Ms Patriot: Undercover (Chapter 11) (Patreon)

Ms Patriot: Undercover

Grimme City Super Heroines in Peril

Chapter 11

Ms Patriot fled out of the Happy Times Hotel’s back door. She kept her hat and trenchcoat on as she rushed through the dark alleys and byways of that sinister red-light district. She didn’t take off her disguise until she reached her hidden car. Then, after stuffing the articles into the trunk, Ms Patriot leaned back against the car and pulled out her phone.

Silver Angel’s alter-ego Annette Moore was in New York City on business. Uber Woman’s alter-ego was doing a live cable news network show at that very moment. So she called Purple Avenger’s phone. No answer. Was Assistant DA Tanika Grayson at some event that night?

My options are thin, she thought. I have numbers for Ninja Girl, Justice Star, and Omega Girl, but they are all first year rookies.

There were a half-dozen other part-time heroines who rarely showed their faces on any regular schedule. She didn’t have any of their numbers, though Justice Shield and Omega Girl were supposed to be pretty damned good.

“I’m SOL tonight,” she muttered. “It’s a solo bust, or go home.” A roguish smile spread across her masked face. “And I wouldn’t be a super heroine if I went home.”

All of the glory would be hers. Oh, Purple Avenger’s alter-ego, Tanika Grayson, might share a little of it as the prosecutor. But Silver Angel and Uber Woman would be so jealous when she marched Erica into a jail cell. Maybe she could even break the entire Sambino Family’s back and end their reign of terror once and for all.

We’re going to have a good time tonight. Ms Patriot grinned. She imagined the sheer outrage Erica would be stewing in when she was handcuffed and led away by cops. The media would go wild. Grimme City hadn’t had a major bust that big in years. Oh yes, I’m going solo tonight.

It was almost eleven, and the thing was scheduled to go down at midnight. Ms Patriot headed off, once again using the district’s dark and sinister alleys and side streets to achieve her objective. She scattered a couple of dice games, sent a few pushers and hookers scrambling for cover. The heroine kind of enjoyed the way the malefactors of the world ran scared before her. Everyone should fear Grimme City’s Champion of Justice.

The Sugar Town Hotel sat at the corner of Cummins and Anita. Ms Patriot regarded it from the shadows of a nearby alley, the street before it busy – as always – with some of the heaviest traffic in that unsavory district. The structure itself was six stories tall, constructed of red brick, with a big neon sign across the front: Sugar Town Hotel. The hotel actually predated the red-light district, which was named for it. It was probably still the district’s most successful hooker hotel; last she’d heard, the hotel’s basement had been converted into a BDSM sex club.

Looking at the hotel caused all sorts of mixed emotions. First, a deep desire to shut that place down for once and all time. The owner for the past fifty-odd years had been Old Bill Monroe. It was past time for him to retire, preferably to the state penitentiary. Second, a couple of her most epic setbacks had involved that hotel. And then she’d had to peddle her sweet ass, renting rooms in that hotel to Old Bill’s delight. That wasn’t even counting all the “payments” Old Bill had personally took.

They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, she silently mused. But some of my setbacks just made me hornier.

Ms Patriot shook those dark thoughts away. She scowled, looking left and right before she made her move. Getting epically gangbanged twice in the last week had seriously messed her up. Hell, she didn’t expect to be fully recovered from that weekend-long gangbang until at least Wednesday.

Ducking back into the alley, the tall, statuesque heroine quickly found an exterior steel fire escape. She climbed right to the top of the ten floor building. After peeking over the side, watching the countless cars full of men cruising for hookers and drugs, she studied the Sugar Town Hotel’s roof. Nothing new added to the roof to interfere with her efforts. No sign of any mob goons parked up there as lookouts.

Moving to the opposite side of the roof, she sucked in a deep breath as she prepared herself. And then Ms Patriot took off running as fast as she could, and launched herself off that building and toward the notorious hooker hotel across the street. She flew through the air, over the busy street below, and came to a perfect three-point landing atop the hotel.

Eat your heart out, Uber Woman.

The heroine quickly checked every nook and corner to make sure there were no traps set, or bad guys in hiding. Once assured, she hurried over to look down into the alley behind the hotel. There were actually two alleys bordering the hotel, which met at an intersection of alleys on one corner. The Sugar Town Hotel sat on the most lucrative street corner, bordered by two of the busiest streets in the district, but also two of the darkest alleys. A lot of illegal deals went down in those alleys. But all she saw at that moment was a hooker giving her pimp, JJ Rod, a blowjob.

Suddenly, a utility van cruised into one of the alleys, followed by a pair of SUVs. Their headlights immediately chased the pimp and hooker away. That made Ms Patriot smile.

I hope you get blue-balls for LIFE, idiot.

