LOOK BEFORE YOU LEAP
A super-heroine adventure by InterestingLife featuring CITRINE, based on an image by Exit-Zero (276).

DISCLAIMER : This story is a work of fiction. It may contain scenes of violence, sexual imagery and may depict scenes of non-consensual sexual activity, as well as torture and many other illegal activities. It is intended as literary entertainment only.
All characters used in this story are property of their respective owners.
This story is part of the continuity established by myself and my interpretations of the Exit-Zero universe, presented with his permission, and may not work in continuity with other stories. 

Direct any comments to : youngasuq@yahoo.ca

*****************************

The Gentleman was not pleased. The city was going to hell, much more quickly than he had calculated. Ever since the appearance of the heroines almost two years ago now, he had anticipated that the events would ultimately spiral out of control. In truth, it was only partly due to the heroine's presence. The Gentleman had an idea that the comet had left more than residual radiation in the background of Eve City and the world. Ever since the trail of the comet had passed into Earth's atmosphere, it seemed like people were meaner, more deviant. Behaviours that were totally unacceptable prior suddenly became more and more tolerated. Case in point, the constant public humiliation to which the defenders of Eve City were submitted to.

As a member of the Elite of the city, the Gentleman had seen first hand how his equals had quickly fallen prey to baser desires. Organized crime had always operated smoothly but, as depravity and abuse became a way of operating, the Gentleman had felt the need to impose some form of structure on it. He knew very well that criminals could not operate without the support of the law enforcement. Manipulating the police and justice system were no challenge to a trained planner such as him. The heroines were another matter, but even then, it was easy for someone with his influence and resources to direct their fight in the direction he wanted it to go, hence, the support his organization provided to the various meta-criminals operating inside and outside Eve City. Getting the focus on them was the best way for him and his group to remain unchallenged.

Working with these sick perverts, however, was not without its complications. There was a balance to be maintained in the power structure of the city. For example, with regards to the heroines, it was important that their secret identities be kept secret, unless special circumstances dictated otherwise. Thankfully, most had adopted this way of thinking, whatever rationale they put behind it. The heroines needed to feel safe when they were not in costume; it was the only way to prevent them from going to extremes. Someone with such power, like Andromeda for example, could become a monster should she feel that her private life became a target. In the past year, a few criminals who had managed to unmask heroines had come to him to get paid for the revelation. None had left his lair alive. This was the absolute rule, and he had only broken it twice, once by accident, the other by necessity. Beyond that reasoning, anything the heroines did was fair game.

Now, another issue had come up. A recent video had been delivered to him via courier. The Gentleman had watched it, and he was now wondering what - if anything - needed to be done about it. Unfortunately, his favorite enforcer, the mercenary known as Ken Paulson, was out-of-reach inside the SuperMax. Ever since the breakout of Max Crow at the end of last August, security in the prisons had steadily increased. In order to achieve his ends, the Gentleman had been required to branch out and allow some of the seedier villains to operate more directly in the city. One of them had proved to be both the asset and the hindrance. Now, that video only confirmed that the individual had his own agenda in the city, and it involved more than just humiliating the heroines.

The far door opened, and the caucasian butler, Trevor, walked in to his master's office.

"Sir."
"Yes. What is it?"

The butler bowed, then handed a cell phone to the Gentleman.

"It is him."
"Fine."

The Gentleman took the phone and put it to his ear.

"Masterplan?"
"The one and only... Gentleman."
"What news have you?"
"Well, I have given thought to your reflexion..."

The Gentleman hated the way his ally spoke, every word calculated, full of innuendo. Somehow, the radiation from the comet had increased MasterPlan's intellect, allowing him to come up with elaborate and convoluted traps and scenarios to mislead or capture pretty much anyone. He had repeatedly made his mark on the city, albeit always on a much smaller scale. It wasn't for lack of ambition, but it seemed that this capacity for thinking also prevented MasterPlan from organizing his thoughts long enough to think on a grand-scale. Instead, his mind always focused on the minutia of a single plan, which made him less threatening than others, as far as the Gentleman was concerned, anyway.

