed, and he remembered the shining golden power belt that was the only thing the she witch had worn as she humiliated and used him. In shame and fear he remembered serving her pussy like a slave while she rose above him like a queen, golden belt burning brightly.

That belt, the power belt. That is why she won. Next time he would strip that from her first. Next time he would show her the difference between those fake heroines with their slut Aphrodite genes and power belts, and the true powers of God’s own Crusader.

Yes, he would find her, he would find a way to remove that power belt, and then there would be an ending.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/vkkv1w/monsters_among_us_superheroine_peril_mf_fdom_non