Tomboy: All American Heroine (Chapter 13) (Patreon)

Tomboy: All American Heroine

FEM Force Super Heroines in Peril

Chapter 13

 Kelly’s phone rang. She looked at the screen. It was Malik’s number.

“No way,” she whispered, and muted the ringer. “I’m not going to let him fuck me any more today.”

Malik never called for any reason except a bootie call. She wasn’t his girlfriend, and never would be. Nope. He was the enemy, along with Brad and the whole cheerleading squad. Their ignoble leader, Jessica most of all. And as of that afternoon, between one and four, no one on the baseball team was her friend anymore, either.

“Oh, lord, that was intense,” she muttered, her mind drifting back to those long three hours.

As promised, Jessica had delivered Kelly to the eight seniors on the baseball team. They’d started out with a long train on her pussy. A classic gangbang, one man after another between her legs until they’d all gotten their shot of her body. But that wasn’t the end. Jessica then had let them pass her around after that, making Kelly give them all lap dances that always ended in sex. Those eight guys each had Kelly at least once in every orifice of her body. And titty-fucked her, too.

She’d already taken four cold showers since coming home, and after those memories she felt the need for another. But Kelly knew she couldn’t, not at this hour. Her father was already in bed, but he’d definitely hear it. Their house was small enough, and he would wonder why she was using up so much water today. 

The eleven o’clock news started. Kelly sat cross-legged in the middle of her bed and stared at the TV. She watched the seemingly endless reports on rapes, murders, and domestic violence. Not all of those crimes were in Cleveland, either. A third of the reports were about her hometown, Bisbee. 

“What’s happening to Bisbee?” Kelly wondered. Then she thought about what Jessica was doing to her, and how eager everyone else was to join in heaping abuse on her body. “This town has gone mad. Everyone is turning into criminals.”

A picture of Cleveland’s own Lady Justice flashed across the screen. That reminded her of poor Abby, the celebrated FEM Fighter’s long-lost sidekick. The heroine had just continued on fighting crime as if nothing untoward happened, while her lost sidekick wallowed in sex and debauchery as a slave for life.

Where is the justice there, Lady Justice?

Still, Kelly couldn’t just forget about her own experiences of helping citizens in distress. Without any super powers, with nothing but the skills she’d learned as a star softball player, Kelly had foiled crimes and saved innocent citizens from evildoers.

“Bisbee needs a super heroine,” Kelly whispered. “Maybe I can work off some of this frustrated energy by helping innocent people in need.”

Right now, she was wearing a white sports bra and faded daisy dukes. That outfit had worked before as a crimefighting costume, so she pulled on her red high-top sneakers, and red batting gloves. Kelly pulled her long blonde hair back in a ponytail, which stuck out through the back of the cap she put on afterwards. The bandana had failed last time out, so she found an old blue Halloween mask. A thin piece of elastic held the mask in place, but she knew that wouldn’t suffice. So she got out some Spirit gum – a leftover from her brief attempt at theatre in middle school – to glue it to her face.

After a fresh coat of lipstick, she looked ready to mete some vigilante justice.

Taking a knapsack stuffed with old baseballs, an old bat, and two pairs of brass knuckles, Kelly slipped out of the window and headed for downtown Bisbee. Her first thought had been to go after Jessica’s phone, but the cheerleader was with her parents. Jumping into that was a no-no, not in the least since Jessica’s parents could very well sic the police on her.

The second intersection she passed, Kelly spotted some suspicious activity inside the gas station. So she crept up and peeked inside. Two young men were inside trashing the place, while a third held the clerk at gunpoint. Kelly’s hands tightened on her bat as she watched the terrified clerk, a middle-aged lady, empty the cash register into a plastic shopping bag and hand it over to the robber.

Not on my watch, Kelly thought.

Ducking down behind the trash can just outside the door, Kelly waited for the three thugs to come running out. She jumped in front of them, bat already in mid-swing. 

“Ugh!” the gunman grunted when her bat came down across his forearm. 

The pistol went clattering away. Then she took the bat in both hands, and slammed it straight up in a brutal uppercut to his chin that laid the man out cold. The other two robbers shouted angrily.

“Meet my little friend,” Kelly cried, swinging her bat. “His name is JUSTICE!”

The bat caught the next guy in the teeth. Knocked a good amount of his front teeth out, and left him writhing in agony on the ground. She had to duck under the roundhouse the last robber threw at her head, and then came back up with a kick between his legs.

“Yeeooww!”

The guy kind of looked like Brad, so her fury flared. Seeing a chance to really hurt him, Kelly aimed her next blow as low as she could. Yeah, she broke his tailbone.

“Enjoy your summer, thug.”

Sirens came alive off in the distance. Kelly looked around to ensure all three robbers were down for the count, before she took off running. She raced out of the brightly lit gas station, across the street, and into a dark apartment complex. She made it almost all the way through the complex, but then she heard a sound that chilled her to the bones.

Meaty thuds, followed by feminine grunts and sobs.