"And?"
"And I agree... I have deleted the proof."
"That is good."
"It is, and I decided to let her go with a warning this time."
"That is good to hear. You will, of course, relocate your operation."
"Of course. My Smiling Skull soldiers are already packing the lair out of Canaan. We will possibly relocate in the Harbor."
"It might not be such a good idea. I'll get you a location."
"Very well..."

There was a pause in the conversation.

"And the heroine? Is she free yet?"
"Oh! No... soon... some of my men are still... enjoying her company."
"Of course they are..."

The Gentleman simply hung up. It wasn't that he disagreed with the treatment inflicted on the heroines whenever they got captured. He had no taste for it himself. To many of these violators, it was all about sex, when it should have been about manipulation and control. Ken Paulson had been a master in this, playing several heroines down, like Cowgirl and the now-retired Opal, a few others along the way. For all his brilliance, MasterPlan was still a goon with an overcharged ego who believed himself superior to everyone else.

But the Gentleman was not stupid enough to dismiss him, or to let his guard down. In this business, there were no friends.

**************************************************************

Her real name was Suzie Carter. She operated under the superhero name Citrine. She didn't have any powers or any gadgets to support her. What she had was an indomitable will, a few years of martial arts training behind her belt and the desire to emulate her idols.

Right now, she realized, she was getting the full heroine treatment.

"No... no...." she pleaded, to no avail.

The tongue in-between her legs, the mouth munching on her pussy, Citrine was close a third forced orgasm. She was bound standing upwards in some kind of contraption which pinned her shoulders and arms back; the full weight of her body was barely supported, causing a severe strain on her neck. However and in truth, at that moment, all she could focus on was the intense pleasure the blonde man pleasuring her was providing. And the voice of her captor - a villain in a full dark body armor, with green glowing pouches on his belt, hiding his face behind a black eye mask - reached to her ears.

"I bet you're enjoying this more than he is..."
"No... shut up... ooohhh..."

The blonde man finally broke through her last defences, the third soldier to do so within an hour. Citrine squealed with delight as she forgot her predicament. This brought a smile to the other soldiers watching on. They wore silvery striped suits, black harnessess over their chests, and their faces covered with smiling skull masks. 

Citrine couldn't hold in anything, and she screamed her lungs out. MasterPlan watched her brownish-skin, a blend of Caucasian and black. He kept trying to figure out which of her parents was which, not that it mattered, but it was a puzzle for his mind.

"Damn you..." Citrine was finally able to say as the soldier retreated and retrieved his mask.
"There..." MasterPlan mused. "Was it so hard to admit?"
"Just because I get pleasure from it doesn't mean I like it!"

There was no arguing with that logic, so MasterPlan let the point drop. He looked her over, considering the next step. She couldn't break the restraints, so she conserved her energy by not struggling against them.

"Let me ask again... what do you know of my operation?"
"For the hundreth time," she pleaded. "I know nothing! I found your lair by pure dumb luck..."

It was difficult for MasterPlan to accept this explanation.

"And having your goons perform oral on me won't change reality!" she continued.
"Perhaps... Perhaps I just love a good show."

He laughed; his gang laughed along with him.

"All right," he finally said. "Start from the beginning. Tell me how you come upon our base of operations..."
"I already told you!" she replied.
"Now, girl, you'd best cooperate or I'll get another acolyte to bend down in front of you."

Conflicted feelings overwhelmed Citrine; the pleasure had been considerable, despite it being forced, and it had left her quite excited. However, she had already gotten three releases, so she was satisfied. She also didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her orgasm again - it seemed that MasterPlan was getting off on it.

"Fine... but you have to believe me."
"Make me believe," he replied.

