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Flechette: Mesmerized



A Superheroine-In-Peril Novella

By Dangerguy



Also by Dangerguy:

Beginnings - Duster Volume 1

Déjà Vu - Duster Volume 2

The Domination Variations – Duster Volume 3

Open Season

Arena

Harem

Game Theory



PUBLISHED BY:

Tattered Mask Press

Copyright 2017 Dangerguy

Smashwords Edition

License

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Disclaimer

This story is strictly fictional and is not intended to portray any real persons, living or dead, nor is it at all intended to encourage the type of activity portrayed herein. The story depicts extremely graphic sexual situations, including bondage, violence, and non-consensual sex. It is intended for ADULTS ONLY. If you are a minor, if works of this nature are illegal where you live, or if this type of thing offends you, you shouldn’t be reading it.



Flechette created by EXitZero and used with his permission.

Petra Wolf and Tasia Spiro created by Tuckerverse and used with his permission.

Cover art by EXitZero.

Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1: Night Moves

Chapter 2: Outnumbered

Chapter 3: Nick of Time

Chapter 4: Deutschland Über Alles

Chapter 5: Red Hot

Chapter 6: Choices

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Introduction

This story was commissioned by Red-X17, a fellow participant at Deviant Art, a web site where I'm pretty active and where you can see all of my digital artwork and read some other writing (fiction and non-fiction) by me.

My commissioner presented me with a pretty straightforward idea for a "sexy time" story. I took the idea further because to me the heart of any story is conflict. Without it there's no tension in the story (no matter how erotic the content) and little to no reason to read it all the way through, or at all. So I decided to inject some personal conflict for the characters into it. I won't give things away by saying more than that. I just hope you enjoy the story and end up agreeing with my decision. It might mean that the story is not as light-hearted as it might have been but I think it benefits from having these characters developed further and given more depth and more of an "interior life" than I can usually depict in comic-book style panels.

Chapter 1: Night Moves

It never failed, Flechette reflected. Get distracted by thoughts of one type of action and another type would come your way.

Officially the crossbow-wielding crime-fighter was on patrol. In truth she was woolgathering, thinking about her hunky new boyfriend. A bemused smile curled her lips as she brushed at her bob-cut red hair with one gloved hand. It would be nice, she reflected, to have someone else run his fingers through her hair.

Too much time had passed since she'd enjoyed any type of close, intimate relationship. Her "nocturnal activities" tended to put a crimp in her social life. But a mutual friend had introduced Flechette—or, more accurately, Brigid—to Forrest. Though she'd felt dubious about the whole blind date scenario, they'd hit it off. He worked as an IT consultant. His hobbies included basketball and playing jazz piano. He struck just the right balance of manliness, humor, and charming nerdiness. Best of all, as far as she could tell, every night he went to bed instead of putting on a colorful costume and heading out to fight crime.

So, yeah. He was nice. He was well-adjusted. He was normal.

Unlike her.

Would a normal person dress up in a revealing, skin-tight green costume, armed with a crossbow on her hip and a quiver full of bolts on her back? Would a well-adjusted individual stand on top of a building in the worst part of Eve City waiting eagerly for some sign of trouble? Surely not. And yet here she stood, ears perked, trying to listen for the distinct sounds of criminal activity. But thoughts of Forrest's milk chocolate-colored skin and warm smile incessantly distracted her from the task at hand.

The scream cut through all of that. The high-pitched shrill sound of a woman in trouble reached the superheroine from about a block away. Flechette's head turned toward the source of the sound. Without even thinking about it her training kicked in. She launched herself into a sprint across the rooftop. She dove over its edge and into the dark gaping void of one of the city's alleys.

Her gloved hands latched onto the railing of a metal fire escape. The emerald-clad crime-fighter swung her body around the railing like an expert gymnast on a parallel bar. Her dark green boots forced a soft metallic clang out of the fire escape's next level down. She crouched and leapt, soaring across the alley to land upon the opposite building's fire escape. In quieter moments Flechette gave silent thanks to the many such platforms adorning the old buildings in her city's poorest district. At the moment however she focused on executing each maneuver exactly as she'd practiced them thousands of times, each swing and leap bringing her closer to the source of the fearful, anguished cry she'd heard.

"Oh God, please, don't…"

That's it, keep talking so I can find you, Flechette thought when she heard the woman's pleading cry. There… shadows moving on the other side of that dumpster…

The heroine reached the pavement. One hand reached down toward the compact crossbow she carried on her hip, the other up and behind to pull a bolt from her quiver. She had the arrow loaded and the drawstring pulled back by the time she rounded the dumpster.

Flechette immediately saw the bright flash of a young woman's long wavy blonde hair. Two dark, hulking figures stood on either side of her. As the crime-fighter raised her arm and aimed her crossbow two sounds reached her, each one echoing off the high brick walls of the dark alley: a tearing noise as one of the woman's assailants ripped open her blouse, immediately followed by her terrified scream. Plastic buttons tapped softly onto the asphalt. Low, coarse masculine laughter mocked the young woman's desperate struggles and anguished cries.