So, one side had arrived early. Not unusual. Now she just had to wait for the other team to show up and start the game. Ms Patriot tried to ascertain who the first-comers were. Sambino Family? No. The SUVs were Lincoln Navigators. The Sambinos liked Cadillac Escalades. Well, Erica preferred her personal Land Rover. So that was probably the visiting team below.

A soft, but sharp sound brought her head around. Did someone just come up onto the roof? Her heart raced as she dropped into a crouch and started towards the roof access. It was on the other side of the building’s HVAC system, which sat within four tall wooden walls.

She paused, sure she’d heard footsteps. But the other footsteps stopped when she stopped. Ms Patriot wondered if she was needlessly freaking herself out, and what she heard were the echoes of her own footsteps. But they sounded like heavy, male footsteps, not the soft clatter of stilettos. So she hurried up to the wall surrounding the HVAC and peeked around the side.

Gotcha, she thought.

Two Hispanic men were standing next to the roof access door, which stood ajar. They looked uncertain. Had they heard her footsteps?

Dammit, when did bad guys get so smart? When I was starting out, they only sent lookouts up to the roof if they were hawking state secrets.

She would have to take them all out quick and quiet, and pray the men down below weren’t waiting for an all-clear before continuing. Those two men might’ve just ruined everything. Yet, she had to either take them out, or retreat. And Ms Patriot never retreated.

Stepping out from behind the wall, she struck a pose. “Halt in the name of justice.”

The two smugglers froze, eyes huge. Then they pulled pistols. Gunfire would alert their cohorts in crime of trouble. She had to defuse the situation fast.

“I’m a super heroine, morons,” she said as contemptuously as possible. She tapped her power belt. “Guns are useless against me.”

They started speaking to each other in Spanish. She was familiar with the language, but they were speaking too quietly and fast for her to follow. So she took another step closer, gaining their undivided attention.

“Drop your weapons and yield,” she demanded, eyes narrowing with determination. “I won’t ask again.”

“That’s just rude, señorita,” a man said behind her, and then pressed the muzzle of his pistol right against the back of Ms Patriot’s head. “And we both know your belt can’t stop a bullet when the gun is pressed against you. Hands up, puta.”

Ms Patriot’s jaw dropped. He had her. The other two had been a distraction all along, and she fell into their trap like a rookie. So embarrassing. And then her captor unsnapped her power belt and pulled it off her body. Super powers bled away, leaving her with a thundering heart and queasy stomach as the other two smugglers joined them with happy, leering faces.

Oh no. Not again.

“We caught a local heroine,” one of the men said in Spanish. “Which one is she? She’s dressed like an American flag.”

The other two shrugged.

“Does it matter?” the gunman replied in Spanish, then leaned in close to speak English into her ear. “You are not going to like Colombia, puta.” His free hand reached around to stroke her pussy through the thin fabric of her costume’s shorts. “But our cartel’s boss will love plowing your fertile fields.”

The other two smugglers laughed, but kept staring intently at her tits.

“He loves getting babies off captured super heroines,” another said. He reached around, unzipped her bustier, and ripped it off her body. Then he cupped her large, heavy tits in both hands, squeezing them together. “And then he likes to drink your mother’s milk straight from the tit.”

“Good times,” the third man said as he began pouring chloroform into a wadded up white cloth.

“Y-You’re making a big mistake, amigos,” Ms Patriot said, looking quickly from one to the other. “I’m very beloved by the people, and the police and my fellow heroines will leave no stone unturned looking for me.”

“Ohh. Now I’m scared,” the gunman said mockingly.

The smuggler fondling her tits lowered his face to suck in a sensitive nipple. She closed her eyes as pleasure flowed into her tits, slowly spreading through her chest and downward. A tiny moan escaped her slightly parted lips. And then a wet cloth was pressed over her mouth and nose.

“Breathe deeply, puta.”

She didn’t. Ms Patriot tried to avert her face, to escape that dire fate. If they rendered her unconscious, she knew it would be the end. She likely wouldn’t wake up until she reached Columbia, and the cartel boss who would claim her forever. A fate worse than being a mob fucktoy. She’d be a brood mare to get Valkyrie daughters off, so they could raise them as super powered slaves.

“Breathe, or I’ll shoot you right here and now,” the gunman snarled.

Ms Patriot gasped, baby blues wide, and took a deep, much needed breath. The chloroform hit her Valkyrie brain hard. She felt strength leaving her arms and legs immediately, as her chaotic mind slowly began to still. And once she started breathing, she couldn’t stop. She continued to inhale more and more of that intoxicating drug. Soon she was teetering atop her stiletto boots, eyes rolling up.

“Oooooh,” she groaned and dropped to her knees. Goddess help me.