She sighed. Telling the story again. What fun!

**************************************************************

On the roof of an apartment building in the district of Canaan, Eve City, the heroine known as Citrine was contemplating the quiet of the evening. The sight was still new to her. Eve City, the bustling metropolis, capital of superpowered heroines, was now greeting a new one. It had been less than two weeks since Suzie Carter, fed up with the illegal activities threatening her home, had decided to take up the mantle of the heroine. Right now, she was standing on the edge, still getting used to the sensation of height. her light brown hair gently snapped in the breeze. Her suit was anything but camouflage in the night, bright yellow, a one-piece swimsuit like item which seemed split at the middle, exposing her midriff but connected at the back, and a revealing nice cleavage with a neck covering. Knee-hight boots and short gloves of similar color adorned the outfit, completed by a small eye mask.

Before setting out on this journey, Suzie had carefully considered the implications. They were many. As a person, she was cautious in all things she did. She had every reason to be. She knew intimately how evil people could take advantage of those they deemed weaker. At one point, she had been that someone, but no more. Not since about one and a half years ago, since Andromeda had rescued her from her kidnappers and rapists. It was all in the past now.

Whereas many young women who became heroines simply ventured out and started their crime-fighting in the open, Suzie had been much more careful. In truth, she had begun her crime-fighting career long before wearing the costume. Last summer, while training in martial arts, learning mostly submission moves and pinning techniques, she had taken up an investigation in her home district. She had fared expertly in recovering some stolen items, and it had emboldened her a bit, not enough to don the outfit but enough to risk something a little sneakier. Accidentally teaming up with KnightHawk, they had managed to rescue several individuals who had been forced into pornography by one Joshua Platt, a sadistic man with no morality. KnightHawk had given Suzie the thumbs up afterwards.

It was now about six months later, and Citrine, the alter ego, was now fully fledged. Because of her lengthy undercover recon, the heroine had learned many of her district's best kept secrets. She also had a plan on how to proceed with the clean-up. It wasn't about getting rid of every criminal in the area; such a feat was impractical at best, impossible at worst. It was more about containing their activities and taking out those that threatened public security. Money was a big issue, with Canaan hosting a wealthy Jewish community of which Suzie was part of on her mother's side. Money laundering was a major factor, whether the people were doing it for themselves or for others, out of fear or out of greed. Citrine could differentiate which crimes needed to get the brunt of her activities, and which she could let slide, at least until the tougher cases were settled.

She had set her sights for her first operation on a massive scheme designed to take guns and drug money from other sectors and make it clean so its handlers could redistribute it without fear of getting caught. The location where that money was funnelled was a large house, a multi-generational home that had been sold to a private company. Inside that building was, she knew, the proof she needed to get. It was just a matter of getting inside, locating the evidence, and then making it out. She could hand it to KnightHawk afterwards, who would be able to get it to the proper authorities.

From her vantage point, she could see her destination, the roof of the large home. She had invested in swing lines and rappel gear, and had thoroughly trained in a private gym. She used the long-range shooter to fire the rope across the air and towards its destination. It sunk into the structure of the chimney; she tested its strength before getting the slider in place. From there, it was just a matter of getting to the spot as quietly as possible. She had already chosen her entryway from the maps she had pilfered at the local archives : the far window to the back of the house seemed the most likely to allow her to sneak in unseen. Her plan worked brilliantly as she entered a bedroom where all the furniture was still in storage. As she headed for the door, she paid attention to the noises in the hall. Satisfied that no one was near, she opened the door and made her way through the house, mindful of every noise. Patience was a virtue, one that Citrine had mastered over the past year.

Voices came to her from one of the side rooms; she heard two male voices talking out loud, over the sound of the television. Obviously, some kind of erotic program was ongoing. She could hear the characteristic sounds of sex emanating with a slight electrical buzz in the background.

"Can't believe he actually got to do it!" said one of the voices.
"Yeah... he's really pounding her good."