Flechette's upper lip curled in disgust and contempt. She hated all criminals but rapists seemed like a lower form of life to her. She didn't even bother shouting a warning. Her finger pulled the trigger, the crossbow's drawstring snapped forward, and the bolt buried itself in the right ass cheek of one of the would-be rapists. One corner of her ruby-red lips curled upwards as she watched him jerk away from his victim. He screamed even more shrilly than she had. He danced around spasmodically like he was standing in a frying pan; he reached back to pull out the bolt but screamed again when a mere tug revealed the arrowhead's sharp barbs. He'd need a surgeon to get the bolt removed.

The red-headed heroine quickly loaded another bolt into her crossbow while the second assailant turned his astonished gaze from his wounded partner to the source of his misery. Thanks to the dim ambient light cast by the sickly-yellow streetlights nearby, Flechette could see his coarse features: short black hair, sallow skin, dark shifty eyes, a nose that had been broken one too many times. Like a moth to a porch light, the hoodlum's eyes were drawn inexorably to the expanse of bare skin exposed by the triangle cutout of the heroine's revealing costume. Most would call her costume provocative; Flechette called it a distraction. The man's thin lips sneered as he regarded Flechette's womanly curves, revealing a mouth of yellowing, malformed teeth. Beneath his dirty t-shirt and faded jeans, however, Flechette could see rippling muscles coiling in preparation for a fight.

This one's gonna be trouble, she thought.

The goon took a step toward her and Flechette let her second bolt fly. It caught the man in the shoulder. He staggered and grunted, one hand reaching toward the arrow buried in his flesh. He assessed the wound for the merest of moments before raising his head to glare at Flechette and snarl a challenge. Without hesitation he launched himself toward her.

Maybe he was high on something or maybe he was just a tough son of a bitch. Either way Flechette did not have time to reload her crossbow. She felt no trepidation; she had not limited her combat skills to archery, after all. She pivoted back into a defensive posture. When her opponent closed in she swung her crossbow forward. The solid metal weapon struck him beneath the chin and threw his head back. Blood sprayed from his mouth, dark as an oil slick in the dim light of the alley.

The man gave his head a shake and snarled yet again. He drew his uninjured arm back. Flechette smirked when he telegraphed his next move so obviously. She shifted her crossbow to her other hand and raised it to deflect his blow. Her right hand drove forward and upward, fingers curled. She struck him in the chin once again, this time with the base of her palm. The crook staggered back. He spread his legs to maintain his balance.

That simply provided too much of a tempting target to the crime-fighter.

Flechette's dark green boot swung upwards. Her foot struck the thug's balls with all the delicacy of a charging rhino. His eyes popped open. With an anguished groan he dropped to his knees, then rolled over onto his side and curled up into a fetal ball.

Flechette turned to assess the status of the first assailant. The man was leaning against the nearby dumpster, his hands curled around the arrow stuck in his ass. She heard him uttering a strange noise and smiled when she realized he was crying. With the two assailants down and out the superheroine turned to the victim.

The young blonde woman stood stock still, her hands holding her ruined blouse closed over her chest. She stared wide-eyed at her rescuer. Flechette recognized the look. Most experienced crime-fighters had seen it. Costumed vigilantes often inspired as much fear as the crooks they battled. The red-headed heroine struggled to suppress her impatience; she had little sympathy for someone too dumb to recognize when they'd been rescued. Nevertheless, her teammates in the Justice Sorority had been training her to display more empathy, so she stifled an impatient sigh, bit back a sharp remark, and tried her best to sound reassuring.

"It's alright," Flechette said to the victim. She shrugged awkwardly. "I'm not gonna hurt you. And neither will these two losers."

She could see the blonde's lower lip trembling. Even in the dim light of the alley she could see the young woman's blue eyes shining with tears. The blonde glanced at each of her would-be assailants, then looked back at Flechette. Her lips curled into an uncertain smile.

Oh Christ, Flechette thought as she recognized another look she'd seen far too often in her crime-fighting career, I hope she's not gonna…

"Oh, thank you!" the young woman exclaimed as she threw herself at the heroine.

hug me. Ugh.

The young woman's arms curled around Flechette's neck and her slender body trembled against the red-head's strong but feminine frame. Anguished sobs wracked her body. Flechette managed to suppress a heavy sigh so it escaped her nostrils as a long exhalation. She tentatively reached up and bestowed a few awkward pats on her rescuee's back.

"Yeah, okay, you're welcome," Flechette said. "It's all over." Jesus Christ, get a hold of yourself…

Her green eyes rolled upwards behind her visor as the blonde continued to cry on her shoulder. She could feel the girl's perky breasts pressing against her own well-endowed chest. The sensation brought back a powerful memory of her last sexual encounter, one that had occurred several months ago with one of her own female teammates. Flechette usually preferred men, but she couldn't pass up the opportunity to discover if Ricochet's targeting skills went beyond finding the mark with those rubber rings she threw around.

They did.

Flechette coughed and caught her hand before it strayed down to pat the young woman's behind. She took a step back and eased herself out of the blonde's eager embrace.

"You're fine now," Flechette asserted.

"Thanks to you," the young woman said. Her blue eyes were glimmering with tears.


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