Suddenly, she found herself breathing fresh air. But the damage was done. Ms Patriot’s mind was all but blank, body trembling with suppressed emotions and frustrations. She barely felt her head roll back, and one of the men claim her lips in a passionate kiss. But she did feel hands all over her tits, pinching, rolling, and pulling on her sensitive nipples.

Ms Patriot swayed on her knees, feeling so light-headed and vulnerable. And then something touched her lips. It was hot and wet. Not lips. A dick! Her lips parted, opening wide out of instinct. Yeah, her body knew what was expected as a long, thick cock slid all the way into her warm, wet mouth.

~**~**~

“Mmmmmgh,” Ms Patriot moaned, bobbing up and down a fat cock.

Her baby blues fluttered open. Cutting her eyes up, she stared numbly up at the leering man looming over her. The moonlight was bright, but they were still in the shadows of the HVAC unit, so she couldn’t make out any of his features. But he was palming the back of her head now, forcing her to bob up and down his cock, and that was all she needed to know at that moment.

Someone else was kneeling behind her, face buried in her long hair, nibbling at the back of her neck, across her bare shoulders. Was she naked? The hapless heroine couldn’t tell, couldn’t remember how she got into that predicament. But it only took her chloroform-numbed brain a moment to remember what was happening. Then she started to suck.

Yes. A predicament. Am I having a setback?

With fresh air, her mind began to piece itself back together. She felt strength slowly returning. Less confusion. More of the solid sights, sounds, and smells of sex.

Sluuurrrp. “Mmmm.”

“This is a good one,” the man she was sucking gasped out. “This puta has skills.”

That roused her ire. Why did he call her a whore in Spanish? It was a setback. All blame and moral judgment fell on his shoulders, not hers. Why did men, and society in general, always blame the female victim?

I should fight that injustice, she thought, still struggling to regain control of herself.

Ms Patriot did a quick accounting of her situation. Captured by three Latinos, probably Colombian. Probably drug smugglers. All three had guns, and she was debelted, thus depowered. Vulnerable to their bullets. Worse, her arms remained so weak they just hung limply at her sides. Only the man’s hand on the back of her head kept her from falling over. But she felt her strength returning, faster and faster.

If they figure out I’m recovering, they’ll dose me with chloroform again.

So she continued not fighting them in any way. Just seemingly numb cooperation. And then they upped the ante when she felt the cock in her mouth swell up even more, and his thrusts became increasingly frantic.

He cried out softly, suddenly ballooning her cheeks with a boatload of hot, viscous cum. Half of that smelly mess oozed out around his cock, dribbling all over her naked tits. The other half flowed down her throat, forcing her to swallow over and over to clear her air passage. The three Latinos laughed.

“What a mess,” one said. “My turn. I’m going to fuck her ass.”

“Wait. Give me some light,” another said. “I want to unmask this super puta and take a picture of her face for the boss.”

Panic consumed Ms Patriot’s heart and soul. Unmasked? That wasn’t allowed! Yet, so many men just wanted to rip that mask off her face. Not all of them criminals. Everyone seemed obsessed with learning her true identity.

Before she could fully wrap her mind around being unmasked, and then figure out how to fight them off, one of the men just casually reached down and peeled it off her face. Left her gasping and staring up incredulously. She never saw his hand coming in the darkness.

“Turn on your phones’ flashlight apps,” one said, already holding his phone up. “And then I’ll take a picture.”

Bright light came on, blinding her. Ms Patriot squeezed her eyes shut and started whipping her head back and forth. That sent her long, silky hair flying, mostly covering her features. She must’ve done well, because all three smugglers began cursing her.

“I will not be taken!” she screamed, and then balled up her fists and started pounding uppercuts into their unprotected crotches. “Suffer my wrath!”

Suddenly a nickel-plated pistol swung down into her face, point blank. Ms Patriot had nothing to lose, so grabbed it and twisted with all her might. She felt and heard his trigger finger snap. As he sucked in a huge breath to scream, the enraged heroine surged straight up to her feet and swung the pistol. She caught him in the mouth, shattering teeth, and then continued pistol-whipping him to the ground.

“I will kill you!” she screamed at the other two.

One panicked and took off running toward the roof access door. The other, apparently braver, attacked her. She caught his wrist, threw a hip into him, and flung the Columbian thug against the HVAC wall. He bounced off, dropping to his knees. And she ended that fight with a brutal pistol-slap upside his head. And then she turned to find the last smuggler almost to the door.

“No one escapes Ms Patriot,” she snarled, and threw the pistol with all her might.

Even depowered, her throw was hard and true. The spinning pistol slammed into the back of his head. The vile smuggler dropped like a sack of rocks. Ms Patriot was left panting furiously, nearly naked, and feeling vaguely ashamed. Usually, she wasn’t anywhere near that brutal.

Yet, she’d extracted herself out of another setback.