Citrine told herself she should continue, but a part of her mind was intrigued. She was almost certain they were watching some kind of superhero pornography.

"Look at her face... she's enjoying it..."
"Totally... and the leather lady... damn, that's one fine ass."
"Too bad she's evil..."
"Yeah."

There was enough information in those sentences for Citrine to figure out what they were watching, because she had heard of it. Everybody had. About one month ago, Lieutenant Liberty had been raped live in the White House by a blue soldier, under the orders of Sargeant Black, a mercenary of some sort. Citrine had watched the entire scene twice, to see if she could note any details that could help in getting justice for the heroine. She could describe with some precision the look and size of the soldier's sex, and she recalled all the positions he had taken with her while he pressed her against the oval office desk. The president and his aide had been in the room at the time, along with nineteen blue soldiers (not including the one engrossed with Lieutenant Liberty).

Citrine did not linger any longer. She moved as stealthily as she could. The yellow of her costume would not hide her; the only way she would remain undetected was if she remained unseen.

Eventually, she reached the master's bedroom, inside which was also an office. She speculated the terminal she needed to access was in there, given the information she had garnered about its manager. It was simply a matter of checking the lock. It was shut. Careful not to make any sounds, Citrine recovered her lockpicking kit, courtesy of her friend KnightHawk, and proceeded to examine. Nothing too complex. She was inside the room within thirty seconds, no one the wiser.

She didn't turn on any of the lights, so she had to wait a few minutes for her eyes to become accustomed to the darkness, with the small ambient outside light filtering through the blinds. She could see the bed in one corner of the room. There were people in it, at least two, possibly three. She heard gentle snoring in that direction. Three dressers filled the back wall, and at the other end was a desk table with a laptop on it. Exactly what she needed.

She walked to the desk and flipped the laptop screen up; the black screen highlighted to the password screen. She sighed. Cracking this thing might  take forever; she wanted to take it with her, but leaving with it would definitely draw unwanted attention to her theft. For a moment, she pondered her choices. Before she could decide, a noise from the hall caused her to hide under the desk. She heard the door unlock (she had intentionally locked it back once inside) and swing open. The first person to enter turned on the light. From her angle, under the desk, there was no way from them to see her while she could peer under it and look up.

Six feet made their way into the room and towards the bed. She could see them up to their mid-thighs, no clothes on.

"Get up girls," a man's voice said with an arabic accent. "It's business time..."

She heard the movement from the bed and shifted position to get a better view. She managed to see up to the lower backs of the men : they were underwear and nothing else. The girls on the bed, whom Citrine could see better, were all naked. There was one Caucasian, one Asian and one tanned, possibly Arabic, all young, all gorgeous. They stirred from their slumber and looked at the men.

"Again... we just serviced you two hours ago..."
"And we're ready for more!" replied the other in a threatening tone. "Do what you're told! You've been warned..."

A loud sign came from the girl who had just spoken; Citrine watched the three get off the bed and down to their knees, each facing one man. They all had a tanned looked similar to the girl's own tan; they sported beards and mustaches which did nothing to endear them. Dropping their underwear, the three men exposed themselves to the ladies, who went to work servicing them.

A moral dilemma suddenly struck Citrine's heart and brain. Logic dictated that the information in the computer was extremely valuable, and therefore had priority over anything else. But seeing these girls being forced to sexual service by these men was hitting another part of Citrine's conscience. At the same time, she was alone and there were three of them. She would not have been worried one-on-one with any of them; perhaps she could even have handled two, using the location to its advantage. But there were three agressors - and three potential hostages. It felt callous, but Citrine could not interfere without jeopardizing her assignment. Her logical mind was restraining her ability to help these girls, and it hurt, inside.

She wanted to look away, but she couldn't. If she could not save them, she would at least be part - in her own way - to what was happening to them. By refusing to ignore it, by acknowledging the act for what it was, sexual violence, she would be able to reason with hersef once the time was past.