Kelly froze, eyes huge, and looked around until she zeroed in on the source of those sounds. The sounds of domestic violence. Moving swiftly, she quickly located the open sliding-glass door into the ground floor apartment. A twenty-something man was standing over a woman down on all fours. And he was kicking her in the head and ribs.

Kelly saw red. She pulled out a baseball. A very old and yellowed hardball. She took aim, wound up like she was on the pitcher’s mound, and threw a fastball. Caught him in the ribs.

“Aaiiee!” he cried, clutching his injured side. And then the next ball slammed into left cheek. “Ugh!”

That put the idiot down, but not out. So Kelly charged in and kicked him in the face. While he writhed on the floor, she looked around and spotted something that put a grim smile on her face. Rushing over, Kelly picked up the landline phone, checked for a dial tone, and then dialed 911.

When the 911 operator answered, Kelly spoke with a deep, raspy voice, “Domestic assault and battery. I just took down the man beating the bloody snot out of a woman.”

And then she set the receiver on the table, leaving the line open. 

By that time, the man was struggling to his feet. So Kelly raced over and beat him down with her bat. She made sure he suffered far worse than the woman had suffered. And then she gathered up all of her thrown baseballs and left before the police arrived.

“Have to say,” Kelly muttered ten minutes later, and almost a mile away. “I’m kinda liking this super heroine business.” She looked at the bloody bat in her hand. “I’d call myself ‘Batgirl’ if the name wasn’t already taken. Maybe Ballgirl?”

Thirty minutes later, Kelly found herself on Elmer Street. Sin City squatted arrogantly just one block away, lit up like a Christmas tree. She scowled at it, wishing she had the courage to charge in and kick Lil Dog’s ass again. The patrons probably wouldn’t help the pimp, but she’d be toast if they did. Then she spotted him. Jax.

The hated carjacker was getting out of Sal’s yellow Camaro. A moment later Sal got out after him, and they went into a sleazy strip club. The small parking lot was unlit and scary dark. While Kelly didn’t dare go inside the strip club, she smiled when a plan for retribution came to her. A wicked little smile spread across her masked face.

She swung her bat, smashing the windshield. Then she smashed the back window, and all the side windows. Kelly used that bat to destroy the headlights and taillights next. She silently berated herself for failing to bring a knife so she could slash the tires. And then she snuck out of the parking lot.

Since it was past midnight, and she’d had a long, hard day as Jessica’s enslaved plaything, Kelly suddenly felt an overpowering weariness bleeding into her limbs. Time to go home and get a few hours sleep before she started it all over again.

Ugh. Jessica said she had the basketball team lined up to gang bang me, Kelly thought. Her pussy started tingling at the thought, then got hot and slick. It occurred to her that she could call Malik for a hook-up. All those ginormous dicks are going to be killer, and there are twelve seniors this year, but maybe if I let Malik have me all night I’ll be loosened up?

She stopped to rub her temples. Kelly couldn’t believe the nature of her thoughts since Jessica had sank her claws into her. She’d rarely thought about sex before, but now she seemed obsessed. 

Jessica is messing my head up, too.

Kelly didn’t make it half a block before she spotted a big Hispanic pimp slapping a young black woman. She eased up closer to watch and listen. He was berating her for earning too little, demanding she sell her body to more and more men, faster and faster. She swore she was trying her best, but he just slapped her again.

“Stupid pimp!” Kelly cried, seeing herself in that other woman. Almost feeling Lil Dog’s brutal backhand again. She charged in and whacked the pimp in the knee. “Take that, you goddamned pimp!”

Kelly turned to smile at the hooker, and offer her help to escape prostitution. Instead, the pretty African-American hooker was enraged, and punched Kelly square in the face. Twice. Sent the young would-be heroine staggering back, bat lost and clattering on the ground. When she tried to defend herself, the black woman caught her wrist and twisted it up behind her back.

“I got her for you, Joaquin,” the hooker said. “This bitch’s ass is yours.”

“Good job, Chantal,” Joaquin said as he struggled to his feet.

He started limping toward them. Kelly felt panic setting in. How did she lose control again? What was wrong with that hooker?

“What are you doing?” Kelly asked. “I’m trying to help you. He was beating you!”

“Shut up, bitch,” Chantal said. “Nobody wants your help.”

The pimp started out with a brutal punch to Kelly’s belly. That doubled her up, and she almost lost her dinner. He knocked her cap off and then punched her in the belly again. Kelly really did toss her cookies that time.

“Who the fuck are you?” Joaquin asked, yanking her head up by her ponytail. He ripped her mask off. “A nobody?”

“Yeah, nobody this,” Kelly snarled, and brought her knee up between his legs. 

That put the pimp down, and startled Chantal just enough to loosen her grip. Kelly twisted free and waylaid the ungrateful hooker. Then she picked up her cap, mask, and bat, and limped away.

“I really have to be more careful,” she croaked out, holding her stomach as she walked. After a few minutes the pain faded, while her spirits rose. “All in all, not a bad night. I won two out of three fights, at least, while managing to not get fucked stupid again and turned into a sex slave hooker.”

The more she thought about her successes, the more excited Kelly became. Maybe a super heroine life wasn’t out of the question. Of course, she still had one major obstacle: Jessica Albright.