“Don’t mess with Ms Patriot,” she said, and grinned. Then she looked down at her cum-splattered boobs and body. She felt cum cooling on her chin, neck, belly, and thighs. Her entire front was despoiled by that bastard’s sticky seed.

She ripped off one of the men’s shirts, soaked it with water from a rooftop maintenance faucet, and cleaned up as best she could. And then, after getting back in full costume, including mask, the busty beauty gathered the unconscious men together and bound them hand and foot with heavy-duty tie-wraps. Only then did she feel safe going over and checking out the scene below.

“Perfect timing.”

The Sambino Family had arrived during her minor setback. No Land Rover, which meant Erica sat this one out. Pity. But both sides faced off below, headlights on bright. Ripe for the picking. Ms Patriot watched as one side counted money in a suitcase, and the other did a quick chemical test on the contents of a brick-shaped bag. Both sides looked satisfied.

“Oh man, I’m about to spoil their good moods.”

The raven-maned heroine vaulted over the side. She plummeted down to the ground, stilettos slamming into the concrete with a rifle-like report. Everyone jumped and cried out, some falling over themselves. She rose up to her full height, grinning as she assumed a classic super heroine pose.

“Halt in the name of justice, miscreants! Ms Patriot is placing you all under arrest for drug trafficking.”

She recognized the man representing the Sambino Family. Paulie Como was a longtime Sambino underboss. The fifty-four year old mobster had crossed her path many times, and she’d even put him in jail more times than she could count, but he always beat the rap and avoided any serious jail time. But his luck ran out when he crossed paths with another heroine.

“Hey, Paulie,” she said, holding his gaze. “Long time no see. Last I heard, Purple Avenger sent your hairy butt to state lockup for ten years.”

“I got out early for good behavior, Ms P,” he said. “Hey, I’m just an honest businessman trying to support a wife and three kids.”

“Aww, you’re so dumb,” she said, and then her eyes narrowed. “Surrender to justice, or suffer the consequences.”

“Yeah, you know we can do that, Ms P,” Paulie said. He shrugged apologetically, but with a grin. “Boys, take this trash out.”

“I thought you’d never ask for a dance,” Ms Patriot said, and launched herself at the mob underboss. Paulie immediately pulled a pistol and started shooting. A fat lot of good that did him, but men were bound to their stupid habits. A second later, the grinning heroine pounded an uppercut to his chin. “And another KO for Ms Patriot!”

She spun and lashed out with a red-booted foot, taking down two smugglers in that one kick. As they dropped, the busty heroine was attacked from three sides by both the smugglers and the homegrown mob thugs. It was all she could do to fend off all those vicious punches and savage kicks.

“Ha!” she laughed, leaping straight up and over them. She flipped once in the air to land amid a clatter of stilettos. And then she attacked them from the rear. “Look at me, boys. Kicking your asses and taking your names.”

They scattered rather than face more her fury head-on. But Ms Patriot turned around to find another Sambino thug there swinging his pistol. Caught her on the cheek. That brutal blow spun her around, sending the dazed heroine stumbling away and desperately shaking her head to clear the cobwebs. But the thug proved relentless, coming after her with sadistic glee.

“You sent my brother to the pen, Ms Patriot,” he snarled. “I’m going to pistol whip you to a bloody pulp, and then shoot you in the fucking face!”

She dropped low, ducking under another swing with his heavy pistol. Her leg lashed out and swept his feet away. Then Ms Patriot kicked up and around, before bringing her booted foot down as hard as she could into his unprotected belly. That doubled him up, giving her the opportunity to kick him in the head.

“When you wake up, you’ll be on your way to join your brother in prison,” she muttered, angry eyes sweeping the alley. The remaining Sambino men were trying to escape with their purchased drugs, but the SUV in back screwed up and wrecked. Whoever the driver was, he’d wedged his vehicle across the alley. “Idiots.”

Seeing them trapped, Ms Patriot turned to the Colombians. They were scrambling for the two SUVs in back. They left the van full of drugs for the Sambinos, or in this case, Ms Patriot and the police. But she wasn’t going to let them escape so easily. Oh no.

Grimme City’s legendary Champion of Justice raced down the alley after them as they accelerated in reverse to escape. They smashed into trash cans and dumpsters, and one SUV sideswiped the wall. Their desperation caused them to screw up, which slowed them just enough for the heroine to run past the following vehicle, and then catch up to the lead.

“Do not pass go,” she shouted. Reaching down, Ms Patriot grabbed the bottom of the big SUV, and heaved up with all her super strength. She flipped the truck over onto its roof, to block the alley’s only exit. “And go straight to jail!”

Ms Patriot struck a sassy pose, looking the crime scene over with satisfied eyes. Then she pulled her phone out of her right thigh boot and called the police. Now it was all paperwork and press conferences. Yep, a good night indeed.