The Asian girl not seem reluctant in the affair as she voraciously gobbled up her partner; he barely held a hand on her head while she pleasured him. The Caucasian was less enthusiastic about it, so her partner had grabbed her head with two hands and was guiding her back and forth on his unit. Finally, the tanned girl had to be slapped into cooperation; her face was full of tears as the man forced himself into her mouth. Citrine closed her eyes, picturing herself as that third victim, imagining the feel of his shaft down her throat, her gag reflex kicking in everytime his tip hit her uvula. In her mind, his flesh was salty and disgusting; it brought her back to October, two years ago, and her kidnapping. One of the men who had taken her, a fat repulsive man with a tattoo of a duck on his lower back, had repeatedly forced her into oral sex, at least twice a day for six days. Only once had he ever used another hole, and even then, he had always shot his spunk into her mouth, forcing her to swallow everything. She was pleased to know he was still behind bars, even if it wasn't for her kidnapping and rape : she still kept tabs on him after all this time, just to be safe.

The men in the room, not satisfied with simple oral stimulation, told the girls to get on the bed, all three lined up in a row, unknowingly facing towards her. They moved behind them and, swapping partners, proceeded to ram themselves into the girls without an afterthought. Citrine saw the horrified looks on the girls' face as the violation continued; yet, she could also read the intense pleasure the unwanted lewd act was inflicting on them. To be penalized with pleasure was one of the most excruciating experiences that Citrine had endured during her sequestration. Every time one of her captors had an inkling for pleasure, he would get into her room and threaten her. She would either get on her back or on all fours - they kept her naked from the first time she was thrown into the room - and the individual, whoever it was, would proceed to rape her with violence. Three walls were made of mirrors; everywhere she looked, Citrine could see her humilation and abuse perpetrated and echoed ad infinitium. Given that there were six men involved, counting the one who only focused on her mouth, she recalled that she had been individually raped in her vagina forty-five times. None of them used protection, so one of them had managed to impregnate her during the ordeal. She had been unable to get to sleep without medication for at least a month after that; then, the anxiety had subsided as her new personality had started to emerge. The cold, logical, rational Citrine, the careful heroine, the one who almost never took a chance. It partially explained why she had not started wearing the costume until recently.

The girls in the room were moaning hard as their violators continued their assault, stopping only every once in a while to catch their breath. The men were intent on making this drag on, however that worked. The Asian was in the throes of bliss, and her two friends were not far behind them. Citrine sighed, as she remembered the intense amounts of guilty pleasure her own agressors had provided her with their ministrations : dicks as well as toys had provided many releases during her captivity; only two of her agressors ever used their tongues or fingers on her. At the beginning, she had refused to acknowledge that their assault was providing release and pleasure. By the end, she had come to fully accept and almost expect it; she knew that the girls were experiencing the same conflicted emotions as she had.

The men suddenly stopped altogether, giving a brief moment of reprieve to the women as they shuffled about and turned to a new partner, so that everyone had been with everyone. The onslaught resumed, but Citrine figured out that the Asian and the tanned girl were being taken anally. She could read the different expression on their faces; she recognized it, again from her own experiences. Only four of her agressors had indulged in the anal penetration of their victim, the fat one and two others. Of them, only the second two had actually spent themselves inside her ass, one of them more than once (from the third day on at least once per day). She remembered how intensely wrong it had felt, yet how much pleasure she had derived from it, especially after experiencing a vaginal release beforehand.

A loud groan from the man pounding inside the Asian girl's ass told Citrine that he was done, and the Asian girl, although she had seemingly been more cooperative, appeared to be relieved that her rapist was done. It took another minute for the one on the Caucasian to reach the same climax; he pulled out of her pussy as she was lying on her back and pumped until he spent himself across her breasts. The last agressor seemed to last forever; as the tension rose in him, he pulled out of the tanned girl's ass and crawled over the bed to her face, forcing his shaft inside her mouth. This was something that none of her agressors had done, so Citrine could only speculate as to how gross it actually felt. He, of course, finished in her mouth, but he didn't force her to swallow; she spat the excess onto the sheets.

The men laughed altogether.

"Thanks bitches... same place in a few hours..."

They recovered their underwear and quickly exited the room after putting it on, locking the door behind them. The three women huddled in the bed. Citrine heard crying. She felt tears swell up as well, but she fought back against the emotion. There was no use for them here. She heard the whispers of the women as they complained about their state, and how nobody would come to get them. From what she understood from their words, the Asian girl had been an escort before being dragged here; the Caucasian was a housewife without any children; the tanned girl was barely out of college, and had tried working as a telemarketer. All three had seemingly been abducted around the same time : Citrine established the timeline to several weeks ago. If this was the kind of treatment they were getting constantly, Citrine needed to get them out of here. Right now, she couldn't simply step out and reveal her presence. She had to wait for them to calm down.

It took what seemed forever before they stopped talking; one of them got up and went to turn out the light. They huddled again in bed and tried to get back to their interrupted sleep. Citrine could barely move by that time, as cramped as she was. Still, she needed to carry out her mission. There was no way around it : she needed to take the laptop and bring it home so she could decrypt its information. But what to do about the girls? Leave them here, then come back for them? That was the sensible thing to do, but every fiber of her being told her that she had delayed long enough. There were no men in the room : the place was secure. But how would the women react? The hesitation was killing Citrine's hopes of getting out of there without incident. But perhaps there was a solution to the predicament.

**************************************************************

"So... how does any of this relate to you landing in our midst?" Masterplan asked.

He had been patient. He had listened to Citrine relate the story of how she had infiltrated a household in order to get some information about some criminal or other - totally unrelated and irrelevant to Masterplan's affairs - only to uncover three women kept in captivity in that house. And Citrine had, presumably, set out to free them.

"Look," Citrine replied, still tied up, "you asked me to start over, so I did... hopefully giving you a larger context will convince you."

Masterplan turned to one of his henchman.

"Drop your pants..."

As the Smiling Skull soldier started to comply, Citrine called out.

"Wait! Wait!"

The pants still fell down, exposing the man's organ to everyone; it wasn't very reactive at this time, but Citrine knew it might not take much to get him aroused. Masterplan turned back to Citrine, still speaking in his unsatisfied tone/.

"This one will take you hard and enjoy it if what you say next does not convince me..."
"Fine, fine... ok..."

Citrine was tired from the pose she was forced to keep; her shoulders felt like they were on fire from the locked back position they were in. She needed to move, but it was difficult to pull her weight up, and she had already begged for release to her enemy, with no result. She needed to wrap this up quickly.

"Ok... so I was in the room, where the three girls were sleeping after their assault..."
"You said that. Move on."
"So I had decided that I needed to get them out of there..."

**************************************************************

Citrine made her way across the room, quietly crouching up to the window leading outside. Metal bars prevented escape. Not an unexpected turn, considering. She didn't want to manifest to the women and get their hopes up until she actually had an escape plan. She crawled back to the door, considering that there were other ways out of there. It would be too long to get back to her entryway on the upper floor with three ladies in tow. She needed somewhere closer.

Using her lockpicking tools as quietly as possible, she managed to undo the lock to the door once more, and return into the hall, mindful to open the door only enough for her body to go through the opening. She closed her eyes for a second, recalling the floor plan. It made more sense that other rooms would be accessible to the outside, ones that were not locked. She started checking the rooms, mindful of them being occupied. She listened in before opening a door; most of the rooms on the floor had bars on the windows as well.

She hit the jackpot when she found the bathroom; it was large space with an open shower, big enough for four people, and a small unbarred window. People of smaller stature could climb out, so the women would fit. Citrine managed to pry it open and check the street below, three floors down. A fall from this height could be nasty, but again, Citrine had a plan. The alley down there had two things going for it : it was cut off from the main street, so no one could see them exit; and there was a side door, leading into an empty basement in the adjacent building. A perfect spot to hide while the authorities could be called in.

Confident that her plan was sound, provided they avoid detection, Citrine made her way back to the main room. She had left it purposely unlocked. It was now time to make it happen. Carefully closing the door behind her, Citrine stood up and walked up to the bed, fully in view. The Caucasian was the first to spot her; her eyes widened as she saw the costume-clad figure hovering over the bed.

"Oh my..."

Citrine shushed her.

"I'm here to help," she whispered.

The other women looked up from the bed, bewildered at the sight. A heroine had come to save them.

"I'm sorry it took so long, but we didn't know you were missing..." Citrine added.
"You mean, no one reported it?"
"I mean, I was on an unrelated case when I discovered you..."
"Oh..."

The girls seemed despondent, but Citrine continued.

"The important thing is to get you three out of here. I have a plan, but you need to be discreet."

The girls nodded in the affirmative; Citrine pointed to the sheets in the bed.

"Taking out all the sheets and roll them in long cylinders... I don't suppose you have clothing in here?"
"No," the Asian girl replied, "they keep us naked..."
"Easy access..." added the tanned girl.
"I'm so sorry I couldn't get here sooner, but we're getting out..."

Citrine directed the three women as they gathered the drapes. From there, it was just a matter of making it down the hall to the bathroom.

"You have to follow my cue," Citrine said. "There are no second chances here."
"Understood..." the Caucasian girl replied for everyone.

Citrine listened in on the hall, then carefully opened the door. She had the girls huddle together in a tight group; they had wrapped the sheets around themselves, almost like a rope; if someone suddenly came out and wanted to grab one, he would have to contend with the weight and strength of all three. Citrine walked slowly, her senses always focused on any disruption in the house's rhythm. Luckily, they made it to the bathroom without incident. Citrine closed and locked the door behind them.

"Good... the next step will be difficult. We need to tie the sheets together, make a rope."
"Wait..." the tanned arab girl said, "we're still naked..."
"And that can't be helped for now. You'll need to climb out the window and down into the street using the sheets... now, this is very important! As soon as you get down, you must stay close to the wall, and not run..."

She needed to insist. If the girls simply ventured out into the street, two things might happen. The good scenario was that a kind person would come to their help. The bad scenario was that the street was affluent with people associated with the criminals of the district which, given the location, seemed more likely.

"Swear to me you'll wait down there and not run..."

Her insistence made them comply. They set up the sheets together and Citrine helped the Asian girl go down first; it wasn't an easy feat for naked woman, but she managed to get to the alley without injury, although she scraped her hands, knees and feet on the building. Next to go was the Caucasian, and she managed it without effort. Citrine helped the tanned girl go next; she almost fell mid-way down, but her friends were there to catch her. It was up to Citrine now : she had secured the laptop onto her back, so she had no reason to remain behind. She untied the rope at the top and tossed the sheets down to the alley. She climbed out, hanging onto the ledge of the window with her fingers, then let herself fall the few metres, using the wall as a controlled surface. She landed hard on the asphalt, twisting her ankle but avoiding further injury.

As she straightened, holding up against the wall, she pointed to the sheets.

"You can use them to cover yourselves now...."
"What do we do?" hastily inquired the Asian girl.

She pointed to the side door just across the alley.

"We go in there to hide you and then, I run and get the police..."

**************************************************************

"So, you mean to tell me that, just beside my lair, there's another lair?" Masterplan mused. "The irony is incredible."
"Not a lair. An operating theater, management, and that's where the girls were held."
"Yes, so I understand..."

While she was retelling the portions of the story that were pertinent, Citrine kept casting a glance to the soldier who had dropped his pants; he was fondling his sex, and it was already more responsive than before. Masterplan noticed her concern.

"Well, it makes more sense now, at least a little, but... why didn't you call the police?"
"I tried!" she answered, insistent on the fact. "Listen, once the girls were safe in the basement just above your lair - at least, I thought they were safe - I exited the building and tried to make my way back onto the roof, but my ankle was injured..."
"It's not broken, if you're wondering. I checked," Masterplan said, as if he actually cared  for her well-being.
"I know... but I couldn't climb up so I had to improvise."
"And that's when my agent spotted you..."
"Yes! I wasn't looking for your lair, or your secrets! I didn't even know you were here... for that matter, I don't really even know who you are, I mean, other than the media nickname you have."
"My moniker, yes..."

Masterplan was particularly proud of how he came out in the press, as a master manipulator and devious planner. It goaded his ego.

"So... why didn't you say that in the first place?" he asked Citrine. "Surely, you could have avoided all that pleasant unpleasantness."

He pointed to between her legs as he spoke. She cast a look sideways.

"I'm... not used to cooperating with... villains..."
"Thank you for the compliment. You see how much you could have avoided had you just been honest with me with the whole story. To think that these people operated just outside my sphere of influence and they never once invited me to dinner. How rude!"
"What?"

Citrine didn't understand his reaction. He was looking into the air, reflecting on the situation.

"Then again, I suppose they never knew I was here, so it's forgiven."

He turned back to Citrine.

"Well, I'm satisfied, and so are you... but my boy here..." he pointed to the undressed man, "he was really looking forward to some satisfaction."
"I told you the whole story now... please... don't let him rape me..."

Citrine hated saying it loud; it almost felt like she was inviting him to carry out the threat.

"Relax... you'll be pleased to know that we will not be spoiling you any further today... although my man will be indulging in the release still."
"What...?"

She saw the man move before her and start jerking off to her figure; he wouldn't touch her, but he wouldn't deny his own pleasure either. Citrine sighed, knowing that this could have been much worse. Still, there was a question lingering in her mind.

"What about the girls? You must have found them?"
"Yes, and to be honest, I was tempted to give them to my men. It's not everyday that you meet such a bounty, three exotic women plus one heroine..."
"But you didn't? Please, tell me you didn't! They've been through enough."
"Relax... so tense still... I should get one of my men to pleasure you again..."
"No... but... just, tell me they're safe."
"Of course they are. They were never part of my plan, and I hate to improvise. They're in a small cell, near here. Untouched any further. You can get them the help they need once we're done here."

Somehow, Citrine had to reply, and her words were sincere.

"Thank you for that..."
"Well, this has been entertaining. Once my little soldier is done, we'll be leaving. Don't expect to find us again."

The soldier was fiercely masturbating, trying to bring himself to orgasm as quickly as possible; it was obvious he would fire right above her own sex. It was still not the worst scenario that could have unfolded.

Masterplan started walking away, turning to her one last time.

"The restraints binding you will release in about fifteen minutes. You'll be free to do as you please... oh and, don't worry... your secret is safe with me."
"Secret?"
"Well, I was curious to see what you looked like under that mask while you were out..."
"What? You unmasked me?"
"Yes... but don't worry. I didn't take any pictures, and I have certainly never seen your face before. I will not divulge your secret, but I wanted you to know that your face is etched in my mind - and I never forget a face. Or a body. Tada."

He walked away; moments later, the soldier emptied himself onto Citrine's skin; droplets of his semen hit her, and trickled down between her legs. Within moments, all the smiling skull soldiers were gone, and Citrine was left alone with her defeat - or her victory?

It was, she realized, really hard to call this anyone, but she would still count her blessings. After all, as a first encounter with a super-villain, considering all that she had heard from KnightHawk, she had really fared much better than others. That, at least, had to provide her with some solace.

THE END